SOCRATES' TRIUMPHANS.  Nostra hinc ad Deum transmi●rali● felix faustaque sit.  Socrates is offered poison 
R: White Sculy.   
LONDON Printed for I: Magnes and R: Bently.   

PLATO his APOLOGY of SOCRATES, AND PHAEDO or Dialogue concerning the Immortality of Man's SOUL, AND Manner of SOCRATES his Death: Carefully translated from the Greek, AND Illustrated by Reflections upon both the Athenian Laws, and ancient Rites and Traditions concerning the Soul, therein mentioned.  Quintilianus ●●stitut. Orator. lib. 10 cap. 5. 
Vertere Graeca in Latinum veteres nostri Oratores optimum judicabant. Id se L. Crassus in illis Cicero ●●…de Oratore libris dicit factitasse. Id Cicero su●●…●ersona frequentissime praecipit: quin etiam libros Platonis [Timaeum nempe, quem inscripsit de Universitate] atque Xenophontis edidit hoc genere translatos.  
LONDON, Printed by T. R. & N. T. for James Magnes and Richard Bentley at the Post-Office in Bussel-street in Covent-Garden, 1675.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE the EARL of ANGLESEY, Lord Privy Seal, etc.  
My LORD,  
THE Manuscript now herewith delivered to your Servant, had two days since been brought to Your Lordship, had I not so long disputed with myself, Whether it were more decent for me to send it single, or to give it an Epistle for a companion. Nor was it so easy a matter for me to determine this my doubt; the contrary reasons that offered themselves to my perpension, seeming to me to be of equal weight  
When, on one side, I considered how immense a multiplicity of affairs, and those of great importance too, come hourly crowding into your thoughts, expecting from you to be at once both judged and dispatched with highest Prudence; and how few minutes you have to spare from cares of State: I was inclined to conclude, that the perusal of the Book alone, without the importunity of a Letter, might too much interrupt your repose, and the public felicity. To this was added, that neither Socrates nor Plato could need Letters of recommendation to a man so well acquainted with the Heroic Virtues of the one, and the Divine Doctrine of the other. Nay I thought it a kind of Sacrilege against their Merits, as well as against your Judgement, but to imagine, that any thing I could write to introduce them, might increase your esteem of them.  
When, on the other, I remembered that the Book contains, not an Original, but a Copy; not the entire Images of those two so justly renowned Philosophers, but only two select pieces of them, namely the upright and invincible Heart of the one, and the perspicacious Eye of the other (I mean the Defense of Socrates, and the discourse of the Immortality of Man's Soul) and that I owed Your Lordship, not only the free use thereof, but also an account of the reasons I had to allege in excuse (I must not say, justification) of the little art shown by me in the Transcript: remembering this, I say, I could not but think it convenient, to draw a few lines more, in order to your satisfaction concerning that particular. Besides this, gratefully recalling to mind, that you had long before honoured me, not only with licence, but with express Command also, to write to you, and that frequently too, especially concerning matters Philosophical; and being of opinion, that this Book contains one of the noblest Disquisitions any where to be found among the monuments of even the Ancient Grecian Philosophers: I was apt to conceive it to be more probable (your extraordinary Candour together considered) that my omission to do it, upon this inviting occasion, might carry the face of Disobedience; than that my doing it would be looked upon as importune or indecent.  
And this last reason, in weight exceeding all the moments put into the opposite Scale, at length turned the balance of my suspense; and made me conclude, that certainly I should less offend by a fault for which I might plead the authority of Your Lordship's Command, than by one that could not be otherwise excused, but by confessing my distrust of your Benignity, and diffidence of your Favour, wherein chief I esteem myself to be happy.  
Notwithstanding this, I still found myself obliged, so far at least to give ear to the former arguments that would have dissuaded me from writing, as to resolve to make my fault as little and venial as was possible, by writing no more than should seem necessary to the defence of the Plainness, and familiar Style used by me, in the version of these two so excellent Discourses of Plato into our Language. For that seems chief to require an Apology: the admirable Wisdom, great Utility, and charming sweetness of the Discourses themselves, being already perfectly known to Your Lordship, and acknowledged by universal consent of the Learned in all ages, since it became a doubt, whether Athens were more to be honoured for the birth of Socrates, or to be branded with infamy and hatred for the cruel murder of him. And as for the Occasion of my translating them; you are so far from needing to be advertised thereof, that you made it my Province: that is, from your just admiration of the incorruptible Justice of Socrates, expressed in a Colloquy at your Table (where the Minds, no less than the bodies of your Guests are always feasted) I took the first hint of the design, and proceeded therein by your approbation; which with me, is equivalent to an injunction.  
Suffer me then, my Lord, briefly to acquaint you, that if in this diversion of my pen, I have not only confined it, as strictly as my weak judgement would permit me to do it, within the bounds of the Author's sense; but caused it also wheresoever I could, to trace out his very Expressions, and render them even word for word: it was not that I imagined that way to be either more facile, or more elegant; but because I judged it to be the more faithful, and I had designed, not a Paraphrase, but a Translation. By comparing the Latin version of Marsilius Ficinus with that of Serranus, I had found these two great men not seldom various, sometimes dubious, and sometimes irreconciliable in their interpretations: so that both could not be in the right; and to me who had not been sufficiently versed in the dialect and style of Plato, nor competently skilled in the Criticisms of the Greek, it was extremely difficult to discern, which of the two came nearest to the true and genuine sense of the Author; more especially where it was probable they had followed different Exemplars, and certain that even their best Editions of Plato were not sufficiently correct. To extricate myself from this perplexity, I was constrained to take this course. Where the Greek Text appeared to me to be of itself plain and perspicuous, I seldom consulted any other Oracle. Where the same seemed obscure by words of ambiguous signification, and used Metaphoricaly: first I sought to let in light upon the place, by opening the casements both of the antecedent and subsequent Context; and if thereby I could discern the mind of those words, I had recourse to the Interpreters also, though merely for confirmation. Where I found myself entangled both in the abstruseness of the Text, and in the discrepancy of its interpretations; I chose to adhere to the more consentaneous, which most frequently was that of Serranus; and where the interpretations were not only different, but incapable of consistency and reconciliation: there I was forced to grope out my way by probable Conjecture, as being destitute of other help. Here to expatiate into a particular Catalogue of these Difficulties, and adfer instances of each sort of them; is neither to my present scope necessary, nor consistent with the module of an Epistle: and after this general account, it seems more decent for me to render a reason, why I so far mentioned them. Be pleased therefore to know, that I have done it, not to derogate from the glory and authority of those two so deservedly celebrated names of Ficinus and Serranus, from whose immortal Works I hold myself scarcely worthy to wipe the dust, and without whose conduct and manuduction I could not have been able to proceed without stumbling at almost every step: but only to make your Wonder the less, when you shall find me, not only stumbling, but Erring also from the direct path of Plato's sentiments and intention; which I fear I have more than once done. For, if such men as they were, met sometimes with Knots they could not untie: what wonder is it, that I who am so much their inferior both in learning and judgement, should be often embroiled in doubts I cannot solve? if They who have shown themselves both tightly Critical in the Greek of the Ancients, and intimately conversant even in the most mysterious notions, and profound recesses of the Platonic Philosophy, openly descent from, and clash one with the other, about the  sense of many hundreds of places therein occurring: how much of favour is due to this weak Essay of one, who is neither good Grecian, nor so much as a mean Platonist? I may therefore expect from Your Lordship, rather reprhension for attempting above my strength, than blame for performing below my hopes. Now, my Lord, that I may draw all the lines of this long Paragraph to a point; this very Reason here brought to excuse my Deviations (if I be found guilty of any such) from the sense, may well serve also to justify my strict adhesion to the Words of my Author, wheresoever the vast disparity betwixt the most significant Idioms of Plato's Greek, and those of our Babel of Languages, the English, would permit. For, as a Novice in the Art of Painting, though he come short of the life, will yet more certainly represent the true dimensions of the thing he designs to paint, and the becoming Symmetry of all its parts; if he transgress not the lines drawn to his hand by a Master, to circumscribe the image, and confine his pencil to the due proportions thereof: so I being to copy the Sentiments of Another, believed I should be the less prone to err, by how much the less I receded from the Marks he had left of them: and hereupon I resolved to do my best devoir, first to understand those Marks distinctly, and then to represent their Significations faithfully: preferring plain imitation to more artificial ornament. Not that I had then forgot, there are intruth certain Modes of speaking, and graceful Phrases proper and peculiar to every Language, so as to be incapable of alienation or traduction; and certain Subjects also that are, as by natural congruity, much more agreeably and patheticaly expressed by one Tongue, than by any other: and that therefore a Translator ought to be allowed competent liberty to use such words, phrases and figures of speech, as he shall judge most fit, as well to conserve the beauty and elegance of the original conception, as to symbolise and suit with the argument; and this lest his style become pedantic and flat, and the Matter itself be debased, as the best Wines lose their Spirit by transfusion from vessel to vessel. But that I well remembered, that an Eminent Wit of Your Lordship's acquaintance, who had with severity enough declamed against verbal Translations, was yet at the same time so ingenuous, as to grant some Books to be of so great and universal importance, as that not only their Sense, but even their Words too ought to be reputed Sacred: and that I conceived these two pieces of Plato, more especially that of the Soul, whereof the Speculations are for the most part Metaphysical or Theological, deserved to be of that number. Hereunto was conjoined a Second consideration, viz. That by keeping close to the Words of the Text, even in the Ornamental parts of the Discourse, I might not only the better avoid the danger of either enervating the Expressions, or offering such violence to the Sense of it, as might make it appear rather mine than my Authors; but also retain some impressions of the civil manner and way used by those Ancient Sages in their frank Conferences, and impassionate Disputations concerning matters Philosophical: a thing not unworthy the serious notice of those who are strangers to the Atticism and admirable Civility of Plato; and, the Morosity and obstinacy of our Modern Disputants considered, to all Exemplary. These, my good Lord, are the Reasons that induced me to labour to show myself, in this diverting Essay, rather fidum Metaphrasten, than disertum Paraphrasten; rather just than polite. And as for the plainness of my style (if that be a fault) though it be the natural consequent of my fidelity; yet I have this further to plead in defence thereof, that the gravity of the Subject exacted it: for, as the Prince of Roman Stoics most judiciously observes (Epist. 40.) quae veritati operam dat oratio, incomposita debet esse & simplex.  
Hitherto, my Lord, I have offended against your patience, by forcing you to hear my Apology: be pleased now to let me expiate that offence, by exercising the same a minute or two longer, while I recall into your memory some of those many Heroic Virtues of Socrates, whereof his grateful Disciple, Plato, hath left to us such remarkable instances, both in his Apology, and in the accurate narration of the manner and circumstances of his Death.  
This poor Philosopher, my Lord, seems to be the man upon whom the bounty of Heaven accumulated all the various Gifts, it useth to distribute but singly and with a sparing hand to other Mortals: and the least of his divine Endowments hath often sufficed to render even private persons illustrious, and Sceptres themselves more august.  
Had you beheld him in arms, with his Sword rescuing Xenophon, and standing alone confronting a victorious army, when the Athenian forces fled from the battle of Delium: you would have seen Wisdom reconciled to War, Judgement moving hand in hand with Fury, and the Rational faculty of the Soul concurring in the same action with the Irascible; and thereupon concluded, that true Valour arises, not from heat of blood, nor from excess of Choler, but from strength and resolution of Mind; and that a good Philosopher may make an excellent Captain. Had you seen him in another Expedition, returning a Conqueror from Potidaea, and transferring all the honours and rewards due to so signal a victory, upon his beloved Alcibiades, reserving to himself no other place in the Triumph but among the followers of his Friend: You might have sworn, he had fought so bravely rather for Conscience, than for either Glory or Spoil; and that he desired no greater name than that of a good Patriot and sincere Friend.  
When you reflect upon his fearless refusal to execute the Command he had received from the supreme Council of Athens, to fetch Leo Salaminius from Salamine, to be put to death, according to the Sentence given against him by the Usurper Critias and his Adherents: you will (I presume) acknowledge, that he feared nothing but to do ill, that he disdained to assert any power that was not just, that Athens itself might with more ease have been removed to Salamine, than he brought to relinquish Right and Equity; and that he was more ready to accompany the oppressed in their Sufferings under Tyranny, than to be a sharer in the administration of it. Had some Roman been a witness of this virtuous obstinacy, he would have cried out perhaps, that the Capitol itself was not more  than the integrity of Socrates; and envied Greece the glory of so rare an Example. What then would he have said. my Lord, had he been present at the dispute betwixt the same Socrates and his most faithful Scholar Crito, wherein he being with no weak arguments urged, to evade the execution of that most unjust Sentence lately passed upon him, and deliver himself from violent death by an escape plotted and prepared to his hand; nevertheless not only rejected that affectionate advice, but by demonstration convinced the Author of it, that the authority of Law, and Decrees of Courts of Judicature, are things in their sanction so venerable and sacred, as to oblige men to submission, even when they are manifestly unjust; and brought him at length to acquiesce in this Conclusion, nefas sibi esse è carcere egredi, injussu Magistratus, & contra legum autoritatem? Herein whether Socrates were in the right or not, let our Civilians determine: I, for my part, verily believe, he thought he was; and this is most evident, that he could never be either overcome by terrors, or won by allurements, to recede so much as a hairs breadth from what he had once defined to be just. This very Monosyllable doubtless was his whole Decalogue, equivalent to the Laws of the twelve Tables among the Romans, the basis of his Religion, the Centre of his Counsels, and rule to his actions: nor can I be easily persuaded, that Astrea left to dwell among men until after his death. Of his obedience to the Laws and constitutions of his City, he gave this further testimony; that when the Athenian Republic, to repair their people much exhausted by war and pestilence, had made an Edict, that every man of fit years should be obliged to espouse one woman, as principal wife, and have liberty to take another, for procreation: he, notwithstanding he had his hands full of unquiet Xantippe (whose peevishness and morosity was grown to be the daily exercise of his patience at home, and his reproach abroad) yet in conformity to the Edict, feared not to receive into his little house and narrow bed, another Consort also, one Myrto, daughter of that Aristides surnamed the Just, but equally poor with himself. This certainly could not but be somewhat harsh and disagreeable to a man already entered into the confines of old age, and understanding the pleasures of serenity and repose: and yet I must not imagine it to have been at all difficult to the wisdom of our Socrates, whose tranquillity appears to have been elevated, like the head of mount Athos, above the tempest of feminin contentions, jealousies and impertinences, and his Mind incapable of pe●turbations. However, he put not private cares into the balance against a duty to the Public: but chose to be a good Citisen, by increasing Posterity, though he were sure thereby to multiply his own domestic incommodities.  
Acting by this infallible principle of Justice (which is, as Plato calls it, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the greatest of human goods, and Mother of all other virtues) and fully persuaded of the divinity and immortality of the Soul (which is the fundament of all Religion) and of future rewards and punishments: the wonder is the less, that this admirable man was able, both to trample upon all the splendid and precious things of this momentany life, and to bid defiance to all the terrible: for, secure in his own innocence, and confident of happiness to come; 'twas less difficult to him either to contemn dangers, or resist temptations. Nay, to do him right, neither could this Temperance, nor that Fortitude be at all difficult to him, who by long use, and continual practice, had exalted them from Virtues into Habits.  
In the first, he appeared to be so perfect, that though as a man he could not but feel the motions and solicitations of Corporeal Appetites, yet none of them dared to rebel against the Sovereignty of Reason, by whose power he always both ruled and bounded them: nor could even a good Soul separated from its body, and delivered from all encumbrances of Matter, have acted more sedately, or been less incommodated with Passions. In a word, in his whole life, he seemed not only unconcerned in, but insensible of the vain appearance of human things.  
Being thus impenetrable to Cupidities, it may be worth our labour to inquire also, how strong he was against Fear. That we may therefore take the true height of his Courage, let us (if it please Your Lordship) observe his deportment at the bar, in the prison, and at his death.  
At the Tribunal, we hear his Constancy no less than his Innocency triumphing over the power and malice of his combined Accusers: the greatest hurt they can do to me, saith he, is to think it possible to hurt me; since God takes care of Good men, and they therefore can never be violated by wicked men. To a friend whispering in his ear, that his Judges had before resolved to doom him to death: he answers softly and with a smile (but such a smile as retained an air of Gravity and Dignity) and hath not Nature passed the same doom upon them? Retiring after his condemnation, Adieu my friends, saith he, I am now going to suffer death, ye to enjoy life: God alone knows, which of the two is better.  
In the Prison, we find him despoiled of whatever Fortune could take from him, his body covered with rags and loaden with chains, his legs galled and cramped with fetters, his eyes entertained with no objects but a wife and Infant weeping: and yet for all this, we hear no complaints, no lamentations, no groans, no not so much as one sigh come from him; but discourses consolatory and divine. Good God, how great is the power of Wisdom! how invincible the courage of a Soul armed with virtue! If this man's condition be Happy (as certainly it is) how much are Mortals generally mistaken in the notion of Happiness! Here we behold a show of Misery in extremity: but realy there is no such thing. For if you look more intently upon Socrates, you shall discern in him all the signs of alacrity, all the characters of Joy. To see him so unconcerned, a man would think, he were not a Sufferer, but a Comforter. There is (Your Lordship well knows) a sort of natural Authority inherent in the very Persons of some men, resulting perhaps from certain characters of a great Mind, which heroic virtue imprints upon their countenance: and this as it corrects the imperfections of nature, where it meets with any; so doth it likewise adorn the nakedness of its owner exposed to the outrages of fortune, illuminate his dungeon, and strike fear and reverence into the heart of even Executioners; as you may remember it did into his, who came to kill that noble Roman, Caius Marius. Now this indelible Character of true Greatness, do I clearly perceive in the face of our Hero's, with its rays enlightening the obscurity of his prison, consecrating his disgraces, chains and rags, and rendering his afflictions holy and venerable. Nor can his Executioner endure the flashes of it, without astonishment, veneration and tears: and you may hear him, after a little recollection of himself, sobbing forth this acknowledgement. Farewell Socrates, saith he, The most generous and best of Men that ever came into this place. Which words being imperfectly pronounced, he instantly retires; and unable to perform the duty of his place, he sends in another with the poison.  
Which being presented to Socrates, behold with what calmness of Spirit, what gravity of aspect, and how steady a hand he receives it, and drinks, as if that draught were to extinguish, not his life, but thirst. Nor did his Fortitude grow cold with his blood, or sink with his vital powers; for even in the extreme agony of death, in the last pulse of his heart, when the vital flame ceased to warm him: then did the flame of his Courage still continue, and animated him to breath forth words that signify, his dissolution was most grateful to him, as a deliverance from the Sickness of Mortality, and passage to immortal Happiness. Which I am verily persuaded, he now enjoys: his whole life seeming to me, as Erasmus (in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉) ingenuously declared it did to him, nothing but a great Example of justice, temperance and patience; so that if ever any among the Ethnics came near to the perfection of a Christian life, it cannot be denied but Socrates was the man. It is not (I profess) my custom to address my prayers to any but God alone, who (I am most certain) both hears, and hath power to grant my petitions: and yet I blush not to confess, that whenever I read what Plato, Plutarch, Diogenes Laertius, Eunapius Sardianus among the Greeks, and Cicero and Seneca among the Latins, have written in commemoration of the admirable virtues of this righteous man; I find myself strongly inclined to exclaim, O sancte Socrates ora pro nobis! an ejaculation expressly owned even by Erasmus himself, whom Your Lordship well knows to have been free enough from Superstition: nor rashly to be condemned; nam fortasse latius se diffundit Spiritus Christi, quam nos interpretamur; & multi sunt in consortio Sanctorum, qui non sunt apud nos in catalogo.  
As the actions of our Socrates in the theatre of life were a wonder of virtue to even the best and wisest Philosophers, so was his Exit truly glorious. But how infinitely more glorious aught we to esteem it, if we assent to the judgement of those many pious & learned men, who conceive him to have died a Martyr of the Unity of God? Whether he did so, or not; I have neither place here, nor will to dispute. Leaving therefore that nice question to be decided by Your Lordship after you have revolved his Apology; and in the mean time humbly deprecating your displeasure at my prolixity: I shall add only toward the excuse of it, this brief remark; that the very ashes of things sovereignly excellent are for ever august and venerable.  
I am, my good Lord, Your Lordships infinitely obliged and equally devote Servant. January 8. 1673.   

L. Annaei Senecae de Socrate testimonium.  
SI exemplum desideratis, accipite Socratem, perpessicium senem, per omnia aspera jactatum, invictum tamen & panpertate, quam graviorem illi domestica onera faciebant; & laboribus, quos militares quoque pertulit, & quibus ille domi exercitus, five uxorem ejus spectes moribus feram, lingua petulantem; sive liberos indociles, & matri quam patri similiores. Sic fere aut in bello fuit, aut in tyrannide, aut in libertate, bellis ac tyrannis saeviore. Viginti & septem annis pugnatum est: post finita arma, triginta tyrannis noxae dedita est civitas, ex quibus plerique inimici erant. Novissima damnatio est, sub gravissimis hominibus impleta. Objecta est & religionum violatio, & juventatis corruptela: quam immittere in Deos, in patres, in remp. dictus est. Post haec carcer, & venenum. Haec usque eo animum Socratis non moverunt, ut ne vultum quidem moverint. Illam mirabilem laudem, & singularem, usque ad extremum servavit: non hilariorem quisquam, non tristiorem Socratem vidit: aequalis fuit in tanta inaequalitate fortunae. Epistol. 104.   

Marc. Antoninus Imperator, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, lib. 7. Sect. 66. Ex versione Gatakeri nostrat.  
UNde constat nobis Socratem clara fuisse reliquisque praestantiore indole? neque enim hoc sufficit, quod mortem gloriosissime oppetebat; aut quod cum Sophistis acutissime disserebat; aut quod in frigore summo patientissime sub dio pernoctabat: aut quod Saliminium illum sistere jussus, resistere generosissime malebat; aut quod per compita fastuose incedebat (quod tamen an verum fuerit, merito dubitaveris) verum illud considerare oportet, quomodo affectam animam habuerit Socrates; utrum hoc contentus agere poterat, quod in rebus humanis justus, in divinis pius existeret, nec malitiae cujusquam frustra indignatus, nec cujusquam inscitiae assentatus, nec ab universo assi●natum quicquam, aut tanquam peregrinum quid excipiens, aut tanquam intolerandum sustinens, nec carunculae affectionibus mentem passus coaffici.   

Quintiliani de Socratis Apologia judicium, Institut. Orator. lib. XI. cap. 1.  
QVis nescit nihil magis profuturum ad absolutionem Socrati fuisse, quam si esset usus illo judiciali genere defensionis, & oratione summissa conciliasset judicum animos sibi, crimenque ipsum solicite redarguisset? Verum id eum minime decebat: ideoque sic egit, ut qui poenam suam honoribus summis esset aestimaturus. Maluit enim vir Sapientissimus, quod superesset ex vita, sibi perire, quam quod praeterisset. Et quando ab hominibus sui temporis parum intelligebatur, posterorum se judicijs reservavit; brevi detrimento jam ultimae senectutis, aevum seculorum omnium consecutus. Itaque quamvis Lysias, qui tum in dicendo praestantissimus habebatur, defensionem illi scriptam attulisset, uti ea noluit: cum bonam quidem, sed parum sibi convenientem judicasset.   

Advertisement Of the Printer to the READER.  
Tho' it hath so happened, that the Errors of this impression be for the most part only Litteral, such as every Judicious man may as easily correct as find: yet because the Book perhaps may come into the hands of some whose Understandeng is not incapable to be retarded or seduced by even the smallest Pseudographical rubs cast in their way by the incurious Compositor; I therefore think it one part of my duty, so far to prevent the offence, and assist the apprehension of Readers of this sort, as to entreat them, first to pardon the faults that shall occur to them in reading, and then to amend them (so many at least, as I have in a hasty review observed) in this manner.  
Page 12. line 23. read Prodicus Ceus, p. 15. l. 22. r. how vehement, p 19 l. 1. r. Dithyrambics, p. 22. l. 11. r. delighted, p. 24. l. 24. r youth, p. 44. l. 14. r. recalls, p. 46. l. 10. r. assenting, p. 56. l. 9 of the margin r. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, p. 76. l. 2. r soon leads them, p. 109 l. 58. r. nearer to sapience, p. 135. l. 6 r train of his thoughts, p 135. l. 6. r. train of his thoughts, p. 139. l. 20. r. is it not clearly evinced, p. 151. l. 3. r. q●● quoniam c●●ss sunt, p. 157. l. 1. r. conjuncture of, p. 168. l. 12. r. descensions, p. 193. l. 19 r. relating, p. 199. l. 4. r. came thereby, & l. 6. r broad kneading-tubb, p 213. l 15. r. the ration of even, & l. 26. r. the number Three, p. 235. l. 21. r. good omens and gratulation, p. 254. l. 9 r. Sanctiones, & l. 13. r. Deos, p. 259. l. 17. r. Epocha Marmorea, p. 263. l. 6. r. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, p 265. l. 4. r. praefatus Deum p. 266. l. 9 r. Signification and Efficacy, p. 280. l. 12. r. umbrage of irreverence. p 290. l. 18. r. volitantque haec littora circum, p. 296. l. ult. r. Elpenor.  
As for the more venial Errors committed in either omission or misplacing of Interpunctions and other signs of Pauses; having found them to be neither very numerous, nor much injurious to the Author's Sense, I leave them to the candid Correction of the competent Reader.   

SOCRATES' HIS APOLOGY.  

The ARGUMENT Out of SERRANUS.  
SOCRATES being accused of Impiety by Melitus, Anitus, and Lycon, before the People of Athens, by this Oration defends his Cause: And he so pleads, that he not only evinceth this their accusation to be false and malicious; but also clearly showeth, that on the contrary, he deserved well of the Republic, and was therefore worthy not of punishment, but reward. He moreover declares, that it was a Duty divinely imposed upon him, to reprove and convince Men; more particularly such, who being puffed up with a vain Opinion of their own Wisdom, were highly conceited of themselves. The infection of which ambitious folly he affirms to be diffused amongst Men of all Orders: But that alone is true Wisdom, when men acknowledge their Ignorance, (that is, as he in most proper words defines, that Humane wisdom is of small value, or none at all;) and firmly hold, that God alone is wise. Hereupon he declares, that himself had been judged by the Oracle wiser than all other men, for no other reason but this, That he differently from the custom of all others, had no esteem of himself, and thought he knew nothing certainly, but that he knew nothing. Then he makes the Author of that his Office or Duty of reprehending and informing Men, to be God: by whose certain command he avows he did whatsoever he had done in that kind. And this Command of God he calls [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,] a Spiritual Intelligence, a Voice, a Sign: By those words, in way of excellency, designing not any power of Human Wit, but a certain Divine and extraordinary signification; and (as we commonly call it) Inspiration, whereby he was secretly admonished, what he ought to do, and what not. He calls it Daemonium, a spiritual Intelligence; Because he conceived that Power to come, not from Man, but from God: and otherwise terms the same, Vocem & Signum, in respect of that private admonition, which he affirms hath been given to him by a perspicuous Voice, by manifest and true Dreams, and by other ways of Intimation. Thus much we briefly and plainly (according to what we could collect from the words of Plato) observe concerning the Daemonium of Socrates; That we might not be obliged to amuse ourselves with the Mysterious Comments of various Interpreters. By the auspice therefore, and suggestions of this his Divine Dictator, Socrates avers, that even from his Childhood he had ordered and governed his whole life, and made it his grand business to convince of Ignorance, Men inflated with the ambitious confidence of Science. From this contagious Fountain he derives that torrent of hatred with which very many of his Fellow-Citizens now sought to overwhelm him; And from thence he deduces his present accusation. Nevertheless, he professes to be immovably fixed in this resolution, always to obey the Counsel of God, nor ever to leave any part of that his principal duty unperformed, though it should be conjoined with manifest danger of his life: The loss whereof he feared not, nor any thing else, except this, lest he should be found not to have conformed himself to the Dictamen of God. Resting upon this resolve, he denies that he would by Prayers and Entreaties (as was the manner of the Athenians) beg favour and pardon from his Judges: But commending the issue of his Cause to God, and to the will of his Judges, would constantly persevere in his own determinate course. Therefore when it was left to his own option, whether he would go into exile, or die; he chose rather to die: testifying, that even in Death itself, he should not fail of certain Felicity; being fully persuaded that God took care of him and his concernments. This was the Condemnation of Socrates; from whence Plato endeavours to demonstrate, that he was undeservedly accused of Impiety. Thus than Socrates suffered Death, for that he refuted the false Doctrines of Men concerning Religion: Though it be not to be doubted, but that he was ignorant of the true Religion taught by the sacred word of God. Yet among Ethnics there was this clear testimony extant of an Ethnic Philosopher, to take from them all excuse of Ignorance: Since besides that natural knowledge, which God hath engraven upon the minds of all men, there appeared in a most populous City, and the noblest School of Learning, this eminent witness, endowed with this peculiar Gift, that he would rowz up men, sleeping profoundly in vain opinion of themselves, and show them their ignorance, wherein they were shamefully involved: the knowledge of this matter also being at length disseminated not only through all Greece, but through the whole world, by this writing of Plato. This therefore is the Theme, and this the Oeconomy or Method of this Oration.   

THE ORATION.  
HOw your minds, 
His Exordium; wherein he weakeneth the credit of his Accusers, by charging them with manifold falsehoods.  Athenians, are affected and inclined by the harangue of my Accusers, I know not: but I myself am so sensibly touched with it, that I have almost forgot myself. So fitly and advantageously for the gaining of belief and persuasion have they spoken: though (to comprehend all in one word) they have spoken nothing of truth. But among many falsehoods they alleged, I chief admire this one, that they have admonished you, diligently to beware lest you be seduced by me; as if I were singularly powerful in the faculty of speaking: and that they have not blushed to urge that, wherein they will soon be found guilty of palpable lying, when first I shall be found unfit to speak to you: this seems to me the most impudent of all. Unless perhaps their meaning be, 
He renounces all eloquence but truth: to engage the benevolence and attention of the Judges.  that he is powerful in the art of speaking, who speaks truly. For if this be their sense, I profess myself to be an Orator, but not according to their opinion. But they (as I said) have delivered nothing of truth; from me on the contrary you shall receive nothing of falsehood. And yet I swear by Jove, you shall not from me hear a formal Oration composed of the elegances of words, and Ornaments of sentences, (as theirs was,) but plain truths expressed in unstudied language and vulgar phrases. But the things I am going to speak, I believe to be equitable and just: nor let any among you expect other from me. For it is not fit that I should at these years, come to you, like a boy, with fiction and Romances.  
This one thing I earnestly beg and require of you, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or Preocupation; where in he excuseth his plain and familiar way of pleading, by his being inconversant in Forensian controversies, and by his custom, which is equivalent to Law: as also by this, that a Judge ought to consider, not the elegancy, but truth of a defence.  that if you, O Athenians, hear me making my defence in the same way of speech, and manner of reasoning I have used both in the Forum, and at the Tables of the Bankers, (in which, and other places most of you have seen me) you neither wonder thereat, nor raise a tumult thereupon. For the truth of the matter is, this is the first time I appear at your Tribunal, being now more than 60 years of age: so that I may well be a stranger in this way of pleading causes. Allow me therefore the same favour as if I really were a stranger; seeing I shall use both the same words, and the same form of speech, wherein I have been educated. This also I beg of you (and it seems most equitable you should grant it to me) that you consider not the manner of my pleading, whether it be rude or convenient: but diligently examine, and with all possible attention of mind perpend, whether the matter or substance of it be just or unjust. For this is the virtue of a Judge; as the virtue of an Orator is, to deliver truths.  

The Partition of his plea, according to the diversity of his accusations.  First then, O ye Athenians, I am obliged to answer to those lies, that are in the first place objected to me; and so to my first Accusers: then to my last accusations, and my last Adversaries. For many have accused me to you, and long since in the space of many years; yet have they never delivered a word of truth in all their charges: and these indeed I more fear, than I do Anitus and his fellows, though they likewise press me with the weight of their enmity and malicious combination. Yet the others truly are more pressing and more powerful, who have even from your tender age, O men, persuaded you, that the accusations are true, which they objected against me falsely; namely, that there is one Socrates, a wise man forsooth, and one who searcheth into the nature of sublime things, and enquireth into all things under the earth; who can by his Sophistical way of speaking, make a bad speech pass current with the hearers for a good one. These men, O Athenians, having spread abroad this rumour concerning me, these (I say) are vehement and prevalent accusers. For they who give ear to these scandals, presently entertain a belief, that such persons as they represent me to be, conversant and curious in the study of Natural Causes, hold that there are no Gods. Besides this, the number of my accusers of this sort is great; and their accusations are of a long date, insinuated and ingraffed into your minds, in that age which is credulous and easy to admit any persuasions, when most of you were boys, or rather little children: so that they accused me behind my back, and while I had no compurgator, no advocate to vindicate me; and (what is extremely unjust, and unreasonable) I was not permitted either to know, or to produce the names of my accusers. Only there was a confused whisper, a darksome muttering in the general, that it was a certain Comical Poet. And they who by envy and calumny traduce me to you, and breed in your minds an odium against me; have so strongly possessed themselves with the crimes objected to me, that they draw others also into the same persuasion: but those no where appear in the light. For I can by no means obtain, that any one of them should be brought hither to confront me, that I might have the liberty and opportunity to confute him: but am forced, while I make my defence against them, and endeavour to convince them of forgery; to combat as it were in the dark, no man appearing in the Lists to answer me. Know this therefore, and consider with yourselves, that I have two sorts of accusers: some who have but even now accused me; others again who have been long versed in this clandestine practice, of whom I speak: and think that I am obliged to make answer to those in the first place. Let it be so then, that I must form a defence for myself, and do my utmost devoir, in this short time allowed me, to remove and extirpate that sinister opinion, which hath for a long time remained deeply rooted in your minds to my prejudice. This I would wish might be effected, to your and my own benefit: for in this my defence, I should desire to effect somewhat more. But that I conceive to be weighty and difficult: nor am I ignorant what will be the event of my Trial. Yet let the issue be such, as may be grateful to God; I must obey the Law, and answer.  
Fetching then the first rise of my wrongs from their Original, let us see in good earnest what is that accusation, from whence this Indictment drawn against me, hath proceeded; whereupon Melitus relying thus chargeth me. Let it be so. What did my adversaries charge me with? for their [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, i. e.] their Libel of accusation ratified on both sides by mutual oath, is to be throughly read.  
SOCRATES, 
The State, and several heads of his first accusation.  Contrary to right and equity, doth more curiously investigate those things that are under the Earth and in Heaven: and makes a bad speech, by delivering it, good: and teacheth others also the same.  
This forsooth is the Libel of the Action, and form of the Indictment. The like unto which you may see in a Comedy of Aristophanes, 
* 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  where is brought in the person of one Socrates, who pretends to walk in the air, and plays the Droll in a Farce of many other extravagances. Wherein I am, 
He disavows that sublime science imputed to him.  Athenians, neither little nor much skilled. Which I speak not out of design to condemn that Art, or any man conversant therein; that I be not by Melitus involved in that crime, and made to undergo his punishment. But true it is, Athenians, I had never any converse with things of this kind; whereof I am able to produce many witnesses: and I would entreat you, that you inform each other, and inquire among yourselves, who have ever heard me discoursing of any such matters; and there are many present, who have frequently heard me in free and familiar conferences. Declare therefore openly, whether any of you have ever heard me speaking little or much of these things: and from thence you shall understand, that the like credit is due to other fictions that very many scatter abroad concerning me.  
But certainly of these nothing is true.  

And denieth that he ever either usurped the Authority of a public Teacher, or exacted reward for his private instruction of youth.  Inquire also, whether you have heard from any man, that I ever endeavoured to teach men, and exact money: neither is this true. Forasmuch as I ever held it a thing highly meritorious and honourable for a man to teach and instruct others in Learning and Virtue, as Gorgias the Leontine, and Prodicus, Ceus, and Hippias the Elean have done. For each of these are able, to what Cities soever they travel, to persuade young men, (and yet it was lawful for them frankly to converse with whomsoever they liked best of their own Citizens,) that quitting the converse of all others, they would entirely give up themselves to their instructions, and moreover give them money, in acknowledgement of the benefit received from their discipline, and to requite the favour. There is here present also another certain man, a Parian, and wise, whose residence in this City was grateful to me. For I by chance lighted upon a certain person, who gave more money to Sophists, than all others; namely Gallias the Son of Hipponichus; and of him I asked this question. Thou hast two Sons, Gallias. If those thy two Sons were Calves or Colts, doubtless we should have some one set to be their Tutor, and a reward given to him, to teach them, each according to his particular Genius and capacity; (for he should be skilful in Horsemanship, or in Agriculture) whereas now though they be men, thou yet takest no care to provide them a Teacher and Governor. Who is there knowing and expert in this art of Humanity and Civility? I suppose, that being a Father of Sons, thou hast considered of this matter. Is there (said I) any man fit for this charge, or not? and for how much doth he teach? Evenus (answers he) the Parian, O Socrates; and his demand is five Attic Minae. And I presently commended Evenus, as a happy man, if he were really endowed with this most useful art, and taught so studiously and dextrously. Truly I should glory, and boast myself, were I knowing in these things: but I profess myself, Athenians, altogether unacquainted with them. Here perhaps some one of you may object; 
He derives the popular hate oppressing him, from his frequent reprehension of men; as if he thought himself wiser than all the rest of mankind.  but, Socrates, what is the matter then, from whence these criminations have been produced against thee? For unless thou didst often do something very remarkable, singular and very different from the custom of others; so great a rumour would not have flown abroad concerning thee. For why should this ignominy have fallen upon thee, if thou hadst done nothing strange and unvulgar? Tell therefore what it is, lest we, not understanding the matter, give a rash judgement of thee. Who urges this, may seem to have reason for it. And I therefore will endeavour to lay before you what it is, that hath procured to me both a name and blame. Hear ye then, and though to some of you I may seem to jest and droll; yet be most confident of this, that I will declare to you the whole truth. For I Athenians, have upon no other ground, but that of some certain Wisdom, acquired this name. But what Wisdom? that perhaps, which is humane wisdom. For with that I seem really to be endowed. These perchance, whom I lately named, may be enriched with some greater wisdom than that which is incident to man. To this I can oppose nothing; for such wisdom I understand not. But whosoever saith this, doth lie, and say it on purpose to raise an odium against me by calumny. Nor be ye Athenians discomposed, if I shall seem to declare to you something that is great and remarkable. For I will deliver nothing from myself, but refer to him who is above all exception, who will himself communicate the same things to you. For of my wisdom, if I have any, such as it is, 
He justifies his practice of reprehending others, by alleging the express command of God, whom he ought to obey.  I will give you for a witness that Delphic God. Cherephon ye all well know. He was my familiar companion even from the time when we were boys together; and also your Countryman: who both fled, and returned with you: and you cannot but remember of what humour and disposition he was; who vehement, whatsoever he undertok. And indeed when on a time he came to Delphos, he had the boldness to consult the Oracle about this matter. Be not (I beseech you) Athenians, moved to a tumult by what I shall speak. He inquired of the God, if there were any man wiser than myself: and Pythia answered, none was wiser. The truth hereof, the Brother of that Cherephon will attest: for he is dead. Now seriously consider, I pray, why I recount this to you. For I am coming to explain the cause, whence this calumny against me first arose. When I had heard of Cherephons' adventure, I thus thought in my mind. What doth the God say? or what doth he signify by these words? For I esteem not myself to be wise neither little nor much. What then can be his meaning, when he affirms that I am the wisest of men? Lie he doth not, for that is to a God impossible. And long did I remain in doubt, profoundly considering his words: than not without difficulty I converted myself to a certain disposition of this kind. I came to one of those who seemed to be wise, in hope I might here convince the saying of the Oracle, and so commonstrate that he, not I (as the God had said) was the wiser. When therefore I had together with him examined the matter, (I need not name the man: he is one of those who are employed in Governing the Commonwealth, and managing Affairs of State) when (I say) I had conferred with him, somewhat of the like nature, Athenians, happened to me. He seemed to me indeed to be accounted wise, both by others, and those many, and by himself chief; but was not really so. Then I endeavoured to demonstrate to him, that though he thought himself wise, yet he was not so in reality. Hereby I fell into the displeasure and ill-will of him, and of very many others who were present: But retiring thence, I thought with myself, that I was wiser than that man, because neither of us seemed to know anything Noble or Excellent: only he (thought I to myself) believes he knows something, when he knows nothing; but I, as I know nothing, so I think I know nothing. Herein therefore I took myself to be a little wiser of the two: in that I deceived not myself with an Opinion that I knew that, whereof really I was ignorant. After this I addressed to another, who seemed yet wiser than the first: but found no difference betwixt them, as to wisdom. Whereupon I incurred his hatred also, and that of many of his Admirers. Then I went likewise to others; being sensible of my ill success, and grieved sufficiently therewith, as much fearing lest I might stir up hatred and envy against myself: Nevertheless I conceived myself under an absolute necessity of highly valuing the voice of God, and turning myself to all parts, by going to all those who thought they knew something, that in the end I might explore the true sense of the Oracle. But I Swear to you Athenians, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; per Canem, by the Dogg-starr; An Oath used by some Grecians, even Philosophers, but probably derived from the old Egyptians, among whom the Dogg-star, the brightest of all fixed stars was adored as a Divine Numen; as well because the Exundation of their Nile began at the rising of that Star, as because they believed their Isis to have been stellified into 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, this Celestial Dog.  (for I must declare the Truth) that while I pursued my scrutiny according to the voice of God, I met with the like Fortune; discovering, that such who attained to the greatest name and glory, seemed to come vastly short of wisdom: but others, accounted inferior to them, were more disposed to, and better qualified for the acquisition of it. 'Tis fit and pertinent, that I show you my Errors, what great pains I took, to render the Faith and Authority of the Oracle Sacred and indubitate with me. After these Statesmen and Grandees, I addressed myself to Poets, and Writers of Tragedies and Dithyrambios, and others of the same Tribe: as if here I should perspicuously, and by Surprise (as they say) discover, that I was more unskilful, more ignorant than they. Taking therefore their Poems into my hands, and noting those things they seemed to have written with greater subtlety, and higher strains of Wit; I diligently asked them, what they could say, that I might at the same time learn something from them? I blush to tell you the truth, Athenians: but do it I must, though very briefly: all that were present almost spoke more favourably of those Poems, than they who had made them. So I soon found concerning Poets, that they perform what they do, not by the power of Wisdom, but by a certain impetus of Nature, and fury of Divine incitement; as Prophets foretell things by Divine instinct or Enthusiasm, prophesying many Noble and Notable things, but not understanding so much as one word of what they deliver. With the same affection Poets appeared to me to be inspired and incited: and I discovered likewise, that they, upon the account of their faculty in Poetry, think themselves the wisest of all men, even in other things; whereof notwithstanding they are utterly ignorant. From these therefore I departed, as from the former, and with the same reason too: thinking myself to excel, as the Politicians, so likewise the Poets. At length I betook myself to Artificers of Mechanic Works: conscious to myself, that in those I knew nothing at all, (I comprehend all in a word) and well understanding, that I should find those plain People to have knowledge of many and excellent things. Nor did my opinion deceive me, for they knew things that I understood not, and were so far wiser than I Yet even the most eminent Artificers seemed involved in the very same Fault with the Poets; in that they also, because they had shown themselves great Masters in their Mechanics, would every one be accounted most skilful also in other even the greatest matters; and this Fault of theirs wholly darkens the lights of their skill. Wherefore I interrogated myself also, about the sense of the Oracle, whether I had rather be as I was; neither wise with their wisdom, nor unskilful with their unskilfulness: or be, as they are, comparated or disposed both ways; and I answered myself and the Oracle, that it was more commodious and profitable to me, to be as I am. From this Disquisition, Athenians, many offences, and those most difficult too, and grievous, have come against me; and thence as many imputations, scandals, and criminations, and calumnies: and so it came to pass, that I was named the wise man. For they who are in my company, daily suppose me to be singularly knowing in those matters, wherein I reprehend and evince other men's errors. 
His Explanation of the sense of the Oracle.  But it seems, Athenians, that God alone is wise: and the sense of the Oracle this, that Humane wisdom is to be very little or nothing esteemed. And the Oracle expressly nominated Socrates for no other reason but this, that by misusing my name, it might propose me as an example: as if it would say, this man, O Mortals, is the wisest of ye all, who, as Socrates, well knows, that as to wisdom, he is not to be valued at all. Being then of this temper of mind, I to this very day inquire strictly every where, and according to the words of that Divine Oracle, seek both among my Fellow-Citizens, and Strangers, if I can find a man worthy to be reputed wise: but when I discern any not to be really wise, truly out of Conformity to God, I clearly demonstrate him to be not wise. And being wholly Devoted to this good Work, I have no leisure allowed me, neither to Transact any public affair of moment, nor to regulate my own Domestic concerns; but am cast into the straits of profound poverty, by reason of that my obedience to God. Besides this, 
Another cause of the vulgar Odium cast upon him, viz. that many Noble youths were delighted with his convincing discourses, and imitated him in reproving others, who taking Offence thereat, reflected upon him, as the corruptor of Youth.  some Youths born of most Wealthy Families, and having leisure enough, following me of their own , are highly deighted when they hear men reproved and convicted by me; and they also, in imitation of me, do themselves often endeavour to refute others: nor is it to be doubted, but they find a very great multitude of such, who believe themselves to understand and know many things, when yet in truth they know few or none at all. Hereupon these who are refuted, grow angry, not with them, but me: and say, there is one Socrates, a man of most impure and dangerous manners, who corrupteth young men: and if any ask them, whether it be by teaching or doing any thing unjustifiable, that I corrupt youth; they can allege nothing in particular, because indeed they know not wherein to instance: nevertheless that they may not seem to be at a loss, they charge me with those imputations that are laid upon almost all Philosophers, and in every man's mouth, that forsooth I am excessively curious in searching into the nature of things both sublime and under the earth, that I think there are no Gods, and that I can by my Sophistical arguments turn an ill Speech into a good one. They will not (I believe) declare the Truth, because they manifestly appear to pretend to know things, whereof notwithstanding they are altogether ignorant. For they who traduce me, being men ambitious and vehement, many in number, and furnished with Harangues artificially composed to gain belief; they have filled your Ear, both heretofore and now, with a charge designed against me. Among these, Melitus, Anytus, and Lycon have assaulted me: Melitus on behalf of Poets; Anytus in the name of Artificers and Politicians; Lycon as Champion of Orators, enraged against me. I should wonder then (as I said in the beginning) if I should be able in so short a time to dissolve such a charge, which made up of so great calumnies, is grown inveterate and hard. These are truths, Athenians; so that I have concealed nothing from you, nor detracted or evaded any the least point, though I well knew I should incur their hatred. Which is an Argument, that I speak Truths, and that that is my Crimination, and those the causes of it: and whether now or hereafter you inquire into these things, you shall certainly find them to be as I have represented them to you. Thus far then let this be taken for a full answer before you, against the Crimes charged upon me by my first Accusers.  
To Melitus, a good man, and (as he saith himself) a lover of his City, 
Having answered the Articles of his first charge, he now converts to the Second; which he Recites.  and to my last Adversaries, I will endeavour to Answer anon. Meanwhile let us resume the Libel of Accusation plotted against me, and ratified by an Oath mutually given and taken by all of the Combination (for some Accusers there are, distinct from the former) which speaks thus.  
Socrates, contrary to Right and Equity, doth corrupt Touth; the Gods which the City judgeth to be Gods, he thinks to be no Gods; and introduceth new Powers Divine. This is my Accusation; the Heads whereof let us examine singly.  
He saith first, that I do contrary to Right and Equity, in that I corrupt Youth: 
The first Article thereof; which he dissolves: demonstrating it to be objected to him by Miletus merely out of malice, not of respect to the virtuous Education of Youth, which Melitus neither understood, nor studied.  and I affirm that Miletus himself dotth contrary to Right and Equity, in that he Jesteth in a serious matter: while he brings another into peril of losing his life, pretending himself to be highly solicitous, and to labour exceedingly about these matters, which have never been any part of his care [perhaps never (unless upon this occasion) in his thoughts:] and that this is so, I will try to demonstrate to you. Come hither, O Melitus, and tell me, dost thou take care of nothing else, but that young men may become virtuous to the highest degree? Very well. Now tell these, who may make these young men better: for this thou must needs know, since thou hast so long and deeply considered the matter. For me thou hast (as thou sayest) taken already corrupting them: and upon that account now violently bringest me, by a studied and formal Accusation, to be judged by these. Tell us then, who may instruct and improve youth in Virtue? inform us, and show these men who it is. Thou seest, Melitus, thou art silent, and hast not a word to reply: Nor doth it seem to misbecome thee; and so is a just Argument thou never troubledst thy Head with this care: yet tell me, in good earnest, who may make these better? The Laws. Of that I inquire not: but what man, who first hath known also this very thing, namely the Laws. These Judges, Socrates. How sayest thou Melitus? can these teach young men, and refine them? yes. Can all these, or some of them do that work, and others not? All. Thou sayest well, by Juno; and dost commemorate good store of those who are able to help. But what? can these Auditors also reform men? They can. And the Senators too? The Senators also. Well then, Melitus; we must now see whether they who make Speeches to the people, corrupt young men, or reform them. And these too. It seems then, Athenians, that all render young men good and honest, except myself, who alone debauch them. Sayest thou so? I again and again affirm it. Thou imprintest upon me a brand of great infelicity indeed: but answer me, hast thou the same Opinion of Horses also? do all men make them better, one only excepted, who corrupts them? or the contrary to this, is there any one who can do it: or few skilful in Horsemanship, but on the contrary many, who while they dress, manage and use Horses, wholly spoil them? is it not so of both Horses, and all other Animals? Certainly it is, whether thou and Anytus affirm or deny it. Since young men would attain to a certain very high felicity, if there were only one to corrupt them, and all besides would improve them, But thou, Melitus hast sufficiently demonstrated, that thou takest no care of young men: and clearly showest thy negligence, that thou hast never laboured in these matters, whereof thou accusest me. 
The falsity of the same Article evinced also by this; that if Socrates had corrupted Youth, Melitus ought, according to the prescript of the Law, first to have privately admonished him, before he had accused him thereof to the Magistrates: but this he had never done: Ergo.  Furthermore Melitus, resolve us this question also by Jove; whether it is better to dwell among good and sober Citizens, or among evil and debauch? Answer me, prithee; for I ask nothing difficult. Do not evil men always bring some Evil upon those who live near them: and on the contrary, good Neighbours bring good? most certainly. Is there any who had rather receive damage from those with whom he converseth, than benefit? Answer, prithee; for the Law commands thee to Answer: Is any willing to suffer Detriment? By no means. Go too then; seeing thou hast hurried me into Judgement, as a corrupter of youth, and Patron of Vice; do I this willingly, or unwillingly? Willingly, as I conceive. What then, Melitus? art thou so much Wiser than I? thou a young man, dost thou? so far excel me an old one, as to understand, that evil men bring evil upon those who chief converse with them; but good men bring good? and am I so great a Fool, as not to understand this, that if I debauch any Familiar, I shall be in danger of suffering some Evil from him: and so shall be willing to pull this so great Evil upon myself, as thou sayest? Herein, Melitus, I believe thee not, nor (I think) doth any man else. Wherefore either I do not corrupt youth, or I do it against my will: so that thou liest in both. If I corrupt unwillingly, the Law forbids all such to be brought hither into Judgement, who have offended unwillingly; but commands they be privately both instructed and admonished. For manifest it is, that upon instruction, I should cease to do what I did against my will: but thou hast avoided and declined to converse with me, and to admonish me; and instead of that, forcest me to this place of Judgement, whither the Law requires only such incorrigible Offenders to be brought, who need rather Coercion than admonition. But Athenians, this is evident, what I said before, that Melitus never had any the least care of this matter.  
Yet tell us, Melitus, how thou canst prove that I corrupt Youth: 
A soft and smooth Transition to the Second Article; viz. that Socrates held there were no Gods, and introduced others than those the Athenians worshipped; and a demonstration thereof to be absurd, and repugnant to itself.  is it from the form of the indictment thou hast drawn against me; as if I thought those not to be Gods, whom the City holds to be Gods; and introduced new Divinities, and by teaching this, corrupt Youth? all this I strongly aver. By those very Gods then, whereof we now speak, explain thyself more clearly to me, and to these here present, for I cannot understand, whether thou meanest, that I teach there are no Gods, (and I hold there are some Gods, nor am I truly without God, nor do I in that offend) or that I hold not those to be Gods, that the City believes to be such, but some others. is this that whereof thou accusest me, that I hold there are others? or this, that I hold there are none.  
Prithee, Melitus, why sayest thou this? do I hold neither the Sun, nor Moon to be Gods, 
'tis worthy to be observed, that here Socrates doth not plainly deny the Sun and Moon and other Deities of the Ethnics to be Gods; for that had made him guilty; but wisely Eludes the danger, by Transferring that Doctrine upon Anaxagoras; and by reducing his accuser to the point of proving, that he held there was no God, which is impossible.  as other men think them to be? Not by Jove, Judges: for the Sun he affirms to be a Stone, and the Moon Earth. Thou thinkest thou accusest Anaxagoras, my Melitus; and so contemnest these here, and supposest them unlearned, and ignorant that the Books of Anaxagoras Clazomenius are full of such matters. Now would Young men learn from me these Doctrines, which they might sometimes pick up from the Music-room of the Playhouse, for not much more than a dragm? I allow thee to laugh at Socrates, if he feigned these Opinions to be his, when they are wholly absurd and foolish. But tell me, by Jove, Melitus,; thinkest thou that I hold there is no God? I think so. Thou speakest things incredible, Melitus; such as neither thyself dost, nor canst believe. This man, Athenians, shows himself injurious and petulant; and to have brought this accusation merely for Reproach, and from impotency of Youthful Malepartness, and distemper of Brain. He seems to have proposed a kind of Riddle, or darksome saying, out of design to tempt me; whether forsooth that Wise man Socrates (saith he) will perceive that I jest, and contradict myself: or I can deceive both him and those who hear me? For, this man appears to speak things repugnant each to other, in his very Libel of Accusation: as if he said, Socrates offends in that he thinks there are no Gods. This truly is the part of a mocker.  
Consider with me, how he seems to speak this contradiction; and do thou Melitus, answer us: and ye remember (as I besought you before) not to be disordered to a Tumult, 
Another answer from the Hypothesis of his Adversaries. They Object, he pretended to Divine inspiration; and yet charge him with denying Divine poweis; which is a manifest contradiction.  if I speak to you after my usual manner. Is there among Mortals any one man, Melitus, who thinking there are Humane things, can at the same time not think there are Men? Let him answer, Athenians; and let there be no disturbance. Is there any man, Melitus, who holding there is such a thing as Horsemanship, can hold there are no Horses? can he think there are Ministries of Pipers, and Modes and Tunes, but no Pipers? certainly there is no man so void of all sense and reason. If thou refusest to answer, I will answer for thee and others. But answer me this further; is there any who confesseth there are things Divine, and can yet deny the being of Gods? No man. How slow thou art? thou hast hardly afforded an answer, though forced thereunto by these. But dost thou say, that I hold and teach there are Daemoniae [i. certain Divine Powers] whether New or Old? if then, as thou confessest, I hold there are Divine Powers, and I Swear the same in the Bill of my Answer, 'tis of undeniable necessity, that I hold also there are Daemons, i. e. Gods. Is not this necessary? 'Tis so, for I take thy silence for Confession. But these Daemons, 
An amplification of the same Argument from hence, that all Relatives imply the Existence each of other.  do We conceive them to be Gods, or the Sons of Gods. Dost thou affirm, or deny this? I affirm it. If then I hold there are Daemons, as thou affirmest, if some Gods be Daemons; this is the very thing, wherein I affirm thou dost Jest in obscure Words: when thou sayest, I think not that there are Gods, and on the contrary think there are Gods: seeing thou grantest, that I think there are Daemons.  
And if these Daemons be the Sons of Gods, Bastards begotten upon either Nymphs, or some others, such as are vulgarly talked of; what man can hold them to be the Sons of Gods, and yet hold that the Gods themselves are not? for it would be equally absurd, as if a man should affirm there are Sons of Horses, or of Asses, Mules; but deny Horses & Asses themselves to be in rerum natura. But Melitus, thou hast form this Accusation against me, either that thou mightest Experiment my skill in Reasoning, or certainly because thou hadst nothing to object to me as a true crime. Couldst thou persuade any man who hath but a spark of sense and understanding, that the same man can hold there are [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, & 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] Divine things, and yet at the same time deny there are either Daemons, or Gods, or Heroes? this cannot be possible. And so, Athenians, it is not necessary for me further to demonstrate, that I am not in the least point guilty of the charge contrived by Melitus against me: seeing these particulars seem abundantly cleared and proved.  

Having refuted Melitus in all parts of his Indictment, so that he need not doubt of Absolution from impartial Judges: he yet shows his danger from the prejudice and inveterate hatred of the people, always insense to good men.  Now ye may take it for an evident Truth, that (as I said afore) among the multitude also there was raised up very great hatred against me: and that is it which if any thing do, will take away my life; not Melitus, nor Anitus, but the very Crimination and Odium of the people; which hath destroyed many other good men, and will likewise destroy many in times to come; for there is nothing of incommodity, if this plague ended in me. But some one may here ask, Art not thou ashamed, Socrates, to undertake this so great an Enterprise, which may bring thee into present danger of Death? and I think I may return him this just Answer. Thou art grossly mistaken whoever thou art, 
That a virtuous and valiant man is not, even by death itself, deterred from doing his duty; which he confirms by Examples.  if thou thinkest that a brave and valiant man makes any difference betwixt, or is at all concerned in life or death, where any, though but little Utility may from thence result: and that he doth not, when he undertakes any Enterprise, throughly consider this, whether he therein performs Things just or unjust, whether he doth the work of a Good or Ill man. For according to that thy reason, all the Heroes, or Half-Gods who died at Troy, were wicked and profligate; as well others, as the Son of Thetis, who that he might suffer nothing of dishonour, so far contemned death, that after his Mother, the Goddess herself, opposing his desire of killing Hector, had assured him that if he to Revenge the slaughter of his Friend and Kinsman Patroclus, should kill Hector, he should himself be slain; in these very words (if I be not mistaken.)  Hector once killed, thou too shalt surely die: 
He nevertheless persisted in his Resolution, despising death and danger; he rather feared, lest Surviving, he should be held dishonest and unfaithful, if he vindicated not the injuries of his Friends; and thereupon instantly retorts. Let me die punishing an injurious man, lest here exposed to the Laughter and scorn of the Greeks, I sit on Shipboard an unprofitable Burden of the Earth. Thinkest thou that he was concerned in death, or any other danger. Thus it is, Athenians: in what place soever any man is set, either by his own Judgement that it will be best, for most commodious for him, or by command of the Magistrate, he is obliged therein constantly to persist, whatever danger threatens him; nor is he to consider any other thing so much as this, how he may avoid Dishonour. Truly Athenians, I should involve myself in a very great Wickedness, if having hitherto, even to the Hazard of my Life, constantly maintained my station in that place, n which they whom you had constituted my Generals, have set me, whether in Potidaea, or in Amphipolis, or in Delium: 
He argueth a mi●ori ad wajus, if the Authority of a mortal General, be so great, as to oblige all under his Command, to maintain their stations with invincible constancy, what ought we to think, of the authority of God.  I should now at length when God hath ordered and constituted me in that degree [as I have hitherto conceived, and with full persuasion of mind entertained that Judgement] that it behoves me to spend my life in Philosophising; and so to search and throughly examine both myself and others: commit a very heinous sin, if for fear of death, or any other terror, I should abandon my station, and desert my office. And then certainly any man might drag me to judgement without injustice, for that I, from fear of death, disobeying the command of the Oracle, held there are no Gods; and for that I thought myself to be wise, when I am not so. For to fear Death, O ye men, is nothing else but for a man to think himself wise, who is far from being so, for he thinks he knows what he doth not know. For no mortal knows, whether Death be not man's greatest good: and yet they fear death, as if they certainly knew it to be of all Evils the greatest. And who sees not, that it is an infamous and shameful ignorance, to think one's self to know that, whereof he is utterly ignorant? But I, Athenians, herein very much differ from many men: and if I durst affirm myself wiser than any other in any one thing, it should be in this, that I understand nothing concerning the state and condition of those below; nor think I know it. This one thing I certainly know; that to do injury to any man, or to rebel against our Superiors, whether God or Men, is sinful and shameful. But as for those things, which I know not whether they be good or evil; certainly I never will either fear or avoid them, rather than those which I certainly know to be evil. If therefore repudiating the 
Since it would be a crime equivalent to Atheism or ●●piety, for him to relinquish his office of reproving men; he declares his firm resolution to persist in the execution thereof, in contempt of all danger, yea of death itself.  Counsel of Anytus, who saith, that either I ought not to have been brought to this judgement at all; or that since I am come hither, you are in prudence obliged to adjudge me to capital punishment: and subjoins this reason, that if I escape condemnation, it will come to pass, that your Sons eagerly, and with zeal pursuing the Lessons I teach them, will all be wholly corrupted: if (I say) ye should acquit and dismiss me, and say to me, Socrates, at this time we give no credit at all to Anytus, but acquit and discharge thee; yet on this condition that henceforth thou never again meddle with this Disquisition, that is, never more Philosophise; and if thou art found to do it, thou shalt certainly be punished with death: if (as I said) ye would acquit me upon these conditions; I should tell ye, that indeed I acknowledge and thank ye for your good will and favour, but choose rather to obey God than you, and that while I live, and am able to do it, I will never cease to Philosophise, and to teach and exhort every one of you whom I shall meet, and after my manner to inculcate thus. And thou, who also art a Citizen 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, sive (ut Ciceroni vocatur) Conformatio, qua Socrates sibi personam, quae non adest, adesse consingit.  of Athens, a City both exceeding great, and most renowned, as well for wisdom as power; fearest thou not to undertake the menage and conduct of an affair of importance, and to acquire Honour; that those [advantages] may be accumulated upon thee; and yet takest no care, no consideration of prudence and verity, i. e. of thy own mind, to render it most accomplished and noble? If any man should desire contentiously to oppugn this my admonition, and affirm, that he doth take care also of those [most excellent] things, [prudence and truth:] I would not presently dismiss him, and go my way; but would interrogate, and by strict examination sift him, and so convince him. If I conceived him to be unfurnished with virtue, though he should never so confidently own himself to be therewith adorned; I would rebuke him, and severely tell him, that he hath no esteem for things of greatest moment, but puts too great value upon things vile and contemptible. And this will I do to every man, young or old, Citizen or stranger, whomsoever I shall meet: but more studiously to Citizens, as you are more nearly related to me. For so (believe me) God commands me to do. Nor do I think a greater good can come to your City, 
After the divine authority of his commission to reform men; he here asserts the excellent utility of it.  than that I perform this service to God, For, addicting myself entirely to this work, and pretermitting all other affairs, I walk up and down with no other design but to persuade you, young and old, to esteem neither bodies, nor riches, nor any thing else, before, nor so much as your mind, that it be with all possible speed refined to the last degree of goodness. And I give this reason: that Virtue hath not its being from riches; but from Virtue flow both riches, and all other goods, as well privately as publicly to men. Now if I corrupt youth by saying these things, let them be hurtful: but if any one avouches, that I say other things besides these, he saith nothing. In fine, I shall answer to these things, do ye, Athenians, believe Anytus, or not; discharge me, or not; do according to your pleasure: I will never do any thing but this, though I were to suffer many deaths. Be not disturbed, Athenians, but continue the calm attention I begged of ye; lest you excite a tumult by reason of what I shall speak: but hear me patiently. Which if ye shall do ye will (I think) receive from thence no little emolument. Other things besides I shall speak, that perhaps will move ye to exclaim: but pray, forbear to do so. For be well assured, that if ye shall put me to death, me, such a man as I describe myself to be: ye will bring greater loss to your City, to yourselves, than to me: for neither shall Melitus, nor Anytus hurt me in the least, nor could they. Since I think it impossible, that a good man should be violated by a wicked man. He will murder me perhaps, or expel, or disgrace me; and he, and some others will account those to be great evils: but I think them not to be such. Nay I rather hold, that to do the actions that he doth, is a great evil indeed: for he attempts to inflict punishment unjustly upon an innocent man. Now therefore Athenians, I am so far from making a Defense for myself (as some may expect) that I will speak rather for your sakes; lest by giving sentence against me, ye heinously sin against the gift of God that is in me: 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Que verba ipsemet Sa●ctas Apostolus Paulus alicubi emphatice recivit.  for if ye kill me, ye shall not easily find such another, one who (that I may speak truly and candidly, though bluntly and ridiculously) being by God appointed to the care and oversight of this your City, am constituted supervisor thereof, and Moderator; that I might sit upon it, as upon a Horse great and generous indeed, but by reason of his huge bulk, dull and slow, and to be excited by sharp pricks. Exactly so God seems to me, to have placed me over the City, that I may incite ye, and persuade ye, end reprove every Mother's Son of ye, ceasing not daily to sit by [and admonish] every one in every place. Such another [monitor] Athenians, will not easily come to ye: and therefore (if ye believe me, spare me. Though ye perhaps, filled with indignation, as men roused up from profound sleep, and following the Counsel of Anytus, rejecting mine, shall without remorse put me to death: yet be most confident, you shall spend the remainder of your life in drowsiness, unless God, taking care of ye, shall send some other [to excite ye.] And that I am such a man, by the special favour and bounty of God given to the City, ye may collect from hence. It seems not consentaneous 
A farther proof of the Divine authority of his Office, from his neglect of all his private and Domestic affairs, only that he might execute that with diligence, for the Public good.  to Humane reason, that I, casting away all care of my own private affairs, have so tempered myself, as to endure so many years together in that contempt of my domestic concernments; and wholly apply myself to the administration of yours, by catching hold of, and going unto every one, and as a Father, or elder Brother, inculcating to ye, that ye should studiously addict yourselves to Virtue. If from these advices of mine I received any emolument, or any reward, to my own private uses, and gave them to that end; that would seem to rely upon some probable reason; but ye see, that my very Adversaries themselves, who have impudently forged so many lies against me, could not yet to their highest improbity adjoin that shameless boldness, either to accuse me, or oppose any witness to me, as if I had exacted or asked a reward from any one at any time. And of this truth, I might bring my poverty as a competent, and (I think) a convincing witness.  
Now it may perhaps seem absurd, that I running to and fro to several men, and with extreme diligence busying myself, should give counsel to each one apart; but not dare to address myself in public to the people, to give the same advises to the City.  

The reason why he had not addressed his Counsels to the City in general, but only to particular men, viz. that he was forbidden to meddle with the public, by his Daemonium; (vide Apuleium de Socratis Daemonio.)  The cause of this, is what most of ye have heard from me, oftentimes, in various places. I have something Divine, and a Daemonium, a certain Voice: at which Melitus indeed in his accusation railed expressly. This began with me from a Boy, namely a certain voice, which when it hath been perceptible, always recals me from that thing I was going to do; but never impells me to undertake any thing; this is that which forbids me to interest myself in matters of the State, or of public concernment to the City. And indeed it seems with admirable prudence to oppose me [therein.] For Athenians, 
That he might decline the danger impendent over all good men, who interest themselves in the administration of State affairs; and so the longer perform his duty, in reprehending men.  if in times past I had taken upon me the administration of Civil affairs, truly I had long since perished; so that I could not have been any way useful either to you, or to myself. Be not inflamed with indignation against me speaking the truth; for there is no man, who if he shall ingeniously and boldly oppose either you, or any other people, and hinder the doing of many acts of injustice and impiety in a City, can ever be preserved in safety: and whoever sincerely contends for the maintenance of Justice, must be obliged, if he desire to live any the least time in peace and safety, to lead a private life, without interessing himself in the administration of public businesses. Hereof I will give you very strong arguments, not words, but (what ye more value) realities and matters of fact. 
He artesteth his constant adherence to Equity and Justice, even when he thereby incurred present danger of death; and that by many instances yet fresh in the memory of some of his Judges.  Hear therefore what happened to me, that ye may understand, that I have in no respect yielded to any in the defence of what is just, for fear of death; no not when I seemed to incur present danger of destruction, by refusing to yield. I will tell ye things Offensive, and pertinent to this way of pleading causes in Court, yet true. For, I, Athenians, never bore Office in the Commonwealth, yet attained to the dignity of Senator; and our Tribe Antiochis obtained the Lieutenancy of the Supreme power, when ye censured ten Military Officers to be condemned to death, for not burying the slain in a Naval fight, and this against Law, as ye after judged. Then I being one of the Council of Athens opposed you, that ye might not give a judgement contrary to Law; and made a decree contrary to yours, the Orators then ready to call me to the Bar, and appoint a day for my Trial, ye also scenting, and by acclamations approving their Indictment: yet I chose rather to be in danger with Law and Justice, than assent to your unjust votes, notwithstanding the terror of imprisonment or death. And these things fell out at that time, when the City was governed by equal Democracy: but when it afterward fell under the domination of a Few, the thirty Tyrants sent me the fifth man to Tholus, that we should bring from Salomine, Leontes, Salaminius, to be put to death, as they commanded many others also, to the end they might derive the envy of their [own] many crimes upon the heads of many others. Then I not by words, but actions, demonstrated, that the fear of death (that I may speak a little roughly and clownishly) touched me not: and that my grand care and concernment was, that I might commit nothing unjust and impious. Nor truly did the command and government of those Tyrants, however violent and cruel, so terrify me, as to make me do any unjust act. But after we departed from Tholus, four [of the Ambassadors] went on to Salamine, and brought away Leontes; and I went home: and perhaps I should for this cause have been put to death, had not that Tyranny been soon after subverted and destroyed: and of these traverses I have many witnesses. Now whether do ye think, that I could have continued safe so many years together, if I had employed myself in matters belonging to the State: and so deporting myself, as became a good man, had vindicated and maintained just causes, and thereunto seriously and studiously devoted all my devoirs? It had been impossible, Athenians; nor any men else. But truly through the whole course of my life, both publicly if I acted any thing, and privately, I still have kept to the same rule, never to yield to any man, neither to other, nor to any one of these, whom my accusers individuously call my Disciples, in any thing contrary to right and equity. Nor have I ever been Preceptor to any man: but if any were desirous to hear my discourses, whether he were young or old, I never denied him this; nor do I dispute to get money, or if money be wanting, less: but with equal freedom offer myself to be interrogated, to the rich and to the poor, and whosoever pleases, hears my answers. If by these my answers and conferences, any man hath become either sober, and of good and honest conversation, or debauched and vicious; 'tis not just, that I should bear the blame thereof; seeing I neither taught, nor promised to teach any man. And if any shall say, he hath learned, or heard from me in private, any thing, that all might not with equal freedom hear: be ye most assured, he speaks most untruly. But the reason why some are delighted with frequent and long conversation, ye have heard Athenians. 'Tis wholly this, as I declared; that those who are admitted to my conferences, are much pleased to hear such who think themselves to be wise, but are not so, examined and refuted; for this is not unpleasant. And that I should thus confute such, I affirm to be a duty imposed upon me by God, both by Vaticinations, and by Dreams, and all other ways, whereby Oracles are wont to deliver commands. These things, Athenians, are both true, and such as may be easily proved. For if I now of late corrupt some young men, and have long since corrupted others; 
He appeals to the testimony of some present, who had often heard his moral discourses, whether he had ever endeavoured to corrupt their minds, or not.  it would be probable, that some of those who have arrived at years of more maturity, and the borders of old age, when they come to understand me to have been to them author and adviser of some certain evil, would now rise up against me, and accuse me, and require me to be delivered up to punishment: and if they would not, yet it were fit that some of their Kinsmen, Fathers, or Brothers, or others, whether by Affinity or Alliance nearly related to them, should in case their Kinsmen had suffered any thing of detriment from me, remember the injury, and demand punishment to be inflicted upon me; but here are many whom I see. First this Crito here, my equal in years, and my Countryman, the Father of this Critobulus: then Lysanias the Sphettensian, the Father of this Aeschines: and Antiphon the Cephisensian, Father of Epigenes. These others then, whose Brethren lived with me in this way of conversation familiarly, Nicostratus Son of Zotidas, Brother of Theodotus (but Theodotus is dead, so that he cannot now ask his Brother to impeach me) and this Paralus, Son of Demodicus, whose Brother is Theages; and Adimantus of Ariston, whose Brother here is Plato; and Aeantidorus, whose Brother is Apollodorus, and many others I could show, of whom it was fit some one at least should have been named as witness by Melitus in his accusation; and if he forgot to do it then, let him produce any one of them now, I will give him leave freely; let him declare whether he hath any matter of this kind. But ye shall find the contrary, Athenians; namely that all these are ready to help and vindicate me, who (say Melitus and Anytus) corrupt and wrong their Kinsmen. Truly, if those whom I have corrupted and infected, should endeavour to assist and vindicate me, that would carry a plausible face of reason: but if those who have felt no contagion of my corruptions, ancient men, and by consanguinity nearly related to those whom I have corrupted, stand for and defend me; they can seem to be impelled to that defence, by no other reason but what is right and just; that is, because they are conscious that Melitus lieth, and I speak truth. Let therefore what I have hitherto said, Athenians, and other the like reasons be sufficient for my defence.  
But now some one may be offended at me, 
He professeth not to court the favour, nor to excite the commiseration of his Judges, by the usual arts of pusillanimous men, when standing at the Bar to receive their sentence.  if he call to mind, that he being brought into less danger than this of mine is, petitioned and courted the Judges with many tears, and brought his children hither, to excite pity and commiseration to the height, and brought also to the same purpose many of his Kindred and Friends; but observes me to do no such thing, though brought into extreme peril of my life: and considering this with himself, become the more enraged and more embittered against me, and so in anger give his vote or sentence for my condemnation. If any of you be thus affected, I will not address to him with prayers and supplications, to mitigate his displeasure; yet think I may with equity and fair reason speak thus to him. I also, O thou very good man, have some Kinsmen; for (as Homer saith) I am not born from an Oak, nor of a stone, but from men. I then have Kinsmen too, Athenians, and three Sons; one a young Lad; two little Boys; yet I have brought neither of them hither, to beg of ye for their sakes to be  to me, and absolve me. What then? will I do none of those [submissive] things? Not of pertinacious arrogancy, Athenians, 
Yet not out of obstinate arrogancy, nor of contempt of his Judges; but only to conserve his own and their honour and dignity.  or in contempt of you (& whether I have courage and constancy to suffer death, or not, I shall elsewhere declare) but to assert both my own and your honour and reputation, and so that also of the whole City. It seems to me indecent and dishonest, that I should do any of those [ungenerous] things; I who am of this age, and have acquired (whether deservedly or not) so great a name [for wisdom.] This than I most firmly resolve upon, to do my devoir that Socrates may differ from other men Were those who among you seem to excel, whether in sapience, or in fortitude, or in any other virtue whatsoever, such as ye would have me to be, [afraid of death;] certainly no small disgrace would be thereby fixed upon your City. Some such I have beheld, when they stood here expecting the sentence of death to pass upon them: who though they thought themselves brave fellows, yet brought into those straits, committed things dishonourable, even to admiration, as thinking they should suffer some grievous misery if they died; as if (forsooth) they should be immortal, if ye put them not to death. These seem to me to bring a shameful mark of ignominy and reproach upon your City: forasmuch as any stranger will hence take occasion of thinking basely of us, namely that among the Athenians, even those who as more excellent in virtue, are preferred to places of highest dignity and power in the State, nothing differ from [timorous] Women. These things, Athenians, 'tis not fit ye should do yourselves, who have acquired honour and renown, and are highly esteemed [both at home and abroad:] nor ought ye to permit them to be done by us; but rather to make it appear by effect, that ye will rather condemn him who shall introduce those Theatrical fopperies, and devices to raise commiseration, into your judgements, and so expose your City to scorn and derision; than him who calmly expects the event of your judgement. Now besides this care we ought to have of the Honour of our City, 
And because 'tis inconsistent with the duty and oath of a Judge, to admit of supplications for mercy.  there is this also adjoined, that to me it seems not equal and just, that we should with supplications court the Judge, and by the force and efficacy of those prayers, decline the rigour of his sentence, and so be absolved: I think, he is only to be rightly informed, and by certain arguments persuaded. For the Judge sits not here, to confer grace and favour, and to show indulgence; but to judge righteously. To this he is bound by solemn Oath, that according to the best of his understanding, he shall not by grace and favour pervert right, but judge according to the prescript and form of the Laws. 'Tis not therefore fit, that either ye should accustom yourselves, or we be accustomed to perjury: for neither could do it without violation of piety and religion. Do not then, Athenians, require this from me, that I should in your presence perform things which I take to be neither honest, nor just, nor pious; and the rather because I stand here accused by this Melitus of impiety; for should I by begging and entreating endeavour to induce ye to absolve me, and by [fawning] words as it were compel ye so strictly bound by Oath; truly I should convince you to be of opinion, that there are no Gods; and while I defend myself from that false accusation, effectually accuse myself to be guilty thereof, as if I thought there are no Gods. Whereas truly I am far from being of that [absurd] opinion; for I hold Athenians, more certainly than any of my accusers, that there are Gods: and to you, and to God I freely leave the issue of my judgement, that he may determine of me as may be both for my good, and yours.   

A new Speech after his Condemnation.  
That I may with the less regret and disquiet of mind bear this my disaster, 
He comforts himself, both with his prevision of the event of his judgement, and with the paucity of Votes condemning him.  namely that I am by your Votes condemned; very many things concur to afford me help and consolation; among the rest this chief, that this hath not happened to me otherwise than I believed and expected; but the number of Votes given on both sides, I more admire. For, I thought I should have been condemned, not by so small, but a much greater excess of Balls: now it appears, that if only thirty Balls had been otherwise cast, I should have been absolved. From the accusation of Melitus therefore (if I be not mistaken) I am free and clear: nor only that, but this likewise is evident to all, that if Anytus and Lycon had not risen up with a new supplement to accuse me, he had been fined in the sum of a thousand dragms, 
By the Athenian law a man condemned to capital punishment, might choose either exile, or perpetual imprisonment, or a pecuniary mulct; which was called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a substitution, or commutation of punishment. This Socrates refuseth, and resolves rather to die; as Xenophon also recordeth of him. Yet briefly recounting his own merits, he affirms himself to deserve from the Athenians, not punishment, but some ample reward answerable to his age and office; in particular a pension for his life from the State.  for that he had not on his side so much as a fifth part of the Votes. He than hath my life for a Mulct. Let it be so. And with what punishment shall I on the other side think it equal to be mulcted myself, Athenians? 'tis clear, with that whereof I am worthy. What then? what have I deserved to suffer, or pay, because in my whole life, I have not by idle silence concealed what I knew; but contemned the pursuit of those things that others with all possible contention of mind covet and hunt after, riches and great estates, military commands, public assemblies, and other dignities and sodalities confirmed by oaths, factions also and parties which are frequently made in the City: conceiving myself destined to nobler studies, than that flying to the helps and defences of those [uncertain] things, I should from hence draw the hopes of conserving myself: in fine, I applied not myself to the attainment of such things, which if I had attained, I should have reaped from them nothing of utility either to myself, or to you; but made it my chief business, and constant labour, by addressing to every one, to oblige all, by the greatest and noblest of benefits; namely by persuading everyman of you to make it his first care to become virtuous and prudent to the last degree; nor to take greater care about affairs belonging to the City, than the City itself; and that by the same reason, care was to be taken of other matters in the same manner. What therefore is it, that I, being such a man, have deserved to suffer? Some great good certainly, Athenians, if ye estimate things according to the dignity, verity, and nature of them, and return a just reward. And in truth there is due to me such a good, as may be suitable and convenient to my person. And what is convenient to a man poor and benefic, who gives himself wholly up to admonishing and urging you on to virtue, and therefore hath need to be exempted from other businesses, that he may freely and without distractions attend that good work? Nothing doubtless is more convenient, Athenians, than that he be nourished in the 
* The public Granary or Storehouse of Corn in Athens.  Prytaneum: and this certainly with greater reason, than if any of ye had in the Olympic games brought home Victory either from the Horse-race, or Chariots, whether of two or four Horses apiece. For he can but make ye to appear happy; but I, to be really so: and he wants not a relief of aliments or food, but I do. If then, as equity and justice require, a due reward be to be defined and assigned to me; this truly will be my reward, to be fed at the charge of the State in the Prytaneum.  

For this his freedom of claiming a maintenance from the City, he gives this reason; that he cannot assent to an act of injustice, though done against himself.  While I say this, perhaps I seem to speak as vainly, as I was thought to speak arrogantly and obstinately afore, when I declared against that way of moving Judges to commiseration by prayers and supplications. But this, Athenians, is not so: but rather thus. My constant persuasion and resolve is, not to do injury willingly and knowingly to any man living; but I prevail not upon ye to believe this my profession, for the time we speak together, is but short. When if ye had among ye a Law, such as is in force among other Nations, concerning giving sentence of death, that the space of not only one, but very many days, should intercede betwixt the hearing of the cause, and pronouncing of Judgement in causes capital: doubtless ye would approve of my reasons and plea: but now in so short a time 'tis not possible to wash off the accusations of so great crimes.  
Now being fixed in this resolution, 
Reasons why he chooseth neither exile, nor imprisonment, nor fine; but death.  not to do injury to any, I am very far from doing it to myself; that is, from pronouncing myself guilty of this evil, and assigning to myself some other punishment in lieu thereof. What? shall I, as if I feared to suffer the punishment to which Melitus adjudgeth me, (which I profess not to know whether it be good or evil) choose instead thereof that which I certainly know to be evil, & adjudge and condemn myself to suffer it? Imprisonment? To what end should I live in prison, perpetually in slavery to the will and command of the Eleven? A pecuniary mulct? and remain in prison until I have paid it? But, as I even now told ye, I have not money wherewith to pay a fine. Shall I suffer Exile? for to this punishment ye will perhaps addict me. Certainly I were much in love with life, Athenians, were I so inconsiderate, as not to be able to see, that if ye my Fellow-Citizens cannot endure the way of my conversation and discourses, but think them so offensive and hateful to ye, that now ye seek to be freed from them; others will less patiently endure them. I am far from this, Athenians. Wisely should I order my life indeed, if at this age departing from my City, and wand'ring to and fro in banishment through various Countries, I should prolong a miserable life. So certainly the case stands; wheresoever I shall come, young men will hear me discoursing, as here they do. If I repel them, they will on the other side expel me, and bring their Elders to do so too: if I not repel them, their Parents and Kindred will for their sakes expel me. Some man will say perhaps, what? Socrates; being expulsed the City, canst thou not live silent and quiet? What I shall say, is of that nature, as hardly to be insinuated into the belief of some of ye; for if I tell ye, that for me to be silent, is to resist God, and therefore it is not possible I should live in quiet; ye will not believe me, as if dissembling the matter in jest. But if I say this also; that it is the supreme happiness of mankind, daily to discourse of virtue, and of those other [excellent] things, concerning which ye hear me disputing, and examining both myself and others, (for without such scrutiny and examination, life is not life) ye will not give credit to me; and yet these are most certain truths, Athenians; though such as cannot easily be wrought into your belief. And with the same difficulty truly am I persuaded to pronounce myself worthy of any punishment. For if I had moneys by me, I would condemn myself in such a fine, as I should be able to pay (for that I should account no detriment to me) but I have no money: unless ye should proportion my fine to my ability; perhaps I should make a shift to pay down a mina 
The Mina Attica of silver, contained 25 sicles; and the sickle contained half an ounce; so that 12 ounces & half make a mina: a sum equal to 25 staters, or Belgic Florins, each of 20 stufers.  of silver; and therefore I fine myself at that rate. Plato here, Athenians, and Crito, and Critobulus, and Apollodorus bid me offer the price of thirty minae; and promise to be sureties for the payment thereof. This sum therefore I propose for my redemption, and they will be assiduous and competent sureties for the payment of it.  
But now, Athenians, ye shall erelong suffer ignominy and reproach, brought upon your City by those who desire to defame it; 
He freely reproaches the Athenians with their ingratitude, and inhumanity towards him.  namely that ye have murdered Socrates, a wise man. For though I be far from a wise man, yet they who seek to cast this disgrace upon ye, will say I am one. Would ye have expected but a little time, I should have prevented this your infamy, by dying of myself by the course of nature; for ye see my age, how far it is from [possibility of long] life, how nearly approaching to death. These things I say, not to all of ye, but to those only who have by their Suffrages doomed me to death: and to those I again and again proclaim the same. Ye think perhaps, Atheninians, that I have lost my cause for want of words, 
* And rejoiceth in the Justice of his cause, and of his defence.  by which I might have inclined you to approve of my defence, had I resolved to leave nothing in this matter unalledged, that I might escape punishment; but 'tis not so. I have lost my cause indeed for want, not of words, but of boldness and impudence, and that I was unwilling to speak things that would have been most grateful and pleasant to your ears: in particular, that ye might hear me wailing, and howling, and doing and speaking what I think highly unworthy of me; such as ye are accustomed to hear from others. But I even then thought, I was obliged to do nothing indecent and dishonest, in order to my evasion from danger: nor doth it now repent me, that I made my defence in that manner. Nay I had rather die, having made my defence in this manner, than live by making it in that, [abjectly and poorly.] For neither in Judgement, nor in War, 
An honourable death is to be preferred to a dishonourable life.  ought any man to endeavour to avoid death by any way or means whatsoever; for in many Battles this is clearly evident, that death may be easily avoided, if a man, throwing away his arms, cast himself a suppliant at the feet of the victorious and pursuing enemy, and beg his life. There are also very many other arts and shifts of declining danger in all occurrents, and of avoiding of death; if a man will adventure to say and do any thing, [however indecent and dishonourable.] To avoid death, is not difficult, Athenians: but 'tis very difficult indeed, to avoid improbity, which runs on swifter than death. And now truly I, old and slow, am catcht by one that is slower [by death:] but my accusers, who are vehement and fierce, are overtaken by that which is swifter, by improbity. And now I go away, by your command to suffer the penalty of death: but these men are by truth itself condemned in the mulct of improbity and injustice. I stand to the punishment appointed for me: and they stand to theirs. And these things ought so to be; and they have, in my opinion, succeeded conveniently and opportunely.  
Now ye who have condemned me, 
Converting his Speech to those who had condemned him, he predicts the evils to come upon them, for their putting an innocent man to death. Concerning the event of which prediction, read Diogen. Laertius, in vita Socratis.  I desire to foretell you, as by Oracle, the calamities that shall come upon ye: for I am now arrived at that [critical] time, wherein men are most able in the faculty of Divining things to come; namely when they are dying. I say then, O ye men, whosoever shall put me to death, that soon after my death, punishments shall overtake ye, much more grievous than the death ye inflict upon me: for thereby ye now design to free yourselves from the labour of giving an account of your life: but the event shall be altogether contrary to your expectation, as I affirm. There shall rise up to reprove ye, many, whom hitherto I have repressed, nor have ye felt them: and they shall so much the more severely rebuke ye, by how much the younger ye are; and ye shall be vehemently offended even to indignation. For if ye think, by kill men, to restrain and keep under those, who are minded to upbraid and convince ye, that ye take a wrong course to prevent that trouble; and to reproach ye for your dishonest life: ye are grossly mistaken. For that way of freeing yourselves, is neither sufficiently efficacious, nor honest: but the best, most honourable, and easiest way is this; not to hinder others, but to render yourselves virtuous to the highest degree. Having then thus prophesied to those who have condemned me, I leave them.  
But to ye who have absolved me, 
To his Friends, he avows his confidence of happiness in his death, and the presignification th' reof by his Daemonium.  I shall gladly speak of what hath just now happened; while the Magistrates stay here employed in other affairs, and I have a short respite, before I depart to the place where I must die; and for so short a time do ye, Athenians, expect me; for nothing hinders but we may speak together, while we have the liberty. To you who are my Friends, I will declare, what is the signification of this my disaster. For, Judges, (and in calling ye Judges, I do ye but right) there hath happened to me an accident well worthy admiration. That presaging and prophetie Voice of my Daemonium, frequent to me at several times of my life past, was wont to check and countermand me, even in things of the least moment, if I were about to enterprise any affair imprudently: but now these Occurrents, which ye see, have happened unto me, which any one might imagine to be evils in extremity: and yet that sign of God hath not contradicted me, neither in the morning when I came forth, nor when I ascended into the Pulpit [or pleading chair] nor in my speech, whatsoever I was delivering. In other speeches, it did often interrupt me: but now in this action, it no ways opposed me in any thing I said or did. And what do I conceive to be the reason of this? I will explain it to ye. This event [of my condemnation] is very happy to me. We are not just Estimators of things, whoever of us think death to be an evil. Hereof, this hath been to me a great argument; for doubtless that usual sign would have resisted me, if I had gone about any thing but what was truly good. Thus we may with certain judgement determine of the matter. 
That to good men, there can be nothing of evil in death; he proves by this Dilemma. Either all sense is extinguished by death; or men's Souls remain after death. If there be no sense, there must be eternal quiet; if the Soul survive, then there must be a state of extreme felicity to the Souls of good men, in the society of the Blessed. Hence Seneca seems to have borrowed that two edged argument against fear of death: Mors nos aut consumit, aut emittit; emissis meliora restant, onere detracto; consamptis nihil restat. Epist. 24.  A strong hope possesses me, 'tis happy for me, that I am sent to death; for one of these two is absolutely necessary; Either death utterly deprives us of all sense, or by death we pass from hence to another place. Wherefore, whether all sense be extinguished, and death be like that sleep, which sometimes brings most calm quiet, without the [deluding] phantasms of Dreams; good Gods, what advantage it is to die! for I think, if any man were obliged to take particular notice of, and set apart that night, in which he slept so profoundly and quietly, as not to be sensible of any the least disturbance from dreams; and then comparing it with all other nights, yea and days too, of his whole life past, would observe, which of all those nights or days he had passed more sweetly and pleasantly; I am of opinion, that not only a man of private and humble condition, but even the greatest of Kings, would find such nights to be easily numerable, in comparison of other whether days or nights. If then death be but like such a sound and undisturbed sleep, I call it gain or advantage: for all time seems to be nothing more than one night. But if it be true (as [wise] men have affirmed and taught) that death is a passing hence into those places or regions, which the deceased inhabit: 'tis more happy for thee, when thou shalt have escaped from those who will have themselves to be accounted Judges, to come to those who are rightly called Judges, and who are said there to sit in judgement, Minos, and Radamanthus, and Aeacus, and Triptolemus, and all other Demigods, who lived justly and with faith. Is such a change, such a migration as this, to be valued at nothing? Then to converse with Orpheus, and Musaeus, and Hesiod and Homer; who of us would not prefer such a state of life to that of this? For my part, I would die, if it were possible, many times over, to find the satisfactions I speak of. How much shall I be delighted, when I shall meet with Palamedes, with Ajax the Son of Telamonius, and others circumvented by judgement of unjust men, and compare their cases with my own? This, I think, will not be unpleasant: but this will be most pleasant, there also to find one who examines and tries every one who is wise; and who thinks himself wise, but is not so: how much rather, Judges, will a man find out him, who brought a numerous Army against Troy, or Ulysses, or Sisyphus, or very many others both men and Women? with whom freely to talk and converse, to compare opinions, and make inquiries, is a thing of vast and infinite wisdom. And yet they who are there, are not put to death for so doing; and are in many other respects far happier than these our Citizens, and for ever after immortal: if at least those things that are said [of the state of the Soul after death] be true.  
But it becomes you also, 
This he saith, not from doubt, but from the supposition of the people with whom he had then to do. For, as to his own persuasion, he held nothing so firm and certain, as the immortality of men's minds or souls. With the same caution Seneca also saith; & fortasse (simodo sapient on vera sama est, recipita; nos locus aliquis) quem putamne perisse, premissas est. Epist. 63.  O ye Judges, to conceive noble hopes of death, and to be fully persuaded in your minds of the verity of this, that nothing of evil can ever come to a good man, neither living nor dead: and that his concerns are never neglected by the Gods. Nor have these things happened to me by chance: but certain and evident it is to me, that to die, and to be freed from businesses, is better and more conducible to me. And for this reason, that Divine sign hath not at all averted me: Nor am I angry either with my Judges who condemned me, or with my Accusers; though they condemned and accused me not with design to render my condition more happy and tranquil; but thinking thereby to bring some great incommodity or calamity upon me; wherein I have just cause to complain of them. But this only I beg of them, 
In fine he recommends to his Judges the tuition of his Sons; with this request, that they might be instructed rather to seek after virtue, than to accumulate riches.  that if my Sons, when they are grown up, be troublesome to them in the same matters wherein I have disquieted and offended them, they would severely punish them: chief if they seem to take more care either of riches, or the like [transitory] thing, than of virtues they seem to be something, when they are nothing; I would have ye reprehend and convince them, as I have reprehended you: if they neglect things necessary, to be solicitous about things unnecessary, and pretend to be what they are not; sharply reprove them. Which if ye shall do, both I and my Sons shall obtain from you a just and lawful benefit. But 'tis now time to departed; I to my death, ye to life; and whether of the two is better, I think is known only to God.  
The End of Socrates his Apology.   

AXIOMS MORAL. Collected out of Socrates his Apology.  
1. A Judge is to consider, not the Elegancy, but Truth of what is said before him.  
2. The good Education of Youth, is of very great Importance to the Commonwealth.  
3. Humane wisdom is not to be much valued▪ because God alone is truly wise; and among men, he only deserves to be reputed wise, who conscious of his own ignorance, professeth to know nothing certainly, but that he knows nothing.  
4. The Station and Office that God hath assigned to us in this Life, we are to defend and maintain, though we thereby incur the greatest incommodities and dangers: and we ought to have no consideration either of death, or any other terror, when Shame and Dishonour is to be avoided. Nor are those things to be feared, which we do not certainly know to be Evil: but only those which we do certainly know to be Evil, namely not to obey the Commands of God, and to do unjustly.  
5. To be conversant in Affairs of State, 
* A precept delivered also by Epicurus, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, non ad rem publicam accessurum Sapientem, and inculcated even by Cicero himself; Omnia suâ causâ facere sapientes; Remp. capessere hominem non oportere, etc. Orat. pro Sext.  is full of danger.  
6. It is both indecent and unjust, for Judges to be moved and seduced by the Charms of Eloquence or Tears: for they ought to be [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 & 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] no respecters of persons, and without passion: and so to give judgement, not from their own affections, but from the merit of the Cause, and according to Law.  
7. An honourable Death is always to be preferred to a dishonourable Life.  
8. Since God takes care of human Affairs, and chief of Good men: no Evil can come to Good men, neither living nor dead.  
9 We are not to be immoderately angry with our Enemies, nor to hate them, although guilty of Crimes against us, and certainly to suffer the punishments reserved for them.    

A DIALOGUE Concerning the Immortality of Man's Rational Soul. AND Admirable Constancy of SOCRATES at his Death.  

The ARGUMENT Out of SERRANUS.  
PLATO here introduceth Phedo, recounting to Echecrates, the Philosophical Discourses delivered by Socrates, the very day wherein he suffered death by a draught of poison: wherein he shown both his invincible magnanimity in embracing death with perfect tranquillity of mind; and his most certain persuasion of the immortality of the Rational Soul. By this eminent Example then, and from the mouth of that true Hero at that time encountering that Giant of Terrors, death (when the judgement and say of men much inferior to Socrates, in point of wisdom, are commonly reputed Oraculous) Plato proves the Humane Soul to be immortal, and declares his opinion concerning the state and condition thereof, after its separation from the body.  
The Thesis therefore, or capital design of this Dialogue, seems to be twofold: first to evince, that death ought to be contemned; and than that the Soul is, by the prerogative of its nature exempt from the power of death. And from the latter, as the more noble and august part, the whole Dialogue borrows its Title [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] the Animo, of the Soul.  
The Contents thereof are partly moral; in that it teaches the contempt of death, and constant adherence to virtue; partly Metaphysical, or Theological; for that it treats of the excellency of the Soul, and of God. To these are added also Ornamental parts, viz. a decent Introduction, and accurate Narration of the remarkable manner and circumstances of Socrates his death.  
Of these so various parts, the Oeconomy or Order is concisely this. Some Philosophers, Friends to Socrates, visiting him in the prison, the last day of his life, and talking familiarly together: the clue of their conference oon leads them to this useful question; Whether a wise man ought to fear death? Of this, Socrates first disputing with less cogent Reasons, and transiently determining that other doubt, Whether it be lawful for a man to kill himself? opportunely, and after his grave way of arguing, resumes & proceeds in the former enquiry about despising death. Concerning which the sum of his reasoning is this. Since the principal duty of a Philosopher is, daily to meditate upon Death, i. e. to withdraw and divide his Mind or Soul from his body, and the exorbitant desires thereof, (and death is defined to be only a separation of the Soul from the Body) and that after this frail and mortal life is at an end, there remains a full and solid felicity to be enjoyed by those who have here truly and sincerely embraced the study of Wisdom: there is no reason why he should fear death, but good cause rather why he should wish and long for it: because being thereby freed and secured from all importune and insatiable lusts of the body, wherewith the Soul is here entangled and fettered; he should instantly pass to a second and better life, and therein attain to a full and perfect knowledge of Wisdom. Which he now remonstrates, he most assuredly expected to enjoy immediately after his death, and so, his body being dissolved, to become consummately happy: So from the consequence of this conclusion, there naturally ariseth a new dispute, about the Souls surviving the Body. For, if the Soul exist not after death, all dissertation concerning future felicity or infelicity, must be vain and absurd.  
Of this most important conference about the immortality of the Soul, there are three parts: One positively asserts the Soul to be essentially immortal: the Second refutes the contrary opinions: the Third teaches the use and advantages of the belief of the Souls immortality.  
The FIRST part then of this excellent Doctrine of Plato (and of Socrates too, from whom he seems to have learned it) concerning the Souls immortality, is Apodictical or Demonstrative. And yet he so prudently and circumspectly manages his forces, as to begin the combat with a Forlorn of lighter Reasons; and then bring up as it were a phalanx of stronger and more pressing arguments, to assure the Victory: which indeed is his proper and peculiar method of convincing. His lighter Reasons he advances, partly from the Doctrine of the Pythagoreans, of the transmigration of Souls into new bodies, which they called [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] Transanimation, and [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] Transcorporation: partly from his private conceit, that knowledge is but memory, and to learn only to remember. From these opinions (I say) conjoined into one complex argument, he concludes, first that the Soul was existent by itself, before it came to be guest or inmate to the body; and than that the same will exist also apart, when separated from that its Lodging or Inn, and is therefore immortal. His more solid and Nervous arguments, by which he more accurately and convincingly demonstrates the Souls eternal subsistence, are drawn from the very essence of the Soul itself, viz. that being simple or void of composition, it must by necessary consequence be also indissoluble or incapable of destruction. For, presuming it to be made after the Exemplar or Image of God, who is Simple, Pure, Immutable, Invisible: he thence infers, that the Soul is [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] congenial and homogenial to God, i. e. likewise uncompound, invisible, immortal: in fine, that it is (suo tamen modo) of the same nature with the Supreme Being, which he calls 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is God. Hence he concludes, that though the Soul, while obliged to sojourn in the Body, be necessitated to use the ministry and service of its various Organs; and so be nearly affected with the passions and other alterations incident thereunto, by reason of the close conjunction betwixt them: yet notwithstanding, upon the dissolution of that ligue or conjunction, it doth instantly fly away, and return to that its primary and cognate Idea, God: in the mean time still conserving its own simple, incorruptible nature. And this is the substance of the first part of this sublime dispute.  
The SECOND is a Refutation of Opinions impugning the immortality of the Soul: which are chief two; One, that affirms the Soul to be an Harmony, that is originally composed, and resulting from the conformation and system of the corporeal senses: and therefore as it hath its beginning from, so it must also perish together with the body. Another, which allows the Soul to be indeed more lasting than the Body, and so to survive it; yet will not have it to be indissoluble, but to decay by degrees, and at length utterly to perish, from its own natural weakness. This last Error Plato, in the person of Socrates, solidly refutes; further alleging, that the Immortality of the Soul is clearly manifest even from the true notion of Causes, i. e. of a Primary cause, namely God; and of Second or proxim causes, by right reason duly investigated. Where he opportunely evinceth it to be highly unreasonable, so to acquiesce in the re-search of second causes, as to relinquish the first and principal: and then proceeds to teach, that there are two kinds of Causes; one, principal, or Supreme, and in truth cause of all Causes, which gave both being and efficacy to all others; Others, Secondary, which are not truly [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] Causes, but only [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] Adjuvants, empowered, disposed, and regulated by the first, all such as God hath made subordinate to himself, to the end that the virtue and energy of his power might extend even to us. From the Reasons therefore of these different Causes, Plato infers the Soul to be immortal. Whence by a genuine transition, he proceeds to the  
THIRD part of the Disputation or Conference, which concerns the state or condition of the Soul, after this shadow of life is vanished, or (as he saith) apud inferos; thereby understanding [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] a second Life, whereof he treats more amply in Timaeo; in this arguing thus. Seeing that in this tumultuous Life, there every day arise infinite disorders in Humane affairs, and events apparently inconsistent with Equity and Justice; so that good and pious men suffer various afflictions and oppressions; and on the contrary, unrighteous and impious men flourish in delights and prosperity: reason requires, that after this scene of Inequality is withdrawn, after this Life (the use whereof is in common to all men, both good and evil) is expired, there should succeed another, wherein is to be made a just distinction of the good from the bad, that so these may be adjudged to condign punishment, and those rewarded with felicity, according to their deserts. And hence he collects, that there are but two paths wherein all Mortals walk: One leading to eternal happiness, the other to endless misery. Thus much this our wise Ethnic plainly discerned by the mere light of nature, by right reason: more he could not perceive without rays of light supernatural. We are not therefore to arraign him of ignorance, but rather to applaud his singular modesty, in that in the close of his discourse about rewards and punishments after death, he adventures upon no conjectural descriptions of the places, qualities, degrees, etc. of either: but leaving all such to Poets, ingeniously professeth, he thought it not to be the part of a man endowed with sound Judgement, to affirm any thing concerning those inscrutable secrets, and reserves of Divine Justice. Only he held it necessary, that the minds of men be deeply imbued with established and certain persuasions of rewards and punishments to come: that so they may be inflamed with love of Virtue, which he defines to be the true and only way to future felicity; and reclaimed from Vice, the high way to future infelicity. And this he declares to be the use and advantage of his Doctrine of the Souls immortality: namely, that we may be induced to learn, and assiduously fellow the way that leads to that happy life; and carefully avoid that of misery. The former he defines to be true and solid knowledge of Wisdom: the Noblest part whereof is this, that Divorcing and Alienating our mind from all commerce with corporeal affections, and sensual pleasures; we fix it entirely upon the contemplation of God, and hold it perpetually exercised in that Divine Meditation.  
This being the great duty of man, and most satisfactory employment of a Reasonable Soul; he opportunely admonisheth every one, to make it also his principal care and study, to be diligently conversant therein: always animating himself with this noblest of hopes, that after the short and anxious race of this life is finished, he shall infallibly attain unto that immortal Happiness, of which he hath now discoursed. And to fringe this his long Web of Speculations Philosophical, with a grateful reflection upon the Heroic Virtues of his martyred Master, Socrates; after a concise Historical Narration of the manner and circumstances of his Death; he concludes with this glorious Character of him; that notwithstanding he had been Oppressed and Condemned by the envy and inhumanity of the Athenians, he was in truth the Wisest, and most Virtuous of all Mankind.   

PHEDON. Persons of the Dialogue; Echecrates, Phedon, Apollodorus, Socrates, Cebes, Simmias, Crito, Executioner.  EChecrat. 

The Proem, wherein Plato, observing the Decorum proper to Dialogues, and by natural consequence of the discourse, lerding the mind to his grand argument here discussed. first recounts the circumstances that are pertinent thereunto, viz. when Socrates was put to death, who were then present, and upon what occasion this Dispute concerning the Soul arose.  Were you, Phedon, present with Socrates, that very day wherein he drank the poison in the Prison? or have you heard it from some other?  Phe. 
I was then present, Echecrates.  Ech. 
And what said that [brave] man before his death? what end made he? for that I would willingly hear. But yet none of the Phliasians hath of late gone to Athens, nor any stranger come from thence to us, who could relate any thing of certainty concerning these matters; only they report him to be dead by a draught of poison; but nothing more.  Phe. 
Have ye not heard what men said of his Judgement, how that was ordered and managed?  Ech. 
That we have indeed heard; for a certain man gave us a narration thereof: But this seemed wonderfully strange to us, that his arraignment and condemnation being past a good while since, he should be reported to suffer death after so long a respite. What was the reason of this, Phedo?  Phe. 
A certain accident intervened, Echecrates; it happened, that the very next day after Judgement had been given upon him, the stern of the sacred ship, which the Athenians annually send to Delos, was with usual pomp and solemnity Crowned.  Ech. 
What Ship is that?  Phe. 
That wherein (as the Athenians say) Theseus long ago brought those fourteen young men into Crete, and saved both them and himself: and they then made a Vow (as the tradition goes) that if they returned in safety, they would yearly celebrate a Feast, and offer Sacrifice to Apollo in Delos, in memory of their preservation, which they call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Sacrifice of Inspection, and every year Solemnize, by sending that ship thither. Now when they have begun the celebration of this Feast of Inspection, 'tis by law provided, that the City be in the mean time expiated, and no man put to death by public decree, until the Ship hath been at Delos, and is returned home again: in which Voyage sometimes long time is spent, especially when they meet with contrary Winds. The beginning of this Inspection is, when the Priest of Apollo crowns the stern of the ship: and this fell out to be performed upon the very day wherein (as I said) Judgement was given upon Socrates. Which is the reason why so long a time intervened betwixt his condemnation and death; he being all that while kept in prison.  Ech. 
But what of his death, Phedon? what were his speeches and actions? were any of his Kindred and Friends with him? did the Magistrates permit them to be present, or died he alone, deprived of their company?  Phe. 
They did permit them: and there were with him some, yea many of his Friends.  Ech. 
Well then, I pray, do your devoir to recount us the whole matter fully and plainly; if at least your leisure will permit.  Phe. 
I have leisure, and will endeavour to give ye the best account I can, of all passages. For to remember Socrates, and to speak myself, or hear another speak of him, is the most delightful entertainment in the world.  Ech. 
And you shall find us also, Phedon, in the same manner affected and disposed to hear you. Wherefore go on, and do your best to relate the whole story.  Phe. 
Truly being then present, I was affected in a very strange manner: For commiseration moved me not at all, as being present at the death of a man nearly Related to me: For to me he seemed happy, Echecrates, both by his deportment, and by his serene conformity, and also by his discourses: so undauntedly and bravely he submitted to death, that it than came into my mind that he descended not to the shades below, without some Divine power, and therefore would when he came thither, live in happiness, if ever any man else did. I did not then much pity him, as became one that was spectator of so sad and doleful a Tragedy: nor was I on the other side sensible of that pleasure, wherewith we were wont to be affected, when we were seriously employed in Philosophical conferences, though at that very time also we were earnestly occupied in such: but was variously agitated by a disagreeable and contrary passion. A certain unusual pleasure mixed with grief, surprised me, thinking he was so soon to die. And all we who were present, felt the same confusion of opposite affections, now smiling, now weeping, especially Apollodorus: you know the man, and his manners.  Esch. 
I know him well.  Phe. 
In this manner was he then disposed: but truly I and others were perturbed.  Elch. 
Who were there, Phedon?  Phe. 
Of our Citizens, there were this Apollodorus, and Critobulus, and his Father Crito: Hermogenes also, and Epigenes, and Aeschines, and Antisthenes, with Ctesippus the Paeanian, and Menexenus, and some other of the Natives: but Plato, I think, was sick.  Ech. 
Were there any strangers with him?  Phe. 
There were. Simmias the Theban, and Cebes, and Phaedonides: and Euclid, and Terpsion, Megarensians.  Ech. 
What? was not Aristippus there, and Cleombrotus?  Phe. 
No; 'twas said, they were in Aegina.  Ech. 
Was any other there?  Phe. 
Those whom I have named, were all.  Ech. 
Well, what discourses passed among them?  Phe. 
I will endeavour to recount to ye all that passed from first to last. In the day's precedent, I and some others were wont to visit Socrates frequently: meeting together early in the morning, in the Judgement Hall, where his cause had been tried, for it stood next to the prison. There we daily expected, until the prison doors were opened; passing the time in walking and talking together the while, for 'twas pretty late before the prison was opened. When the doors were unlocked, we went in to Socrates, and many times passed the whole day with him. On the day of his Suffering, we came to visit him earlier than we used: for the day before, when we retired from the prison in the evening, we had heard, that the sacred ship was arrived from Delos: and thereupon agreed among ourselves to come to Socrates sooner than our custom was, and indeed we did so: but the Doorkeeper, who formerly used to obey us, came forth, and bid us have patience a while, nor to enter till he called us. For now (saith he) the Eleven Officers are taking off Socrates his Fetters, having commanded that he Die this day. So after a short stay, he returned, and gave us admittance: Being entered, we found Socrates unfettered, and Xantippe (whom you know) holding an Infant in her arms, and sitting by Socrates. Having seen, and saluted us, and said some such things as Women use to speak [out of civility] now Socrates, saith she, this is the last time your Friends shall speak to you, and you to them: and he turning his eyes upon Crito, I desire Crito, said he, that one of you would lead away this Woman into some other place. Her therefore weeping and lamenting, the Servants of Crito led away. But Socrates sitting upon a little Bed, with one leg resting upon his other thigh, rubbed his leg, saying the while; how absurd does that seem, which men call pleasant! 
Socrates, upon occasion of the pleasure he felt in his legs, soon after his Fetters had been taken off, reflects upon the affinity betwixt pleasure and pain, and their vicissitude; intimating, that the condition of human life is such, as to be led in a round of pleasure and pain alternately succeeding.  and how wonderfully strange is the nature of what's unpleasant, so as to be perceived contrary to what's pleasant! so that nature would not have a man affected with both at once; but if any man pursue, and take one of them, he is compelled for the most part to take the other also; as if they were both fitly contained in one head; and I believe that Aesop, if he had taken notice of the thing, would have composed a Fable of it, namely, that God, when he attempted to reconcile these two Enemies, Pleasure and Pain, making War each against other, but could not effect it, bound their heads together, so that where either comes, the other also must follow, as seemed to me even now; for while my Fetters were upon my legs, I had pain there, and the pain vanishing away upon the remove of my Fetters, pleasure seems immediately to succeed it. And you have opportunely put me in mind of this, answered Cebes, by Jove, Socrates; for a good while since many have asked me, and Evenus lately, concerning the Poems you have of late made, particularly the Fables of Aesop, you have turned into Verses, and a Hymn to Apollo: for what reason you composed those Poems, since you came into this place, when you never before addicted yourself to Poetry. If therefore you will have me give an answer to Evenus, when he shall again interrogate me (as I am confident he will) tell me, I pray, what answer I shall make to him. Tell him, replies Socrates, 
Another occasional reflection touching some poetical Essays made by Socrates, during the time of his imprisonment; whereof he gives this reason, that having been by Dreams frequently admonished, to learn Music; and being doubtful, whether the music of philosophy, to which he had always studiously addicted himself, or that of poetry were thereby meant, he thought it his duty, before his departure, to compose Verses, lest he might offend, by omitting to fulfil that Divine command in this sense also.  the truth, Cebes: that I have done this, not out of design to emulate him and his Writings, (for that I know would be extremely difficult) but to make trial, what might be the sense of some Dreams, and to know if they enjoined me this kind of Music. For very often heretofore in my life, the same Dream occurred to me; when appearing to me sometimes in this, sometimes in that figure or representation, it still inculcated to me the same thing: always saying, study Music Socrates, and practise it. And I thought what I did in the past time of my life, to be the very thing that my Dream commanded, and by reiterated Injunctions urged: and as they who by repeated shouts incite men running a race, so I thought my Dream did the same to me, by frequent admonitions inculcating its command, that I should apply myself to Music; for as much as Philosophy is the noblest and most excellent Music. While I did this, and sentence of death had now been pronounced against me, and the Feast of Apollo forbade me to die: I thought fit by no means to disobey the injunction of my Dream, even though I interpreted it to concern the vulgar Music: but to do according to the prescript thereof. For I thought it safer, not to departed from hence, before I had in that manner also, to some degree performed my Vow; obeying my Dream, by making Verses. The first Poem I made therefore, was to that God whose Feast this was. 
* The beginning of this Hymn. Diogen. Laertius recites, in vita Socrat.  After that devout care of God, conceiving it decent for a Poet, if he ought to be reputed worthy of that name, to compose Fables, not Orations; and being myself unskilful in the art of inventing Fables: I therefore made an Essay upon the Fables of Aesop, which I had by me, and knew, of those that first came to hand.  
This, Cebes, 
The occasion of the following dispute, deduced naturally from the clue of the conference. Let Evenus folfow me (saith Socrates) in death; for being he is a philosopher, he ought neither to kill himself, nor to fear death. Hence are started two Questionr; Whether Self-murder be a crime? and how a philosopher stands obliged not to fear death? Now this Evenus was a Sophist, fond of the pleasures of this life, and an adversary to the Doctrine of Socrates; and therefore fit to be answered by him thus ironically, after the usual manner of Socrates.  I would have you report to Evenus: and wish him health, bidding him, if he be wise, to follow me; for I go hence, as I think, this very day, the Athenians so commanding. Here Simmias interrupts him, saying, what advice is that, Socrates, you give to Evenus? I have had conversation with him a long time; but as much as I can foresee, he will not be very forward to follow your counsel in this particular. What, saith Socrates, is not Evenus a Philosopher? He seems to be one, replies Simmias: and therefore saith Socrates, he & whoever else embraceth the study of Philosophy, as he ought, will not decline death, and yet will not think himself obliged to lay violent hands upon himself; for this they say, is no ways lawful. And saying this, he let down his legs from the little Bed to the ground, and sitting in that posture, pursued the remainder of his discourse. Cebes asked him then, what say you, Socrates? that it is a crime for a man to lay violent hands upon himself; and yet that a Philosopher is willing to follow him who dies? To whom Socrates; what, Cebes? have ye, you and Simmias, heard nothing concerning these matters, after so familiar conversation with Philolaus? Nothing, Socrates, I assure you. What I have heard, it will not be ungrateful to me to recount, seeing nothing seems more agreeable to him who is ready to set forth towards some place, than to meditate upon, and speak of what concerns either his Journey, or the condition he expects to be in at the end of it, such as we are able to conceive beforehand: and of what Subject can we more usefully discourse, until the setting of the Sun? Now as for what they say, that it is criminal to kill one's self; that indeed I have long since heard, not only from Philolaus (as you asked me) when he lived among us, but from some others also, that it is a nefarious act: but why it should be such, I have understood nothing of certainty from any. 
The first question, Whether self-murder be criminal, or not; argued Socratically, that is pro and con; and then determined by these two fundamental reasons; God takes care of us; and we are his by right of possession; therefore 'tis double impiety to lay violent hands upon ourselves.  But be of good courage [replies Socrates] perhaps you shall hear the reason by and by. Mean while this perchance may seem strange, that this among other things should be universally true, without exception; that no calamity can befall a man so great and intolerable, as that it may be better for him to die, than to live: and to men in such a case, is it inconvenient to affirm, that it is impiety in them, rather to confer this benefit upon themselves, than to expect it from the hand of another? And Cebes gently smiling, be it known to Jove, said he in his own Dialect, 
* 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, pro 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  you have said well. So it seems, saith Socrates, to be inconsistent with reason. That darksome and abstruse speech which is carried about concerning this matter, viz. that we men are placed in a certain station and guard, from which we ought not upon any pretext whatever to free ourselves, nor to abandon our charge, seems to me to be truly great, and such as cannot easily be understood and comprehended: and yet notwithstanding I conceive it to be very truly said, Cebes, that both God takes care of us, and that we are his possession. Do not you conceive so too, Cebes? I do indeed, saith Cebes. But, saith he, if any one of your slaves should kill himself, without your command, would you be angry with him, and if it were in your power, revenge it? I would, saith Socrates: and therefore this also seems grounded upon no less reason; that no man ought to be author of his own death, before God hath brought some absolute necessity upon him, such as he hath now imposed upon us.  
This also seems consentanious, saith Cebes. 
Coming here to the second Query, viz. Whether a Philosopher ought to desire death? First, he shows reasons for the Negative, viz. that the Gods are both Despots, or Lords of men, and gracious or good Lords to good men; ergo, good men ought not to desire death; it being evident and confessed, that all are to desire to continue in the fruition of good things; and he assuming that we remain with the Gods, so long as we remain in this life. Wherein lieth concealed a parasyllogism; for in truth, while we live here, we are as it were pilgrims from God, as Socrates will in due place remonstrate.  But in good truth, what you said even now, that Philosophers are easily inclined to die, seems next to absurd: if what we have here said, be said consentaneously, namely, that God takes care of us, and we belong to him, as a  and certain possession. For to affirm, that even the wisest of men are not displeased and troubled in the least, when they depart from this procuration and trust which the best Lords and Guardians of things, the Gods, committed unto them; seems in no measure agreeable to reason. For that Wise man thinks not, that if he should be at his own liberty and dispose, he can provide better for himself than God doth: but a fool will think, that he is to fly from his Lord; nor will he think he ought to fly from a good thing, but constantly to continue therein; and so he flies away, without any foregoing knowledge of reason. But a prudent and circumspect man will rather desire to continue still in that which is more advantageous and profitable to him; which certainly, Socrates, seems plainly repugnant to those things that have been by us just now explicated; and yet it appears to be more like truth, that wise men when they die, aught to be troubled; and fools to rejoice. This Socrates hearing, seemed to me to be highly pleased with that subtle disquisition of Cebes; and turning his eyes upon us, Cebes, saith he, always hunts after some [amusing] reasons; nor will he presently give assent to what is said by any man. But I also, saith Simmias, am in this point of the same opinion with Cebes. For when Wise men desire death, what else do they propose to themselves, than to fly from Lords better than themselves, and to be freed from them? And Cebes seems to me to aim his discourse at you, who can so easily relinquish both us, and the Gods, (as yourself confesses) the best Lords. Ye have reason, saith Socrates; for I think ye require me to make my defence before ye, as in the Judgment-hall. We do so, saith Simmias. Well then, saith he, I will endeavour to defend myself with more convenient and more probable Arguments before ye, than before my Judges. For I 
* Socrates going to prove, that death is not only not to be feared, but also wished by a Philosopher; layeth down the fundamentals of his future probation, applying the matter to himself; namely, that he was sustained by a steadfast hope, that after death, he should go, not from the Gods, but to them: because there remains something after death, and it will be well with good men. Which are the two Heads of the subsequent disputation, viz. that our Souls are immortal, and that felicity is reserv d for good Souls after death.  saith he, Simmias and Cebes, if I did not think I should come, first to other Gods wise and good, and then to men deceased, better than those who are here: truly I should do very ill, not to be offended and troubled at my death: but now (believe me) I am confident I shall come to good men. This (I confess) I will not positively affirm: but if I affirm any thing for certain, it shall be this, that I shall come to Gods, the best Lords. And this is the true reason why I am not at all discomposed or troubled, but sustain myself with a strong hope, that something remains in reserve for the dead after death; and as they long ago said, that it will be much better with good men, than with wicked. What then, saith Simmias? since relying upon this cogitation, you have a mind to departed, will you not communicate to us the cause of it? for that seems to be a good common to us also, and if you shall convince us of the truth of what you say, that will be also your full defence. I will endeavour it, saith Socrates: but first let us see what Crito here would have. What else should I desire to say to you, Socrates, answered Crito, but this, that a good while since, the man who is to give the poison to you, bade us advertise you, that you ought to speak very sparingly; because much speaking puts men into a heat, and therefore ought not to precede the poison: for than from thence it may come to pass, that the draught of poison must be repeated twice or thrice. Wish him good health, saith Socrates; let him take care only of what belongs to his own duty [and provide enough] as if he were to give the dose twice, and if need be, thrice. This I knew before, answers Crito; but the Fellow hath been troublesome to me a good while: suffer him saith he. But I will render an account to ye, my Judges, by what right I became possessed of that my opinion, that he who truly and seriously addicts himself to Philosophy, or the love of wisdom, doth die with undaunted courage, and steadfast resolution, furnished with that noble hope, that immediately after his death, he shall certainly attain unto the greatest Goods, [or supreme felicity.] How this is, Simmias and Cebes, I will endeavour to explain to ye.  
They who have rightly embraced the study of Philosophy, 
First argument; the great duty and business of a Philosopher, is continually to meditate upon death; therefore he ought not to dread it when it comes.  seem to excel in this one thing; that living in obscurity and retirement from vulgar conversation, they entirely and with all possible contentation of mind, devote themselves to the meditation of death. If this be true, it will be absurd, to addict our study and devoirs to the consideration of this one thing, all our life long; and at last when death itself comes, to be offended and preturbed at it, after so long and familiar a converse therewith in our thoughts. 
* The popular scoff against Philosophers, that they have death always in their thoughts, because they are conscious to themselves, they deserve to die, in respect of their nesarious lives; urged to Socrates.  Here Simmias smiling, Socrates saith he, by Jove you have forced me to smile, who was nothing inclined to such gaiety of humour; for the vulgar if they had heard this, would (I believe) be of opinion, that it is extremely suitable to Philosophers: and the greatest part of our men would consequently assent, that all Philosophers ought in good earnest to die; and that themselves are not ignorant they very well deserve to die. 
* Whereunto he gravely replies, that it is no wonder if the ignorant vulgar give a rash and importune judgement of what they understand not.  This (replies Socrates) they might say, Simmias; and truly too; this one thing excepted, that they themselves are not ignorant how far those who are truly Philosophers, both meditate upon death, and are worthy of it: [for the vulgar are really ignorant thereof, and cannot judge of what they understand not.] Wherefore securely pretermitting those vulgar [Scoffers] let us seriously pursue our discourse.  

A Second, and indeed an artificial argument drawn from the nature of death itself, which he defines to be a deliverance of the Soul from the Body; and puts that for the first proposition of a Syllogysm.  Do ye think, that death is any thing? Yes, answers Simmias. Do ye think death to be any thing else but a freeing of the Soul from the body: and that to die, is this, when the Body being freed from the Soul, remains by itself; and the Soul likewise freed from the Body, hath existence apart by itself? or is death any other thing besides this? Nothing but that, answers Simmias. Consider then, I beseech ye, whether your judgement be not the same with mine: for thence I conceive light will be derived to the argument now under our consideration. 
* Assumption; but the main care of a Philosopher is, to alienate and divorce his Soul from his Body, and the cupidities thereof.  Do ye take them to be Philosophers, who employ themselves in pursuit of those pleasures (as they call them) of the body, as of eating and drinking, and other the like sensual delights? By no means, Socrates, saith Simmias. What then? in Venerial pleasures? Neither. Hath a Philosopher any care or value for other things that appertain to the delicacy and ornament of the body? as of rich , fine shoes, and other gaudy ornaments; doth he desire to be furnished with store of these toys? Whether do ye think he esteems, or contemns those things, unless so far as there may be great necessity of using them? My opinion is, a true Philosopher contemns them all. Then your opinion is, that the whole study, care and labour of such a Philosopher is, not in pampering and adorning his body, but in withdrawing (as much as he can) his thoughts from his body, and converting them entirely upon his mind. I confess it. Doth it not then evidently follow from thence, that the Office of a Philosopher doth chief appear in this, that he renders his Mind free and absolute from community of his body? It doth so. But yet, Simmias, most men think, that he who takes no pleasure from those [sensual] things, deserves not the use of this life, but comes nearer to death, being insensible and careless of those delights that belong to the body. You are in the right. 
The first circumstance of his probation, from the effects of the corporeal senses; that they being not sufficiently pure and perfect, cause the Soul, by contagion and sympathy, to be dull and purblind in the disquisition and discernment of truth.  What then? when wisdom itself is to be acquired, will the body prove an impediment, if a man take it along as a companion in that disquisition? for example, the sight itself, or hearing, have they any truth in men? or do Poets speak truth, when they say, that we neither see nor hear any thing clearly and entirely? and if these senses of the body be not perfect, or sufficiently quick and perspicuous; certainly the others, which are all weaker and duller than the sight and hearing, must needs be less perfect and sincere. Do you not think so? I do, saith he. When then doth the Soul attain truth? for when it endeavours to discern any thing clearly and distinctly, by the help of the body; 'tis apparent, that then it is seduced and circumvented by the body itself. You are in the right. Doth not the Soul, by reasoning, or some other way of discerning, comprehend this perspicuously? Certainly it doth. And then it reasoneth best, when no sense of the body offends it, whether hearing, or seeing, or pain, or pleasure; but it converseth entirely & undisturbdly with itself alone, contemning and repudiating the body, and (as much as lies in its power) retiring from all community and commerce therewith, with certain premeditation and counsel desires things, and pursues them. No doubt on't. Doth not therefore the Soul of a Philosopher even in this also highly contemn the body, and retreat from it: and by its self inquire into the nature of things, satisfied only with its own conversation? So it seems. Now this Operation, or work of the Soul, 
Another proof, from the proper and peculiar operation of the Soul; wherein withdrawing itself from commerce with the Senses, it is exercised in pure and abstracted Reasoning.  shall we say 'tis just, or not? Just, without doubt. Is it fair and good? Why not? But have you ever beheld with your eyes any thing of those? None, saith he. Have you with any other of your corporal senses attained to these things, (I speak of all, as of magnitude, health, strength; and in a word, the like, which are of such a nature, as they have all a real being) is their most true and certain nature considered, and fully discovered by the body? Or is it thus, that he who is most fitly and tightly comparated or disposed to comprehend by cogitation, the nature of that very thing, in the disquisition whereof he is versed; shall come nearest to the knowledge and understanding of the nature thereof? No doubt of it. He then will perform this most purely and clearly, who by that edge of his Wit, by that accuteness of Spirit, pierceth into everything, neither making use of his sight while he thinks, nor drawing any other sense into counsel together with his reasoning: but employing only his pure and simple faculty of reasoning, endeavours thereby to investigate and discover the naked and true nature of the things themselves: free and separated from his ears, and eyes; and in a word, from his whole body; as that which may perturb the Soul itself, and hinder it from acquiring to itself verity and wisdom, when it is employed in conversation and commerce therewith. Will this man, think you, if any other doth, attain to understand the true nature of things? you speak truth, Socrates, over and over, saith Simmias: Is it not then consequently necessary, that to those who are truly Philosophers, there be a constant and established Opinion, that they may confer among themselves about these things? there seems to be a plain way as it were paved to our hands, which leads us with reason to the consideration of things; but while we carry about this body, and our Soul is immersed in so dark and incommodious a sink of evil, we shall never attain to what we desire. This we affirm to be truth. For this body creates to us an infinity of businesses, troubles, and disquiets, merely for the nourishment and necessary supplies of it. Besides, if diseases chance to invade us, they likewise hinder us from the investigation of various things: and that fills us with loves, desires, fears, various imaginations and Chimeras, and many foolish whimsies; so that it is a very true saying, that the body will never permit us to be wise. For nothing but the body raiseth wars, seditions, combats, and the like mischiefs, by its inordinate lusts: and we are forced to provide moneys for maintenance of the body, being slaves and drudges to the necessary services of it. Now while we are thus employed in these meaner Offices, we have no leisure to apply ourselves to the study and search of wisdom. And what is the greatest of all incommodities, if we do by chance get any thing of leisure and vacancy from the cares of the body, and address our minds to the serious consideration of any thing; presently the body intrudes, and while we are busied in that inquiry, raiseth commotions and tumult, and so disturbs and confounds the mind, that it cannot possibly discern truth. But we have already demonstrated, 
The former assumption repeated, and illustrated by a Dilemma. Whence flows a certain conclusion; since the grand design of a Philosopher is, to discern truth, his duty is to separate his Soul from his Body; and so as it were to anticipate death in this life.  that if we desire to perceive any thing purely and clearly, we must withdraw from the body, and employ only our mind, which alone is capable to discern the nature and properties of Objects, in the contemplation thereof: for then at length, as appears, we shall attain to the fruition of what we desire, and with love and diligence seek after, namely wisdom; when we have passed through the [refinement] of death, as our precedent discourse intimates: but not whilst we remain in this life. For if it be impossible for us to perceive any thing pure and entire, in conjunction with the body, one of these two [propositions] must of necessity follow: either we shall never attain to sapience; or not until we have passed out of this life. For than will the Soul be entirely divorced and separate from the Body, but not before. While we live here, we approach indeed never to sapience, if we have as little commerce and conversation with the body, and be as little infected with the lusts thereof, as the condition and necessities of our frail nature will permit: but preserve ourselves pure from the contagion of the same, until God himself shall discharge and free us wholly from it. And being once thus delivered, and pure from the madness and seducements of the body; as is reasonable to believe, we shall both be associated to the like pure beings, and by ourselves know all purity and integrity; which perhaps is truth itself. For it is not possible for him who is himself impure, to touch what is pure. These things, Simmias, I conceive it necessary for all, who are possessed with a right desire of understanding things, both to hold, and to discourse of among themselves. Are not you also of the same opinion? Altogether, Socrates. If then these be true proceeds Socrates; there is truly great hope, 
The second conclusion from the premises, viz. if we then only live well, i. e. exercise our faculty of reasoning, when we abdicate our senses: it necessarily follows, that we shall then be happy, and perceive truth plainly, when we shall be wholly separated from the body, i. e. after death.  that who shall arrive at the place whither I am now going, will there, if any where, abundantly attain to the enjoyment of that, for which we have in the whole course of our life past, been seeking with extreme labour and study. This peregrination therefore now appointed to me, is finished with good hope; and so it will to any other, who shall have once persuaded himself, to prepare his mind, by rendering it pure and clean. No doubt of it, saith Simmias. Is therefore what we said even now, to be held a purification and purging of the Mind; viz. as much as is possible, to divorce it from the Body, and to accustom it to be by itself congregated and retired from the same, and to dwell as it were by itself: both in this, and in the future life, single by itself, and freed as from the chains of the body? Yea certainly, saith Simmias; Is death then rightly called a solution and separation of the Soul from the Body? It is so, saith he. And do they only, who study Philosophy rightly, most endeavour to divorce their Souls from their Bodies, as we have said? is not this the constant meditation of Philosophers? It seems to be so. What therefore we said in the beginning, 
A third conclusion. Since the principal design of a Philosopher, is to attain unto truth; and that he cannot attain unto it, until after death: it is inconsistent for him to fear death. So the whole question is determined, that to a wise man, death is not only not formidable, but also desirable.  would it not be ridiculous, if a man who hath all his life long made it his constant study, and principal care, to anticipate death by rendering his life as nearly like to it, as is possible; should yet when death really comes, be afraid of, and troubled at it? Why not? In truth then, saith he, they who Philosophise seriously and rightly, meditate most upon death, and to them of all men living, death is least formidable; which is evident from this argument.  
Funera non metuit sapiens suprema; nec illi,  
Qui contemplando toties super astra levavit  
Carnoso abstractam penitus de carcere mentem,  
Corporis atque Animi faciens divortia tanta;  
Quanta homini licuit, mors formidanda venire  
Aut ignota potest. Nam mors divortia tantum  
Plena haec, quae sapiens toties optasse videtur,  
Et toties tentasse, facit, Superosque petenti  
Libertatem animae claustris concedit apertis.  Majus noster, in Supplemento, Lucani, lib. 4. 
For if at all times they contemn and vilify the Body, and strive to have their Soul apart by itself; and when the hour of their real and final separation comes, fear and be disquieted: what could be more alien or remote from reason, unless they willingly and freely come thither, where there is hope they shall, at their arrival, obtain whatever they in this life desired? and they desired Wisdom, and to be delivered from all commerce of the body, with which they are offended. Have many been willing, out of ardent affection to their Friends, Wives, and Children deceased, to descend to the shades below, led by this hope, that there they should see, and converse with those whom they loved: and shall he who is really in love with Wisdom, and hath conceived a strong and certain hope, that he shall no where obtain and enjoy it, but in the other world, as is decent and consentaneous; when he is at the instant of death, be vexed and grieved, and not rather voluntarily and freely meet and embrace it? for so we are to hold, that a genuine Philosopher will conceive; that he shall never meet with true wisdom, but only apud inferos, among the dead. Which if true, how inconsistent with reason were it, for such a man to fear death? Highly inconsistent, saith he, by Jove. 'Tis then a fit argument, that he whom you shall see dying with reluctancy and fear, is not [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, sed 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,] a lover of Wisdom, but a lover of his Body; not a lover of verity, but of Riches, and the Pleasures of this life. It is just so as you say. To those therefore who are in this manner disposed and inclined, 
A new Theorem, resulting from the precedents; that those who neglecting the study of philosophy, pursue not truth, as politicians and the vulgar, have not true Virtue, but only the shadow and resemblance of it.  is not that [Virtue] which is named Fortitude, most agreeable and proper? It is, saith he. Is not Temperance, which many define to be this, not to be disquieted or afflicted With lusts, but to despise them, and to regulate one's life by moderation: does not this properly and peculiarly belong to those who both contemn the Body, and continually exercise themselves in the study of Philosophy? Of necessity. For, saith he, if you consider the Fortitude and Temperance of other men, you will discover them to be nothing but an importune and absurd ostentation of Virtue. How so, Socrates? You know saith he, that all other men account death to be one of the greatest Evils. They do so indeed, replies he. Do then men of courage and fortitude endure death bravely, for fear of greater Evils? They do, answers he. Then are all, except Philosophers, said to be Valiant only from fear; though it be truly somewhat absurd [and a kind of contradiction] to call any man valiant upon the account of fear and cowardice. I grant it to be so. What? as for those of the vulgar who are reputed to be Temperate, are not they so out of some intemperance? Tho we have declared that to be impossible: yet the like affection falls upon them, in that their senseless and foolish temperance; for while they fear to be deprived of some pleasures, and still coveting them, abstain from others; they are carried away by those they covet, without restraint. Now they call it Intemperance, to be governed by the tyranny of pleasures: and 'tis their case, to be overcome by some pleasures, whilst they conquer others. So that what we said even now of vulgar Fortitude, holds true also of these men, that they are Temperate from some Intemperance. But, my Simmias, 
That the firmament of true Virtue, is wisdom; without which the politic virtues are vizards and disguizes. So that to Plato, true Virtue, is wisdom; Wisdom truth; and Truth, Expurgation.  this is not the right way to Virtue, to exchange pleasures for pleasures, pains for pains, one fear for another, greater for less, as we do money. That is at last the true money, for which all things else are to be exchanged; Wisdom, for the sake whereof, and for which alone, all things are to be sold and bought: that fortitude, and temperance, and (in sum) every true and genuine Virtue may exist with wisdom; while pleasures, and fears, and all of the same Tribe come and go. But if they be separated from prudence, and exchanged one for another by turns; such Virtue will not amount to the shadow of Virtue, but be merely servile and base; it will have nothing of true, nothing of sound and solid in it. Now Truth itself is the expurgation and refinement of all these: not temperance, nor justice, nor fortitude, no nor Wisdom itself can be the expurgation. And indeed those who first ordained our Ceremonies, seem not to have been silly and vile men; but to have prudently designed that wrapped up in the veyls of words, when they said, that he who should descend to those below, not being initiated, and expiated according to the use of Sacrifices; 
Hence that of Virgil. (Aeneid lib 6, ea. prima piacula sunto, Sic demum lucos stygios, regna invia vivis aspicies, etc. Concerning which Expiation, derived from the ancient Egyptians, consult Servius Honoratus upon the place.  should be rolled in mud: but he who descended to the shades, being first rightly expiated, and admitted to the Sacrifices, should have his habitation with the Gods. For in the Ceremonies themselves (as they say) you may see 
* 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Multos Thyrsigeros, paucos est cernere Bacchoes, an old Greek a dage.  many that bear Lances covered with leaves, but few Bacchuses. 
* The importance of all the precedent Arguments, accommodated by Socrates to his own justification, for that rejecting the counsel and aid of his Friends, who strove to persuade him to avoid death, (as Plato hath left upon Record, in a precedent Dialogue, entitled Crito) he still remained fixed in his judgement, that he sought rather to embrace it.  These are, in my opinion, no other but they who study Philosophy rightly. From which institute I for my part have never in my whole life departed: but have with all possible contention of mind laboured to be one of them. But if we have done our devoirs rightly, and profited any thing in that study, when we come thither, we shall certainly understand, if God be so pleased, a little after, as I think. These then Simmias and Cebes, are the reasons I bring for my defence, that I leave you and these Lords who are here, not only upon just motives, but without trouble or regret: being fully persuaded within myself, that I shall there find as good Lords and Friends as here. The things I have said, are indeed of that [abstruse] nature, that they may be by very many esteemed incredible: but if I shall appear to you to have made now a more pertinent & decent defence, to engage your assent, than I did before those Athenians who were my Judges; 'tis very well.  
When Socrates had said this, 
A new disputation of the Immortality of the Soul; but the basis of the former. For if the Soul survive not the body, all dispute concerning future felicity or infelicity, must be vain and idle.  Cebes taking up the discourse; some things, saith he, seem indeed to be excellently well said by you: but what you have delivered concerning man's Mind or Soul, seems wholly abhorrent from Humane belief: nay they believe rather, 
* To make way for this dispute, first is proposed the contrary opinion of those who held, that the Soul dies with the Body; but so proposed, that in the words of this opinion, lie concealed the seeds as it were of more solid Arguments. For things compounded are said to be dissipated. He therefore being about to demonstrate the Soul to be a things, not compound, but most simple; makes it most evident, that a Soul is uncapable of destruction by dissipation; as will appear from the dispute itself.  that the Soul, so soon as it goes out of the Body, doth no longer exist; but in the very day wherein a man dies, utterly perish; more plainly, that departing from the Body, as a breath or smoke, it is dispersed, and flies away, nothing of it afterwards remaining. Now if it continued entire, and had a being apart by itself, delivered and freed from the evils you recounted; then I confess, there would be a noble hope [beyond death] if the things you have said, Socrates, be true. But this wants no little probation of Arguments to prevail upon belief: 
* The state of the Question, Whether after the d ssolution of the Body, the Soul be likewise dissolved, and hath no longer a being.  namely that the Soul existeth after a man is dead; and what faculty it hath of perceiving and understanding. You are in the right, Cebes, replies Socrates. But what do we? Will you that we discourse further of this matter, whether it be reasonable, or not? I would gladly hear, saith Cebes, your opinion concerning these [abstruse] things. Nor do I think, saith Socrates again, there is any man living, though he be a Comedian, when he shall hear me disputing about them, will say, I trifle and speak of things impertinent and undecent. If you please therefore, that this matter be fully debated among us; let us consider it in this manner, namely whether the Souls of men deceased, be in the infernal habitations, or not. 
* The first reason, drawn from the Pythagorean opinion, of the transmigration of souls. For if souls go from bodies into another life, and return thence hither to animate other bodies; it follows both that they do and will exist hereafter; because they are supposed 〈◊〉 pass through many bodies.  For this is a very ancient Tradition, which we here commemorate, that the Souls of the dead go from hence thither, and return from thence hither, and are made of the dead. Now if it be so, that the living are made out of the dead; our Souls truly can be no where but there: for if they were not, men could not be made again of them. And this would be a strong Argument, that the thing is so, in case it were manifest, that the living are not otherwise animated than by the Souls of the dead. But if this be not evident and certain, other reasons are to be sought for, that may be more convincing. They are so, saith Cebes. 
* Proof of this Pythagorean Hypothesis; that this circulation is performed, not only in the bodies of men, so that the living are made out of the dead; but in all other creatures; namely that contraries are made out of their contraries, as he teacheth by various examples.  Do not then, saith he, consider this in men only, if you would easily understand it; but in Animals and Plants also; in sum, in all that have being by Generation: that we may inquire whether they be all produced from no other original than as contraries from contraries, (whatsoever have their contraries) as Beautiful or Honourable is contrary to ugly or shameful, just to unjust, and infinite others in the same manner. Let us see therefore if it be necessary that any contrary can have no being in nature, unless from its contrary: for example, that when a greater thing is made, it be necessary it should be made of a less first, and then greater. Let us examine this. If a less thing be made out of that which was greater before, will it afterward be made less? Yes, saith he. And of a stronger, a weaker; o● a slower a swifter? It will so. What? if any thing worse be made, is it out of a better? if any thing more just, is it out of what is more unjust? Why not? This then is clear, saith he, that all things are thus made, contraries out of contraries. 'Tis so. What more? Is there any medium betwixt two contraries; so that where there are two contraries, there must be also two generations or originals of being produced, first from one to the other, and then from that to this again? for betwixt a less thing and a greater, there is augmentation and diminution, of which one we call to increase, the other to decrease. Right. Therefore to separate, and compound; to grow cold, and to grow hot, and all in the same manner; though we use not names sometimes, yet in reality it is necessary, that some things be made out of others, and that there be a mutual generation and beginning of some to others. I grant it, saith he. Is any thing contrary to life, as sleep is contrary to waking? Yes. What? Death, saith he. Are these then made mutually each out of other, seeing they are contraries, and their generations made by some thing intermediate betwixt two contraries? Why not? One therefore of the two pairs I just now mentioned to you, I will explain, and their generations: do you show me the other. To sleep, and to awake: for out of sleep comes waking, and out of waking, sleep. The origins or generatipns of these are, of sleep, to be in a deep sleep, of waking, to be raised up from sleep. Is this sufficiently explained, or not? Sufficiently. 
* That death is contrary to life, and life to death; whence is collected, that the dead are out of the living, and the living out of the dead; and therefore the souls thus passing from body to body, still are in Being; for otherwise they could not transmigrate.  Do you then tell me with equal plainess, of life and death: whether is life contrary to death? It is so. And are some things generated out of others. They are. What then is made out of one living? A dead one, saith he; and what out of a dead? A living, I must confess. Of the dead therefore, Cebes, are made the living. Clearly so, saith he. Are then our Souls in the Mansions below? It seems so. Of the two generations or orgins therefore, which we have demonstrated to be in these things, is not one at least perspicuous? For to die, is manifest to all: is it not? yes, saith he. 
* The same conclusion further explicated, thus; though this new life appear not to us, yet since no man can doubt of death, which is known to all; from the nature of contraries, that cannot be understood one without the other, it is necessary that [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] or reviving, or [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] second generation to life, be.  What then shall we do? shall we compose some other contrary to this, or will this nature rather be maimed and imperfect? or shall we determine, that some other generation is to be rendered contrary to death? yes, saith he. What shall that be? Even to revive [that is a new life. If then there be a new life, will that be a certain generation out of the dead to the living? Doubtless. That therefore shall be confessed and established betwixt us, that the living have existence out of the dead, no less than the dead out of the living. Which being so, is a convenient argument, that it is plainly necessary, the Souls of the dead be somewhere, from whence they may again exist. This indeed, Socrates, seems to me to be proved from [Propositions] granted and given. Observe this also, Cebes, that we have not confessed that without good cause. 
* Another Argument, ab incommodo; if contraries were not thus produced out of contraries, all Generations would inevitably cease; which being absurd, he thence collects and evinces, that out of the living, are made the dead, and out of the dead the living. Which is the first conclusion.  For unless those things that are made, were composed some of others by turns; so as they come round again as in a circle; but there were only a generation in a right line from one to its opposite, not reflecting again to the first, nor making a return or regress: assure yourself, it would come to pass, that at length all things would have the same figure, be in the same manner affected, and consequently would cease to be made. How's that? saith he. 'Tis not difficult, answers Socrates, to comprehend what I say. For Example; if this very thing, to sleep (if I may so speak) that is sleep, were existent; but to awake, were not, on the reverse, composed of the man sleeping: we were obliged to conclude, that all would at length represent the Fable of Endymion, and appear not where; because the same would happen to all, that happened to that Endymion, namely to sleep. And if all things were mixed and compounded into one, without discretion or distinction; then that of the Anaxagoreans would come to pass, all things would be at once. In the same manner, my Cebes, if all things that now participate of life, should die, and then remain dead in that figure, nor revive again; is it not clearly necessary, that at length all must die, and nothing be left alive? for if the living have existence out of others, and the living should die; how could it be possible but all would be consumed by death? By no means, Socrates, quoth he; for all you say, appears to me to be true. 'Tis even so, Cebes, saith he. Nor do we seem to confess things, as being imposed upon, and circumvented by error: but this is really demonstrated by us, that there is a return and restauration of a certain new life; that the living are made out of the dead; that the Souls of the dead exist; and that good Souls are in a better condition, and wicked ones in a worse.  
Here Cebes answering, 
A second Reason to prove the Immortality of the Soul, drawn from that Hypothesis, that to learn, is only to remember. For if in this body, the Soul remember the things it knew before it came into it, it hath had a Being before it was married to the same.  Socrates, saith he, what you now said, ariseth from the reason of that opinion which you frequently have in your mouth (if at least it be true) that to learn, is only to remember. And from this opinion indeed it seems to be necessarily concluded, that we some time heretofore learned, what we now recall into our memory. But this could not be, unless our Soul were in being, before it came into this human form. So by this reason also, the Soul seems to be a thing immortal. But Cebes, saith Simmias taking up the Discourse; pray, recall to our memory those your demonstrations: for I do not well remember them at present. The thing may be demonstrated by one, and that a remarkable Reason; 
* A proof of that Platonic Hypothesis, that science is Reminiscense, from the effects themselves; viz. that men being asked rightly, answer fitly of things otherwise (than by reminiscense) unknown to them, yea and of such as are indeed obscure and abstruse, as in Mathematics. This Plato more copiously explicates in his Dialogue called Menon: here touching it only en passant.  namely, because men being asked, they deliver the whole matter as it is: but this certainly they could not do, if there were not Science and right reason in them. Again if a man bring a matter to Geometrical Figures, or Diagrams, or the like evidences: this most manifestly proves and demonstrates the same to be true. But if by this way, saith Socrates, that be not proved to you; consider well, whether when you by this reason seriously examine the matter, it seem to you so clear, as that you ought to assent thereunto. Do you not believe, how that which is called to learn, is really nothing but to remember? I do not indeed refuse to believe it: but desire to have recalled into my memory, that of which we began to discourse: and from those reasons Cebes hath endeavoured to allege, I almost remember and believe it already. Nevertheless I would now gladly hear, by what way you are provided to demonstrate it. By this, saith he. Upon this we are already agreed, that if a man record and recall to his memory any thing whatsoever, he must have known it before. True, saith he. 
* A further proof of the same supposition, whereof this is the sum: that from the parity or imparity of the thing we have known, we come to understand other things, while we mark what is like, what unlike; which he asserts by many Examples.  Do we then confess this also, that when there is knowledge by this way, that knowledge is reminiscence? I say, by this way [by this example] as if a man had perceived a thing either by sight, or by hearing, or any other sense, he hath not only known that thing, but thought upon some other thing also, whereof that very knowledge is not, but of another: might we not say, that he hath remembered the thing, the understanding and knowledge whereof he hath perceived? How say you this? Let this be an example; is not the knowledge of a Man, one; and the knowledge of a Harp, another? Why not? Know you not that it is usual to Lovers, when they behold either the Harp, or Garment, or any other thing, which their Paramours or Mistresses are wont to use; to know that Harp, and to have in their mind the image of the Youth whose the Harp is? Now this [their Knowledge] is Remembrance: as a man having seen Simmias, often remembers Cebes; and there are found infinite other examples of the same kind. There are so, saith Simmias, by Jove. And is not that, saith he, Remembrance? and most of all, when the same happeneth to us in those things, which when we have not lately seen them, through length of time, and discontinuance of use, we have forgot? yes, saith he. Doth it not happen, that if one see the Picture of a Horse, or Harp, he presently remembers a Man: and if he see the picture of Simmias, he instantly remembers Cebes? It doth. And if he see Simmias his picture, doth he not remember Simmias himself? It doth so happen, saith he. 
* Whence it follows, that Reminiscense is from the parity or disparity of things compared among themselves.  Doth it not then come to pass, that in all these instances Remembrance is exercised; partly from things alike, partly from things unlike? It doth. 
* Another supposition, that from this Reminiscence we do not only perceive wherein the resemblance consisteth, but also what is wanting to make the resemblance perfect, with respect to the thing already known. Which also he remonstrates by Examples.  But now, when a man remembers a thing upon sight of the like, ought he not to be so qualified or disposed, as to understand whether there be any defect of resemblance in what he so remembers? Of necessity, saith he. Consider then, saith he, if these things be so. Do we say, that there is any thing Equal? not wood to wood, nor stone to stone, nor any thing of that kind: but besides all these, some other thing, viz. Equality itself? shall we hold, there is any such thing in nature, or not? yes, by Jove, saith Simmias; but exceedingly admirable. Do we know what that thing, Equal, is? We do, saith he. Whence shall we derive the knowledge of it? shall we not from those things we just now mentioned, when we behold woods or stones, or any other the like Bodies equal; from these (I say) shall we not in our thoughts comprehend that, which is quite another thing, different from them? or doth it not seem to you to be quite another thing? Now consider this also. Do not those very equal woods, and equal stones, which are the same still, seem to you sometimes to be equal, sometimes unequal. They do so. What? Do they sometimes seem to you equal or unequal: or the very Equality itself seem Inequality? Not at all, Socrates. Are not then, saith he, Equals, and Equality the same thing. Not, as I conceive, Socrates. But saith he, 
* Another Supposition, to the support whereof the rest are applied, viz. that we come to know things Equal and Unequal, by a certain Divine power (which Plato here calls [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] the Equal) from the reason of the comparison made, understanding this simply, that in our Soul is a Divine virtue or faculty, by which the operations of both Memory and Science, and other the like, are performed.  though the Equals be different from the Equality, yet you have both understood and perceived the knowledge thereof. You speak most truly, saith he. Is it not the same thing, whether the object understood be like or unlike to that which occasioned the thoughts of it? It is. That truly makes no difference, for having seen one thing, and from that very sight conceiving in your mind another, whether like or unlike: necessary it is, saith he, that [Conception] be Remembrance. Very well. What then, saith he? are we to hold the same concerning those things of which we newly spoke, woods, stones, and the like? Do the Equals seem to be so among themselves, as the Equal itself is? or doth something seem to be wanting therein so as they are not such as that equal is, or nothing? Much is wanting. Do we not admit this also, as certain and perspicuous; when a man having beheld something, 
* From these suppositions given and granted, he infers (toward the explication of the question under debate) that the Soul understands both like and unlike things, wherein the parity or disparity consisteth; which is Science, and from Remembrance; as being from comparison of par and impar.  comprehends the same in his mind, and will have it (for example, what I now look upon) to be exactly such as some other thing: but yet it fails, i. e. it cannot be such, but comes short of the other to which he likened it: is it not of absolute necessity, that he who so reasoneth, hath before seen that, to which he said the other is like, but yet there is wanting therein somewhat to complete the similitude or resemblance? It is necessary. What? are we in the same manner affected, in the consideration both of the things that seem equal, and of the equality itself? Altogether. Necessary it is therefore, that we have first seen that Equal, before that time wherein having first beheld the Equals, we comprehend them in our mind, and conceive, that all things affect to be such as that Equal, but cannot reach to a full and perfect similitude or resemblance thereof. So it is. 
* And that although our Soul doth in this life, act by means of the corporeal Senses, and so is obliged to make use of them as her instruments; yet that very faculty of perceiving by them, is to be deducted from a higher and nobler principle, namely that Divine power essential to the Soul, which he calls [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] the Equal, so that by that name he seems to intimate God himself, to the end he might conclude, that the Soul also is Divine.  But let us grant this also; that no man could comprehend in his mind that Equal itself, from any other [intimation:] and that it is not possible, that any should comprehend it, otherwise than from the sight, or touch, or some other of the Senses. For I hold the same of all: the case being one and the same in all, Socrates; as to what concerns the explication of this Discourse. But from the information of the Senses themselves we are to understand that all things that are subject to their preception, continually affect, and desire to be referred unto that which is Equal, and to yield thereunto; as being in themselves less perfect. Shall we grant this? Yes. 
* The Reason of that assertion. Unless that Divine power were in us, whereby we perceive; certainly we could discern nothing by the help of our Senses. Divine then is that Faculty whereby the Soul understands by benefit of the senses, remembers, and reasons; yea and hath a knowledge even of God himself, of Good, Beautiful, Holy, Just.  For before we began to see, or hear, or have any faculty of Sense, 'twas necessary for us to be endowed with knowledge of that Equal, what it was: if we would refer to that Equal, the Equals that occur to our senses; as if all things were by a certain potent instinct inclined to aspire to be such as that is, though they be much, yea infinitely inferior thereunto. This, Socrates, is evidently necessary from the things mentioned by us before. When we were newly born, did we not See and Hear; had we not all our Senses? We had. It must be therefore, that before that, we were endowed with knowledge of the Equal. Certainly. Before we were born therefore (it seems) 'tis necessary we should have the knowledge thereof. It seems so. 
* Conclusion; seeing that from the example of things most known to us, it hath been proved, that we know that which by comparing like and unlike, or equal and unequal, we remember; and seeing that the soul doth even now it is in the body, know so great things; it follows of necessity, that the soul long before knew the same things, which it now, by the ministry of the senses, knows and understands, as it were by certain degrees. Yet that knowledge is to be attributed, not to the ministry of the senses, but to that efficacious seed of Reason and Science which is inherent in the Soul itself; and only excited by the suggestions of the senses.  If we were endowed therewith, before we had existence; did we not understand even before we were Born? and when first we were born, did we not know, not only Equal, and Greater, and Less, but all other the like [Respects?] for the design of our discourse is no more concerning the Equal, than concerning the Beautiful, the Good, Just, and Holy; in sum, concerning all, by which both in our interrogations, when we interrogate ourselves, and in our answers, when we answer, we sign and seal the Being of a thing: so that of necessity, we were endowed with the knowledge of all these things, before we were born. It is of necessity. Now if there had never been induced upon us an Oblivion of these Knowledges perceived, we must certainly have still been skilful in them, and through our whole life always endowed with Science. For, to know, is constantly to retain the knowledge of that thing we have perceived, and never to lose it. Do we not call Oblivion, a loss of Knowledge? We do, Socrates. What if being endowed with that Knowledge, before we were born; we have lost it, since we were born: and afterwards being conversant in those things by the help and service of our Senses, retrieve those Sciences we had before: do not we then call to Learn, to recover our own Science? and if we call it, to Remember; do we call it rightly, or not? Rightly. For by experience it hath been demonstrated to be possible, that he who hath perceived a thing by sense, i. e. seen, or heard, or by any other sense perceived it, may in his mind comprehend some other thing different from that which he had forgot, namely that to which the other, like or unlike, should succeed [in the brain of his thoughts.] Wherefore of the two, one (as we have said) is a necessary consequent; for either we were born knowing these things, and all know them through the whole course of our life; or certainly those whom we call Learners, do nothing else but Remember: and so, to Learn, will be only to remember. And without all doubt, Socrates, this is even so. Whether of the two will you choose, Simmias? That we are born knowing; or that we afterward recall to mind the things we knew before. I know not at present, Socrates, which to choose. What? in this example have you not judgement to choose, & to determine certainly of it? A prudent and knowing man, cannot he give a reason of the things he knows? He can, Socrates. Do you think that all are able to give an account of those whereof we just now treated? I wish they could, saith Simmias; but fear lest to morrow no man may be left alive able to do it. Do not all, think you, know these things, Simmias saith he? No. Therefore they remember those they have sometimes known. 
How the soul is said to have formerly known the things which being in the body; it recalls to memory. Where we may ●o save, that according to this Socratic Hypothesis, the soul is created long before the body is form, and as a Guest infused into it, by God. Which is his first position.  Certainly. And when did our Minds receive their knowledge? Not from the time we were born men. No doubtless. Before therefore. So it seems. Our Souls then were, before they put on the shape of man; and they obtained the power of understanding, while they yet had existence apart by themselves. Unless perhaps, Socrates, we receive these Sciences at the time of our birth: for that time yet remains. When then do we lose them? for we have them not when we are newly born, as was before agreed upon betwixt us. Do we lose them at the same time when we receive them? or can you assign any other time? No. But I perceived not that I say nothing. Then, Simmias, the thing is clearly so. 
A second position, that our soul is Divine, not by decision from Divinity itself, nor by issuing, or propagation, or generation of substance, or any other gross manner of production from Divinity; yet divine; so that the Divine energy of perceiving and knowing, is essential to it, which distingueshes it from all other Animals.  If at least there be those things which we have always in our mouths, Beautiful, and Good, and every such essence; and we thereunto refer all things that come from our Senses: for that by investigating our own Essence, we find to be, namely existent, and we compare these things to the exemplar thereof; So it is necessary, that as these also are, so our Soul too be, before we were Born, and came into the light of this life. If these were not, truly this discourse would seem to be made in vain: but they are so, and there is an equal necessity, both that they be, and that our Souls were existent, before we were Born. If those be not, neither are these. 
* Conclusion; that this created and divine Soul hath had preexistence with God, then knowing more things, than since it came a Pilgrim into the darksome lodging of the body. So that this Doctrine about Remembrance, may be reduced to this one Syllogism. That is learned which is perceived from remembrance of the like: the Soul, before it came into the Body, could not but know many things, by that Divine power wherewith it was endowed; therefore what it learneth in the body, it understandeth from remembrance of the like; and so Learning is nothing but Reminiscense; which was the thing to be demonstrated.  Truly, Socrates, saith Simmias, absolute necessity seems to urge these things beyond all dispute: and reason seems excellently to conduct us to this conclusion, that as well our Soul, as that Essence whereof we speak, have been existent, before we were born. For I hold nothing so certain and evident, as that all these are, and chief both Beautiful and Good, and the rest of which you now treated: and I am abundantly convinced of their verity. What? and is Cebes so too? for he also ought to be persuaded. I conceive, saith Simmias, the whole matter hath been sufficiently proved to him too, though he be a man of most hard and most slow belief, beyond all others; yet I think, it hath been clearly enough demonstrated to him, that our Souls were pre-existent to our Nativity. But whether they also survive our death, and continue their Being after the dissolution of our Bodies; this I think hath not been yet demonstrated: and that vulgar opinion, which Cebes mentioned, yet remains unrefuted; namely that so soon as a man is dead, his Mind or Soul is dispersed, and destroyed, so that it can no longer exist. For what should hinder, but it may derive its origin and creation from some other principle, and have Being long before it enter into a human body: but when it departs, and is freed again from the body, than it both die, and be utterly abolished? You say well; Simmias, quoth Cebes: for only the half of what was required, seems to be demonstrated, viz. that our Souls were, before we were born. There remains to be remonstrated the other part, that the demonstration may be full and perfect; namely that after our death, our Souls will be, no less than they were before our birth. This part of the Demonstration, 
The second part of the former Thesis, of the immortality of Souls; where Socrates, after lighter arguments, comes to allege more solid and cogent Reasons, to evince, that the Soul being perfectly simple, or void of all composition, is therefore naturally incapable of dissolution or dissipation; as Cebes had objected.  Simmias and Cebes, saith Socrates, is now finished; and if ye please to conjoin and compose this reason, with that upon which we all agreed before, namely, that whatever lives, hath its existence out of the dead. For if the Soul be pre-existent, necessary it is, that when it comes to life, and is truly in Being, it derive that existence only from death. How therefore is not clearly evinced, that it doth exist so soon as a man is deceased: seeing it is necessary that it exist again? This also then is already demonstrated, as is apparent.  
And yet notwithstanding both you and Simmias seem willing to be again exercised more accuratly in this argument, and to be astonished with that childish fear, lest the wind blow out and dissipate the Soul going out of the Body; and the more, if a man die, not in a close room secured from winds, but in an open place where winds blow strongly. And when Cebes had smiled; endeavour not, Socrates, saith he, to encourage us, as if we were astonished with fear; but endeavour rather to demonstrate the thing to us, as free from all fear. Yet perhaps there is here among us some Boy, who is afraid at the mention of this. Let us therefore do our devoir to persuade him not to dread death, as a Goblin. 'Tis fit, saith Socrates, to mitigate and animate him daily with Verses, 
* Alluding to the Magic of Inhcantation, first used by the Egyptians, and from them derived to the Grecians by Orpheus, who thereby having cured his Wife Eorydice of the venomous bite of a Serpent, was thereupon feigned to have reduced her from Hell. Of the antiquity of this kind of Magic, and the traduction of it, consult Sir John Mar●ham in Chronic. Canon. pag. 142.  till he be perfectly restored. But where, saith he, shall we find a man skilful enough in the Art of Enchanting: since you say, you desire to leave us? Greece is wide, Cebes, saith he; and in it are good and skilful men, and many Barbarous Nations, which are all to be surveyed, that there may be found out a man powerful in that Art of Charming; neither money nor labour ought to be spared: for ye can expend your money in nothing that's more necessary. And now he is to be sought after among yourselves: for perhaps ye will not easily find any man more able than yourselves to perform it. This shall be done, saith Cebes; but in the mean time let us, if you please, return to our argument, from which we have digressed. With all my heart; why not? You say well quoth he. 
* The beginning of the grand dispute about the Souls immortality; the fundament whereof is this proposition; that the soul is most pure and simple, and therefore indissoluble.  Ought we not then, saith Socrates, to ask of ourselves, and with the best of our understanding to inquire, to what thing this affection [of Dissipation] may be convenient and incident; and for what we ought to fear, lest it suffer Dissipation, and by what reason, and in what part thereof: then to consider diligently whether that thing be a Soul, or not: and in fine, matters being thus stated, either to hope comfortably of the Soul, or to fear for it, accordingly? You say well, quoth he. 
* First position; whatsoever is composed, is obnoxious to dissolution.  Is it agreeable to a thing which is either actually mixed, or compounded, or by nature so constituted, as to be capable of mixture or composition: is it agreeable, I say; to such a thing, in as much as it is compounded, to be dissolved? But if there be such a thing, of whose nature it is, to be wholly simple or uncompounded, is it convenient to this thing, to suffer no dissolution? It seems to me to be so, saith Cebes. 
* Second Position; Things that are always the same (that is Eternal) are void of Composition; things not always the same, (that is, moral●) are compounded.  Those things therefore, which are always in one manner, and equally comparated, 'tis highly consentaneous, that they be simple or void of composition: but those that are sometimes in one manner, sometimes in another affected, that is subject to alterations; 'tis consentaneous, that they be compounded. I think so. Let us then return to those we noted in our precedent discourse. That very Essence, which by the force of questions and answers we have defined to be really existent [namely God] is that equally the same at all times [without alteration] or not? 
Third Position; God who gives Being to all creatures, and is not only Good, but Goodness itself; not only wise, but wisdom itself, etc.) is neither compounded, nor subject to any mutation, but [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] uniform, knowing no [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] shadow of change.  namely the Equal itself, the Beautiful, the Single, (that is, what really existeth) doth it never receive any the least alteration? That Essence, saith Cebes, must of necessity be ever the same, without alteration. What shall we determine of many Beautifuls, as men, or horses, or garments, or others however the like, equal and beautiful, or all that are comprehended under the signification of the same name: are these always the same, or is any thing contrary to them, nor they to themselves, nor among themselves, that I may so speak, are they always the same? These truly, saith Cebes, are never exactly the same. These therefore you may perceive either by your touch, or sight, or any other sense: but those that are always the same, you cannot by any other way, but by reasoning of your Mind, comprehend; for they are invisible, and fall not under the power of sense. You speak truly, saith he, in every point. 
* Fourth position; there are two kinds of things or (as he speaks) 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, two forms of Being's. Those that are always thesame, which are invisible: and those that are mutable, which are visible.  Will you therefore, that we make two Kind's of things; one, visible; the other, invisible? Let us lay down these two Kind's [for a foundation] saith he. Let us also put the invisible to be that which is always the same: the visible, that which is never perfectly the same. And that too, saith he. Now, saith he, do we consist of any other things but Body and Soul? Of no other, saith he. 
* Application of all these four positions to the present argument. There are in Man, two distinct things. One, visible, not always the same, but obnoxious to various mutations, and so compound and mortal: the other, invisible, always the same, and so incompound and immortal, namely the Soul; whence it is evinced, that the Soul is [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] indissoluble, and consequently immortal.  To which of the two Kind's shall we decree the Body to be more like, and more allied? 'Tis evident to every man, saith he, that the body is more of Kin to the Visible. But the Soul, is that visible or invisible? Invisible, to men, saith he, certainly. But those things that fall under sense, and those that do not; did we not refer them to the nature of men, or are they to be referred to any other nature, think you? To Human nature. And what is to be concluded of the Soul, that it is visible, or that it is invisible? Invisible. This therefore is to be fixed, that the Soul can by no means be perceived by the sight. Right. Therefore the Soul is more like to that Invisible Kind, than the Body is: and the Body more like to the Visible. Of necessity, Socrates. 
* Impediments of the Soul from its so close conjunction with the body.  We said a while since this also, that the Soul, when it useth the service of the Body to consider any thing, either by seeing, or hearing, or any other sense (for, to consider a thing by the body, is to consider it by sense) is then drawn by the body to those things that are never the same; and that it errs, and is amused, and giddy, as a Drunkard is giddy by a vertigo in his brain. Altogether so. But when the Soul doth contemplate by itself, it aspires to what is pure, to what always existeth and is immortal, to what is ever the same: and as being of Kin thereunto, is always conversant therewith, after it is of its self and by itself, and hath power, and ceaseth from error, and is wholly in those things that are always the same, so far forth as they occur to it. And this affection of the Soul is called, Wisdom. You speak rightly, Socrates, in every word. To which Kind therefore, both of these we mentioned above, and those we now describe, is the Soul more like, and more allied? 
* Conclusion that the soul is Divine and Immortal; the Body, gross and mortal.  Any man (in my opinion, saith he) even the most ignorant, will from this way and method of reasoning, grant, that the Soul is more alike, and more cognate to the All and Whole, that is, to what is ever the same; than to what is never exactly the same. And what the Body? To that which is never the same. Thus observe also, after the Soul and Body have come together into the same [man] that nature commands the body to be servant thereunto, 
The Affections and Offices consigned by the institute or law of Nature, that is, of God acting by his servant Nature, to both soul and body; that the Soul is to rule, the Body to obey.  and to obey the dictates of its superior, the Soul; and appoints the Soul to rule and give law to the Body. From the reason of these things, which of the two seems to you to be like unto the Divine; and which to the Mortal [being?] or is that Divine by nature qualified and made to command and govern: but the Mortal, to be subject, and to serve? I conceive so. To which is the Soul like? Truly, Socrates, the Soul is like to the Divine; the Body, to the Mortal. Observe, I pray, saith he, whether from all we have already alleged, it be certainly evinced, that the Soul is most like unto the Divine, and Immortal, and Intelligent, and uniform, and Unalterable: but the Body is most like unto the Human, and Mortal, and Non-intelligent, and Multiform, and Dissoluble, and Alterable. Can we oppose any thing to these, as if they were not right and convincing? We cannot. These things then being thus established, 
Grand Conclusion; that the Soul being indissoluble by death, survives eternally.  is it not proper and peculiar to the body, to be capable of Dissolution: and to the Soul, to continue indissoluble; or somewhat next to this? Why not? You clearly see therefore, saith he, that when a man is dead, the visible body, (which we call dead, and to which it belongs to be dissolved, and to fall asunder, and be blown out) doth not incontinently suffer any of these, but remain some considerable time, if a man hath by pleasantness and moderation treated his Body to the time of his death. For when the dead Body is fallen, and enbalmed, ●●s they who are enbalmed in Egypt, it continues almost entire, for a very long and indeterminable time; and though some members thereof shall have suffered corruption, yet the bones, nerves, and all of the more compact sort, endure (if I may so say) for ever. Do they not? Certainly. 
* Here he explains the Emigration of the Soul out of the Body, at the instant of death; subjoyning, that Souls after death, go thither, whither the similitudes of their cogitations, affection's, and habits le●d them.  But here the Soul; ●n invisible thing, goes away into another place, a place noble, pure, not to be seen by the eyes of Mortals, among the infernal shades, really to a good and provident God; whither indeed (if God be so pleased) my Soul is presently to go. For the Soul itself being in this manner qualified and freed from the Body; will it, think you, presently vanish into air, and perish? as many men say. No, Cebes and Simmias; it is very far from all possibility of being dissolved. But truly, in that manner we have explained, the matter is rather dispar aged than illustrated; for the nature of it is more noble: if at least the Soul depart pure, carrying along with it nothing from the contagion of the body: as that which did, whilst it remained in this life, willingly and of choice hold no communication with the Body, but declined and avoided it; and retired into itself, employed all its powers by cogitation to avoid it. Which is nothing else but to Philosophise rightly, and in good earnest to anticipate death by familiar conversation of thoughts. Is not this a meditation of death? Wholly. 
* From which principle he infers, that a good Soul, free from the contagion and delusion of the corporeal senses, goes immediately after death, to a certain invisible and most blissful place, where it is again conjoined to God, to whom it is of ●in and like.  Doth not therefore 
[Felice's posthac Animae, quas corpora nullis  
Faedarunt vitiis, nullaque libidine morsas  
Detinuere olim, quae, dum sub carne latebant,  
Contemplatrices abstract a carne volarant  
Saepius ad Caelos, Caelis post fata, quibuscum  
Faedera sanxerunt viventes sacra, locantur,  
Eternaque illic Laetantes luce fruuntur.]  the Soul being so comparated, go to that Divine Being like unto itself? Divine, I say, and Immortal, and Wise? To which when it comes, it becomes perfectly happy, being freed and exempted from error, from ignorance, from terrors, wild Loves, and all other Human Evils; and as men are accustomed to speak of such as have been by solemn expiations purged, and initiated to Sacred Rites, living eternally with the Gods. Shall we speak thus, Cebes, or otherwise? Thus in all points, by Jove, saith Cebes. But if the Soul depart out of the Body polluted and impure, as having hitherto conversed wholly with the Body, and slavishly served it, and being both by its own errors, and by the lusts of the Body fascinated, esteemed nothing true but what's corporeal, namely that gross matter hat is touched, seen, drunk, and used to Venereal pleasures: and on the contrary, that which is to the eyes dark and invisible, but may by the power of understanding be perceived, and by the institutes and discipline of Philosophy be comprehended: this, I say, having been accustomed to hate, and abhor, and dread; can we imagine that a Soul thus disposed and vitiated, shall departed pure, and entirely collected into itself? By no means, saith he. 
* From the popular Opinion of Ghosts, and Spirits, he adds that Souls loaden with gross & earthy affections, wander in grief about monuments and Sepulchers; for a certain time only; that is, (according to the Pyth●gorean Dream) they light upon other Bodies suitable to their former affections, inclinations, and manners.  I think, we ought rather to decree, that such a Soul departs involved in, and contaminate with the stains and infection of the corporeal mass, which the very conversation and familiarity of the Body, because that Soul hath so continually and entirely conversed therewith, and with much 

[At tenebrosae animae, nimium quae carnibus olim  
Demerjae jae veresuis, quos tetra libido  
Atque voluptates, solum quas sensus alebat,  
In terris notae, posthac de carne solutae,  
Aspectum Caeli, cum quo commercia nulla  
Viventes habuere, timent, nec luce fruuntur:  
Sed tenebris dilecta nimis prope corpora semper  
Ferales errant Vmbrae, maestaeque Sepulchra  
Bustaque faedacolunt: Hinc noctu spectra videntur,  
Quae terrent homines; animae sunt ista malorum,  
Quae quaeniam crassae sunt, corporeaque videntur.  Majus noster, in Supplem. Lucani lib. 4.]  care and cogitation employed itself in pursuit of such things, hath as it were engrafted into it, and made a part of its nature. Certainly. This we are to hold, to be with a kind of burden, gross, heavy, terrene, visible: wherewith when such a Soul is enveloped, it is weighed down and carried to a visible place, by fear of that invisible one, and (as it is vulgarly said) it wanders about Monuments and Sepulchers; where have been seen certain darksome Images of Souls; which Apparitions such Souls represent, that have not departed pure, but yet retain something of that gross and visible matter, and are therefore beheld. 'Tis very probable, Socrates. Nor is it less probable, Cebes, that those are not the Souls of good men, but of Wicked and Impious, that are compelled to hover and flag about those places, suffering the punishment of their former vicious Education; and restlessly wand'ring until by desire of that corporeal following, they are again entangled in, and bound to a Body. And bond they are (as is probable) to one of such inclinations and manners, as they in life had employed their thoughts upon. What are these things you speak, Socrates? How it is probable, that those who have minded gluttony, railing, wantonness, etc. nor cautiously abstained from them; p●●on the forms of Asses, and of other wild Beasts. Do not you think it probable? You speak with great probability. And that they who highly valued and honoured injustice oppression, tyranny, rapine; are turned into the Kinds of Wolves, Hawks, Kites, and other Beasts of Prey? or shall we say▪ that their Souls go to some other place? Truly, saith Cebes, to no other. We are therefore to hold, that all Souls strive to go, whither the similitudes of their cogitations and inclinations carry them. 'Tis very perspicuous truly; 
* A consectary of the former Doctrine; that the arm way to that conjunction with God, is not by Politic and Theatrical virtues, which are but shadows, but by the serious study of wisdom.  and why not? Are then they the happiest of men, who upon deliberate purpose exercise civil prudence in a popular way of life, which they call temperance, and justice, contracted merely from conversation and cogitation, without the precepts and discipline of Philosophy? and do they go to the best place? How can these be most happy? Because 'tis likely, that they come again into some civil and tame kind of Animals, as Bees, Drones, Pismires; or return into men, and become moderate. Very likely. But to pass into the kind of Gods, is possible to none but who hath duly exercised himself in the study of wisdom: for he having been all his life possessed with desire of learning, departs out of this world pure and undefiled. And 'tis upon this account, that Cebes and Simmias, that good and  Philosophers; abstain from all pleasures of the Body, and constantly and firmly contain themselves, not permitting their appetites and passions to carry them away in pursuit of sensual delights; nor fearing the subversion of their private Estates, and the invasion of poverty, as the vulgar and avaricious do; nor dreading the ignominy and reproach of mean spirited men, as the ambitious and lovers of great Honours do: but abstracting and alienating their minds from all such [splendid trifles.] Nor would it be consentaneous to them to do otherwise, Socrates, saith Cebes. No, by Jove would it not, saith he. Therefore Cebes, saith he again, 
A lively and remarkable description of that Philosophical life, the ground whereof is the contemplation of God, and its work, to instruct men to renounce all exorbitant affections of the body, etc.  all who take care of their Souls, and employ not their life in pampering and adorning the body; neglecting and repudiating all those things, they walked not in the way of those we mentioned before, who are wholly ignorant whither they are to go. But Philosophers being persuaded, they ought to do nothing contrary to the precepts of Philosophy, or to the solution and expiation thereof; [leave the common road of the multitude] and proceed in the way that [Wisdom] hath shown to them, and follow the conduct thereof, as of their Leader. How? Socrates. I will tell you saith he: Men studious of Discipline know, that Philosophy, when it undertakes their Soul really bound and glued to the body, (which Soul is constrained to contemplate things themselves through the body, as through a Bridewell, and not single by itself able to contemplate itself: and when it wallows in all ignorance, and perceives the power and efficacy of that bond, which exserts itself even by lusts themselves; namely that the Soul thus bound and imprisoned doth employ all its force and powers to be by lusts and desires more closely enchained) I say, men studious of Discipline know that Philosophy, when it hath found their Mind or Soul so disposed, is versed chief in this, by degrees to mitigate and compose [the Soul] and to deliver it [from those Fetters;] teaching, that that consideration which is performed by the service of the eyes, is full of error; and that the information of the Ears and all other senses, is likewise full of error, persuading it to retire from them, and not to use them, unless when necessity compels: and declaring and exhorting it, to recollect and congregate itself; and to give credit to none but itself, seeing that itself alone can by ●●self understand and comprehend that which existeth by itself; and that what it considers by other things, because subject to alteration, it ought not to account true, but only such as the Senses represent it; but that what itself clearly perceives, is intelligible, and unperceivable by Sense. 
* Description of a profane and vicious life. Whereof the greatest Evil is, that such men are insensible both of their sins, and misery.  When therefore the Soul of a man truly a Philosopher conceives, that it ought not to oppose this deliverance and enfranchisement, comes thus to abstain from pleasures and lusts, and as much as it is able, from griefs also and errors: thus casting up its account; When a man is possessed, and even transported with great joy, or astonished with excessive grief, or enraged by the stings of Lusts, he doth not by those [passions] suffer so much of evil, as one would by common and vulgar judgement think: whether (for example) that he should pursue those Lusts, feel those Diseases, and undergo loss of his Estate in vain: but, what is the highest of all Evils, he suffers this, that he perceives not, nor takes notice that he suffers. What mean you, Socrates? saith Cebes. Because every man's Mind is constrained to rejoice and delight vehemently upan occasion of some things, and to esteem that wherein he suffers that [affection] to be most manifest and most true; though the same be not such. Now are these things discernible by the sense, or are they not? Wholly. But in this affection, is not the Soul obliged to sympathise with the Body? In what manner? Because every pleasure, and every grief, as if armed with a nail, affixeth, and as it were with a buckle fasteneth the Soul to the Body, and makes it corporeal, thinking all things to be true, that the body dictateth. For, that it is constrained to agree with the Body in opinions, and to be delighted at the same time with it (as I conceive) comes from the conjecture of the one with the other: and thence the Soul is carried about by the common force of education and customs, so as it cannot go to the shades below, i. e. to a second life, pure and undefiled, but departs polluted with stains and infection derived from the body, and then presently falls into another body, and as if sowed therein, grows to it, remaining void of that divine, pure, and uniform conversation. You speak great truths, Socrates, saith Cebes. 
* Conclusion monitory. With what care and circumspection a Philosopher ought to beware, lest he be entangled in the snares of Lusts and Corporeal pleasures, against which by his profession he proclaims open War.  By reason of these things, Cebes, they who are truly studious, are modest and valiant; but not by reason of those that are in the opinion of the vulgar. What think you? Not by reason of vulgar things, certainly. For the Soul of a Philosopher will not hold itself obliged to free itself from the institutes of Philosophy, and letting lose the bridle of its precepts, give itself up to the desires either of pleasures or pains, and permit itself to be again chained to the body, and so render its work imperfect; weaving and unravelling its web, like Penelope (as they say) but will resolve it to be most decent, to compose all those desires, and follow the conduct and mandates of reason, and to be always conversant herein, to contemplate things true and divine, and such as may not be carried about by temerity of opinions; and being bred up and nourished with them, conclude, it ought in this manner to live, while life lasteth: and when death comes, to go to a place agreeable and cognate to its nature, and be delivered from human evils. From this Education, it can fear nothing grievous, by its own institution studiously labouring in this matter, Simmias and Cebes; not fearing, to be, in the moment of its departure from the body, dissipated, and blown out by winds, and so to vanish, as to have no longer existence any where else.  

The second part of the disputation; wherein Plato proposes the chief Opinions impugning the Immortality of the Soul; observing the circumstances conducing to the grace of the Dialogue.  Socrates having thus spoken, there succeeded a long silence. And he was plainly observed profoundly to revolve in his mind the discourse he had delivered; and thereupon many of us appeared to meditate upon this matter. But Cebes and Simmias conferred a little betwixt themselves. Whom Socrates beholding, what, saith he, is the subject of your conference? Doth any thing seem to be deficient in my discourse? There remain truly many doubts and exceptions, if one would with due strictness examine and pursue things more particularly. If your private talk be of any other matter, I ask nothing; but if ye doubt of the verity of aught delivered in my discourse, delay not either to declare your scruples, if ye think they may be more commodiously and satisfactorily solved; or to admit me to bear a share in the conference, in case ye believe any thing of light or utility may arise from my assistance. And I, saith Simmias, will ingeniously confess the truth. Each of us remaining in suspense, have been urging one the other, out of desire of satisfaction, to propose our Queries to you: but fear restrains us, lest we might give you trouble, and our interrogations prove importune and unpleasant, in this your calamity. At this Socrates mildly smiling, O strange! saith he: how hard a task shall I have, to persuade others that I am far from esteeming this my present case a calamity, since I cannot prevail upon you to believe I am so: but ye fear, lest my condition be now more afflicted, and sad, than at any time heretofore in my whole life. Truly ye seem to think me to be inferior to Swans, in the way and faculty of divining. 
* Socrates, in way of preface, first positively professeth his own steadfast belief of the Souls immortality; alluding to the vulgar tradition of the singing of Swans (concerning which he shows himself somewhat superstitious;) and then declares the disquisition to be of so high moment, that we ought not to be exercised therein without due attention of mind, and caution, lest we admit error instead of truth.  They, when they first perceive they are to die, as they sang before, so they sing most at that time, rejoicing that they shall forthwith come to that God, whose servants they are. But men, being themselves afraid of death, feign lies in disparagement of Swans, and report, that they lamenting their own death, for very grief strain their voice more vehemently at the approach of it; not observing, that no Bird ever sings when he is displeased or pinched with cold, or affected with any pain whatever; no not the Nightingale, nor Swallow, nor the Hooper, which they say, are wont to sing for sorrow: but neither these, nor Swans seem to sing for grief; but, as I think, because they are Sacred to Apollo, and so being endowed with some instinct of divining, when they foresee the Goods that are reserved apud inferos, they chant forth their joy, and are more delighted that day, than in their whole life before. And for my part, seriously I conceive myself to be conjoined with these Swans in consort of the same ministry, and consecrated likewise to the same Deity: and that I have received from that my Lord and Master, no less power of Divining; and that I depart out of this life with equal quiet, and calm submission. Wherefore nothing remains to hinder you from speaking and interrogating whatsoever ye please, concerning our former argument, whilst the Eleven [Officers] of the Athenians permit. Socrates, saith well, replied Simmias. I will freely declare my doubt: and Cebes here will likewise let you know how far he doth not embrace what you have delivered. For I think myself to have as certain and confirmed knowledge of these things, as you Socrates; that either they are in the number of impossibilities, or extremely difficult. But as for what things are said concerning them, not to examine them with every reason, and all moments of arguments alleged, or wholly to reject them, and to leap back from them, before you have endeavoured with all possible contention and equity of mind, even to the last effort, and to weariness, to perpend them: this I think to be the part of an effeminate and incurious spirit. And herein, this one thing is to be studiously endeavoured, that either we may learn, or find out how these things are; or if that cannot be done, choosing and fixing upon such a reason, among those that occur to humane understanding, as may be more firm and convincing, i. e. as may be less subject to refutation; set up our rest therein: that being thereby, as by a ship, carried safely along, we may escape the dangers and difficulties of this life; unless any can be wafted and transmitted over in some firmer vehicle, i. e. some Divine Word. Truly I shall not be ashamed to ask, since you say this: nor will be a cause of accusing myself hereafter, that I had not ingeniously explained to you what my opinion is concerning this matter. For, Socrates, when I both by myself, and with another, by comparing reasons, inquire into it: I do not find your arguments to be perspicuous and convincing. Perhaps, saith Socrates, this is your opinion: but tell me freely, how far, and wherein my discourse fails of being persuasive. Thus far, saith he: 
* The first contrary Opinion, that the Soul is Harmony and Consent; and so both results from, and perishes with the Body.  that any man may say the same, with equal reason, both of Harmony, and of a Harp, and of other instruments of Music: namely that Harmony is a something invisible, and incorporeal, and most beautiful, and divine, in a well tuned and concordant Harp or Lute: but the Harp itself, and the strings, are bodies compound, and terrene, and of Kin to that Mortal [nature.] And when any one hath broken the Harp, or cut the strings; if another should assert, and by the same reason you urged, that of necessity that Harmony doth still exist, and is not destroyed, (for it would be no difficulty at all, that the Harp is still in being, and that the strings being broken, are mortal; but that the Harmony, which was by community of nature, and by cognation conjoined with that Divine and Immortal [Being] died and vanished, before the Mortal,) but continue in Being some where; and that the wood and strings would rot and fall to dust sooner than the Harmony decay, or suffer any thing of destruction. For truly, Socrates, I conceive that you also have thought our Soul to be something like this [Harmony:] as if our body being extense, were hold together by hot and cold, dry and moist; and from the mixture of these, results a certain temperature and consent, which is the Soul; and this, after those Elements or Ingredients have been exactly and in due proportions mixed and tempered together. If therefore the Soul be a kind of Harmony, namely when our Body shall be infinitely extended, and so freed from diseases and other evils: that then it is absolutely necessary, the Soul (how Divine soever) should perish, as other Harmonies, that ' are either in Sounds, or in all the works of Artificers: and there the relics of every body endure a long time, until it be burned, or dissolved by putrefafaction. Observe then what we should answer to this discourse, if any should affirm, that the Soul is a certain temperament arising from the ingredients of the body; and that in that dissolution which is called death, it first perisheth. Here Socrates, after he had, as he used often to do, cast his eye round about, and smiled; Simmias hath reason, saith he. If therefore any of ye be more copious, and better furnished with arguments, than myself, why doth he not answer? for Simmias seems not lightly or rashly to have touched that discourse. Yet before I answer, I hold it convenient, we first hear Cebes, what he also reprehends in my discourse, that gaining time for thoughts, we may well consider what to reply; then, that having fully understood their objections, we may either yield to them, or by observing their impertinency, so defend and make good our own Doctrine. But go to, Cebes, saith he; declare to us what troubles you in this argument, so that you cannot assent and give credit to my words.  
I will tell you, 
The Second contrary opinion; that the Soul, though more firm and lasting than the Body; because more excellent: doth yet at length, after it hath animated and worm out many bodies successively, decay, and through weakness perish; which Cebes illustrates by an example.  saith Cebes: To me your discourse seems to be involved in the incommodity, and to be guilty of the same fault I observed before. For, that our Soul existed before it came into our Body, I deny not: for that hath been fairly, and (if it may be said without offence) abundantly demonstrated. But that any thing remains to us after death, seems to me not sufficiently proved: For, that the Soul is stronger and more lasting than the Body; I so hold, that I shall not grant that Exception of Simmias to be true; because the Soul seems to be far more noble and excellent than all these. Why therefore (saith Reason itself speaking to me) do you yet doubt and refuse to believe? since you see, that when a man is dead, what of him was more infirm and weak, yet remains: do you not conceive it to be necessary, that what is more firm and lasting, must at the same time remain conserved? But now do you perpend and consider this also, if I shall say any thing considerable: for I want as much as Simmias did (it seems) some Image or similitude. For, to me these things seem to be spoken, just as if one should, an old Weaver being dead, say thus of him; the man is not destroyed, but remains safe somewhere: and should bring this argument for it, the garment of his own weaving wherewith he was clothed, which is yet extant. And if another should, after refusal of assent to that argument, ask, whether of the two is more lasting, man or a garment, which may indeed be consumed by the very use of wearing: and a third should answer, that man is much more lasting; and so should think it demonstrated, that that man doth by so much the rather remain safe, because what is less lasting, hath not perished. This I conceive not to be so. Observe also what I say; for any one may think it to be said foolishly and impertinently. For this Weaver having worn out and woven many such garments, died the last of these many, but before the last: and yet man is notwithstanding neither worse, nor more infirm, as for what concerns that matter. This very Image (I think) the Soul shall receive by reason of the Body. And he who shall say the same of them, may seem to me to speak soberly and moderately, if he conclude the Soul to be of long duration; but the Body less firm, and of shorter duration. But I would say rather, that the Soul consumes and wears but many Bodies, though they all live many years. For if the Body be dissolved and perish, the man yet surviving, and the Soul always weaves a new what is worn out: it will be wholly necessary, that the Soul at that time when it shall die, have the garment it last wove; and that it perish before that last garment only. But when the Soul once dies, the Body then soon demonstrates the imbecility of its nature, and quickly rotting vanisheth. Wherefore according to this reason, it would be highly extravagant for us to grow proud upon this persuasion, and to be confident, that after we are dead, our Soul doth still remain some where. For if a man shall grant more than what you affirm; namely, that our Soul was pre-existent before it entered into the Body; yea that nothing hinders but the Souls of some may, after they are dead, survive and continue; and that they are often born, and die again, that is, they often come and go (for that such is the virtue and power of the Soul, as that it conserveses itself through the various moments of its birth) though, I say, a man shall grant all this, he would yet be forced to confess this, that the Soul doth not only endure vast labour in all those many accessions, or approaches of generations; but also at length is by one of those decensions or dislodgings, that is by some one death, wholly destroyed and abolished. But this death, and this dissolution of the Body, which brings destruction at last to the Soul, let no man say he understands. For it is impossible, any of us should comprehend it by sense. This being thus, it is absurd for any man living, who cannot prove it, with a certain foolish and ignorant security to be confident, that his Soul is immortal, and exempt from destruction. Besides, 'tis necessary for a man drawing near to his death, to fear for his Soul, lest in that very present disjunction of his Body, it utterly perish, and be abolished.  
When we had heard them speak thus, 
Here Phaedo pauseth a little; opportunely intimating, that the immortality of the Soul is a thing both so important, and so abstruse, as that it ought not to be by an empty and unadvised credulity embraced, but steadfastly rooted in the mind, upon the conviction of solid and convincing arguments.  we were all cast into very great perplexity of thought, as afterwards some confessed to others; for that having been strongly persuaded by the precedent discourse of Socrates, they seemed to trouble us, by destroying that belief, and by raising scruples in our minds; so that we not only doubted of what we had embraced, but inclined also to deny our assent to the like arguments in the future: as if either we were not competent judges of these things, or the things themselves were of that improbable nature, as not to admit belief.  Ech. 
I excuse you, Phedo, by the immortal Gods: for it came into my head to revolve the very same thing in my thoughts, whilst I heard your recital of their [uncomfortable] exceptions and scruples. To which reason therefore shall I give assent? for that discourse of Socrates, which to me seemed the more probable, hath now lost its title to my belief. For that opinion, that holds the Soul to be an Harmony, hath always wonderfully prevailed, and doth now prevail with me: and the present rehearsal recalls to my memory, that the reasons thereof have heretofore pleased me. And I again stand in need of some other discourse (as a repetition from the very beginning) to persuade me, that when the Body dies, the Soul doth not die too. Tell me therefore, by Jove, how Socrates pursued that discourse; whether he, as you have confessed, were observed to be more offended at the opposition; or whether with a mild and composed mind, he brought relief to his distressed assertion: and whether that relief were effectually strong and prevalent, or weak and destitute of solidity: all which (I pray) recount to us as particularly and plainly as you can.  Phe. 

An opportune reflection upon the admirable modesty, and exemplary humanity of Socrates, shown in Disputation.  Truly, Echecrates, I have always much admired Socrates; but never so much as at that time. It was no wonder, he was provided of an answer: but well worthy the highest admiration, that he first received and solved those Objections of the Young men pleasantly, benignly, and sweetly; and then shown himself sensible of, and concerned in our dissatisfaction and perplexity. Afterward he administered Physic most opportunely to our doubting minds, recalled us as overcome and flying away, and made us turn our faces again [with courage and hope] that we might follow him, and with recollected thoughts more attentively consider his Discourse.  Ech. 
How effected he that?  Phe. 
I will acquaint you how; for I sat at his right hand, near the little Bed, on a low stool, so that he was much above me. When therefore he had rubbed his head a little, and pressed down his hair, (for he used sometimes in that manner to play with his hair) to morrow, saith he, Phedo, you will perhaps cut off these fine locks. That, Socrates, is convenient. No, saith he, if you believe me. Why? quoth I. This very day, saith he again, both I will cut off mine, and you shall cut off yours, if our discourse be dead, and we not able to revive it. Were I you, and had lost my discourse, I would make a vow, as the Argives did, I would never let my hair grow, till I had vanquished and subdued the Harangue of Simmias and Cebes. But, quoth I, Hercules himself is said not to be sufficient to encounter with two at once. But saith he, encourage me as Jolaus, while the day lasteth. I do encourage you, said I, not as if I were Hercules, and you Jolaus: but as if I were Joalus, and you Hercules. No matter which saith he; but first let us beware lest we be circumvented by some chance. By what? said I. That we be not, saith he, 
A previous caution, that we entertain no prejudice against words, as some do against particular persons: because Human reason may invent various exceptions in this sublime Argument, to elude the force of verity.  haters of words, as they who pursue men with peculiar and personal hatred: for a greater evil cannot fall upon any man, than to be involved in that kind of Odium and Aversion. And both sorts of hatred, of men and of discourses, flow from the same Fountain. For hate towards men's persons flows, and as it were steals in from hence; that if a man hath without due circumspection given full credit to another, taking him to be perfectly veracious, and upright, and faithful: and afterward find him to be a knave, faithless, a turncoat and ; and this happen often to the same man, and from those whom he took for his most loving and most familiar friends; at length he feeling the shock of his wrongs, and as it were bruised, grows to hate all, and to conclude within himself, that there is nothing of integrity or sincerity in any man. You are in the right, say I. Is not that therefore shameful and odious? and manifest it is, this man would, without skill in Human occurrents, and the practice of the World, hold a commerce with men. For if he made use of men with discretion and art, and estimated things according to their nature; he would find, that there are some men good, and others bad: not many very good, nor very bad; but every man of a middle order betwixt both. How say you that? said I. As of things, replied he, that are great or little in extremes; do you think any thing more rare, than a man extremely great, or extremely little; or a Dog, or any thing else? or than one that is swift, or slow, or beautiful, or deformed, or white, or black to the last degree? Do you not observe, that all extremes are very rare: and that middle-rate things are frequent and numerous? They are so, said I. Do you then think, that if there were appointed a combat of improbity, that men of the highest rank therein would be found to be but few? 'Tis likely they would, said I. It is so, said he. But in this manner discourses are not like to men (for you going before me, I tread in your footsteps, and follow you (but thus far the resemblance and cognation betwixt them is to be observed, when a man hath firmly assented to a discourse as true, without any arguments of that art whereby belief is usually obtained; and afterward the same discourse seem to some to be false, and to others to be true: 
* Against the Sceptics, who disputed of things problematically, concluding of nothing, but this, that nothing should be certainly known. By this very place they may be undeceived, who having not read, or at least not understood Plato, have yet been so bold as to accuse him of Scepticism, as if he taught nothing of certainty.  and this come to pass chief from those men who are versed in that kind of discourse which is called [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] an account of Causes, (i. e. when upon examination of the causes of things, what arguments can be alleged on either part, are urged and debated) they forsooth at length think themselves to be the wisest, and alone to have understood, that there is nothing of truth and certainty in things or words; but that all are carried and tumbled up and down tumultuously, as by some Euripus, never continuing in the same state and posture. You speak truth, said I. Were it not then (saith he) a deplorable calamity, if when a discourse is true and certain, and such as may be commodiously comprehended and understood: yet afterward any man should fall from the truth of it, and waver in uncertainty, because in those very reasons, which being alleged on both parts, may seem one while true, and another while false, he hath been curiously versed? Would not he, I say, accuse himself? He would not confess his own dulness, but growing at length discontented, would transfer his fault upon the discourses themselves, and during the remainder of his life, pursue them with perpetual hatred and detestation: because it had by their fault happened, that he had been deprived of the just power of Verity and Science. By Jove, answered I, it would be very sad and deplorable. 
* Socrates addeth, that when in a Philosophical inquisition, we come to that point, that we cannot understand why a thing is so or so constituted: we ought to accuse, not the Reasons themselves, but ourselves and our [own infirmity; and so in this] very Argument.  First therefore, continued he, let us avoid this danger, and not persuade ourselves of the wrong through prejudice, as if we thought there were nothing of solidity or soundness in discourses themselves: but this rather let us believe, that we ourselves are not of sound and upright judgement; and that we are to endeavour with courage and resolution to render ourselves more discerning and judicious: you and others, for the remainder of your lives, and I, for my death. But methink, I am not now treating of this Subject, as becomes a Philosopher, but rather contentiously and obstinately, as the grossly ignorant are wont to argue. For they, when they doubt of any thing, take little care of what properly belongs to the nature and investigation thereof: but apply their whole study and diligence only to this, to persuade others to think as themselves think. And I seem to differ from them only in this. I am not solicitous to convince others of the truth of what I say (unless so far forth as it comes in my way occasionally and by the by, to do it) but rather that the same things may appear to myself to be really such as I represented them to be. Thus, my Phedo, I reason: and do you look with how great accession of profit and emolument [to others.] For if the things I say, be true; 'tis happy for me that I believe them: but if nothing remain to me after death, yet at this time that intercedes before it, I shall be the less unpleasant to those who are present, than otherwise I might be, in case I lamented and deplored my death. But the ignorance of this matter will now no longer pursue me (for that would be evil) but be soon blotted out. And thus prepared, Simmias▪ and Cebes, I address myself to speak. Do ye the while so govern your assent, as to have little consideration of Socrates; and all you can of truth. If I seem to speak truth, give me your assent: if not, oppose me with all your power of reason; being chief intent upon this, that I may not through this my vehement study and ardour of thoughts, lead both myself and you into error, & departed, like a Bee, leaving my sting behind me.  
To come therefore to the thing in dispute; 
Coming now to the Refutation of the contrary opinions objected; for more perpiscuity sake, he first rehearseth them faithfully.  first do ye recall into my memory what things ye have said, unless I shall appear to you to remember them of myself. Simmias, as I think, diffident of of what I alleged, doubts and fears, that the Soul, though more divine and excellent than the Body, may yet perish before it, as arising from, and depending upon a kind of Harmony or consent [of the organs of the Body.] But Cebes seems to grant this, that the Soul is indeed more lasting than the Body: vand yet holds it to remain uncertain, whether the Soul after it hath passed through, and worn out many Bodies by use, doth not at a certain time, itself also, leaving its last body, perish and vanish away; and whether that death be not the destruction and abolition of the Soul, for as much as the body never ceaseth to perish. Are not these your Opinions, Simmias and Cebes? Both assented that they were. 
* Refutation of the first contrary Opinion, that the Soul being only Harmony, as it ariseth from the Body, so it perisheth with it.  But, saith he, whether do ye reject all my precedent discourses: or do ye repudiate only some, and admit others? Some, say they, we reject, some we approve. What do ye resolve concerning that part of my discourse wherein I affirmed, that Discipline or Learning is Reminiscence? which being established, it would necessarily follow, that our Soul hath existence some where, before it is conjoined to the Body. I confess, saith Cebes, both that when you delivered that Doctrine, I suffered myself to be persuaded: and that now I wholly adhere to it, if to any other opinion. But you must be or another judgement, replies Socrates, if you yet continue in that persuasion of yours, that Harmony is a thing compounded; and the Soul a certain Harmony, constituted of those things that are extended and diffused through the Body. For otherwise you would contradict yourself, as having said, that this Harmony was made before those parts and organs of the Body, of which it ought to be composed, were in being. Will you admit this? By no means, Socrates, saith he. 
* An Argument from an Absurdity, thus. If the Soul were Harmony, then would it be necessarily consequent, that the Soul was not preaexistent to the Body, which yet was before granted and proved. And this Argument is indeed firm, as to its form; but infirm as to its ground, namely the supposition of the preexistence of Souls.  Do you conceive then, saith he, that these two affirmations can stand together: namely, that the Soul hath existence even before it takes possession of a Human Body; and that the same Soul consisteth of two things that are not yet in being? For you have no such Harmony to which you liken it: but first the Harp, and the strings, and the sounds, and so the consonances and tunes by certain Musical modes composed, are made: and the Harmony as it is last form, so it first perisheth. And how can this Opinion of yours agree with your other? By no means, saith Simmias. And yet notwithstanding, saith he, it is highly reasonable, that if it consist and agree with any tenant, it must be chief with this concerning Harmony. It is so, saith Simmias. That discourse therefore is disagreeable to you: but see which of the two you will take; this, that Discipline is Remembrance; or this, that the Soul is Harmony. Rather the first, saith he, Socrates. For this hath pleased me, without any firm demonstration, only by indication of a probable and elegant example: whence it hath been approved by many others also. 
* Because this Opinion deserded by Simmias, relieth only upon a probable Example; therefore Socrates occasionally admonishes, that we are not easily to resign up our belief to Examples.  And I, out of conscience of my own experience, saith Socrates, am of opinion, that those discourses which endeavour to teach by things only like unto truth, are fitted merely to ostentation: and that if a man be not very considerate and circumspect, they are highly fallacious, both in Geometry, and in all other Arts and Sciences. But that Doctrine concerning Reminiscence and Discipline is propped up by the solid firmament of an Hypothesis certain and worthy of belief. For it hath been said, that the Soul is somewhere so existent, before it comes into the Body, as that the Essence of it is qualified to obtain the true appellation of what it is, [i. e. of a Human Soul.] And this position, as I first admitted it into my thoughts, and persuaded myself of the verity thereof, so have I rightly and fully embraced it. For from the force of these arguments, it seems to me clearly necessary, that neither myself, nor any man else aught to give credit to him who holds the Soul to be Harmony. 
* A second Argument, strong and cogent, from a double Absurdity.  What? saith Simmias, doth it not seem consentaneous both to this Harmony, & to nigh another composition, to be of some other nature, than the things are whereof they are composed, or from which they result? By no means. 
* First position; that compounds always are the same, in their affections, or actions and passions, with the things whereof they are compounded.  Nor can any other thing, I think, do or suffer aught, but what the principles of it do or suffer. To this he assented. For it is absurd, the Harmony shoul go before the things out of which it is made or composed, but necessary it should come after them. To this also he yielded. Very far than it is from possible, 
* Second position; that the nature of a compound wholly depending upon the nature of its principles, cannot be contrary to them.  that Harmony should by a contrary resistance be moved, or a sound, or by any other way be repugnant to its own parts. Very far indeed, saith he. 
* From these two positions, ariseth a Theorem; that Harmony cannot be more or less Harmony.  What? is it not of the Essence of Harmony, that it be so for a Harmony, as it consenteth? I understand you not, saith he. If that Harmony be more and more adjusted and composed, will it then be more and more a Harmony? and on the contrary, if it be less and less adjusted and composed, will it be less and more scarcely a Harmony? Yes doubtless. Is it then incident to the Soul, to be more and more, and less and less a Soul, from the most minute parts of itself [increased or diminished? Not at all, saith he. Go to then by Jove. 
* That Theorem accommodated to the Soul.  Is one Soul said to be good, and to be endowed with understanding and virtue: and another, to be evil, and polluted with folly and improbity? and are they truly said to be so? Truly without doubt. But of those who hold the Soul to be an Harmony, who hath affirmed, that these things, Virtue and Vice, are in Souls themselves? Hath any said, that in them are also Concord and Discord? and that the Good is composed of a certain concordant consent, and in the concord itself, containeth another concord: but the Bad is both discordant, and containeth not another discord in itself? This in truth, saith Simmias, I cannot affirm: but manifest 〈…〉 be who hath laid down this opinion for truth, will affirm it. But that, replies Socrates, hath been already granted, that one Soul cannot possibly be more or less a Soul, than another: and this was the grand article of our common assent, that one Harmony cannot by any means be more or less a Harmony than another. Was it not? I confess it. And that this is nor more nor less a Harmony, nor more nor less fitted and adjusted to the ration of Harmony. Is this so? It is Now that which is nor more nor less adjusted, hath that at sometimes more or less of Consent: or equally? Equally. Therefore one Soul, as it is a Soul, is not more or less a Soul, than another Soul▪ and consequently cannot be, by a certain consent, more or less conformed. Right. Being thus affected or constituted, can it be no otherwise participant of concord and discord? No truly. Being thus affected, can one Soul receive more or less of Virtue or Vice, than another: seeing that Vice will be Discord, and Virtue Concord? Nothing more one than another. Nay rather, Simmias, from the rule of right reason, no Soul will be participant of Vice, if it be Harmony; for Harmony excludes all Discord. 
* That Virtue is the Harmony, and Vice the Discord of the Soul. From whence he collects, if the Soul be Harmony; since Virtue and Vice in the Soul undergo the ration of Concord and Discord; it must follow, that no Vice can have place in the Soul, and so no soul be vicious; that is, the difference of Good and Evil would be wholly taken away; than which there cannot be a greater absurdity.  Nor can a Soul, perfectly a Soul, receive Vice. How can this be evinced from our former concessions? for by this reason also the Souls of all living creatures will be equally good; if at least they be all equally comparated. It seems to me, saith he, they are so, Socrates. And doth that, saith he, seem to be rightly said; and that these Reasons are pertinent to this discourse, and consentaneously demonstrated, if this be a true Hypothesis, that the Soul is Harmony? Not at all, saith he. What then? saith he; of all the parts of man, doth any bear rule, and possess an Empire over the rest, besides the Soul, especially if it be prudent? No truly. Whether doth it rule, if it indulge and favour the affections of the Body, or oppose and contremand them? for Example: If when the Body suffers heat or thirst, the Soul incline it to abstain from drink; and when hunger presseth the Body, the Soul divert it from eating; and in infinite other occasions we observe the Soul resisting and giving law to the senses and appetites of the Body. Doth it not? Yes doubtless. 
* A second absurdity; seeing it is evident, that both virtue and vice are incident to the Soul, (as appear● from the rational and irrational cupidities thereof) if the Soul were Harmony, it would inevitably follow, that the Soul is not a Soul, that is, the [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] things plainly inconsistent would be compounded; as if a man should absurdly imagine to mix Discord with Harmony.  And have we not in our precedent enquiry granted, that the Soul, supposing it to be an Harmony, cannot possibly have affections contrary to the organs of the Body by which its presumed to be strained up to a higher, or let down to a lower pitch; or repugnant to the passions of the instruments of which it is composed: but must inevitably obey their dictates and commands, not prescribe and give law to them? This we have granted, saith he; why should we not? Now then, doth not the Soul appear to do quite contrary, when it exerciseth Dominion over, and dispenseth commands to the various members and organs of the body, out of whose combination and system you suppose it to result; and when for the most part during life, it strives to control all their inclinations and appetites, with absolute Sovereignty ruling and moderating them: more severely chastising some, by the rules of strict Diet and Medicine, and more gently and mildly correcting others; with menaces and advices composing the lusts, anger, and fears of the Body; as if in man himself there were two distinct natures, or as it were persons, one speaking to the other [as Prince and Subject? as Homer also imagined in his Odysseys, where he saith of Ulysses, 
Knocking his breast, to's Heart he thus did speak.  
Be not thou, Heart, in these afflictions weak:  
But bear them bravely, in thyself secured.  
Thou heretofore hast greater ills endured.   
Think you that the Poet feigned this out of opinion, that the Soul itself was an Harmony, and such a frail thing, as to be at the will and conduct of the corporeal affections, and unable to lead and rule them: or rather out of a full persuasion, that the Soul was a thing much more noble and divine, than a Harmony? He seems to me, by Jove, Socrates, to have signified, that the Soul is, not a Harmony, but something incomparably more Noble and more excellent. 
* Conclusion; that the opinion of the Souls being Harmony, is to be exploded, as many ways absurd.  We cannot therefore (believe me) hold the Soul to be an Harmony: for manifest it is, that if we do, we shall both dissent from that Divine Poet, and contradict even ourselves. You are in the right, saith Simmias.  
Well then, saith Socrates; we have commodiously (I think) appeased and silenced the reasons of the Theban Harmony: but, Cebes, how shall we, in the next place, solve those of the 
* Both Simmias and Cebes being Thebans▪ it seems that Socrates here facetely alluded to the fable of Cadmus the Thehan, of armed men growing out of the earth; because Cebes had many times contradicted and opposed him with fresh forces.  Cadmean? You, saith Cebes, are most likely to find out that: for you have admirably, and beyond our expectation, discoursed against that Harmony [which Simmias defended.] For when I heard him proposing his doubts, I thought it strange even to wonder, if it were possible for any man living to find a reasonable solution of them: and it seemed admirable to me, that he was not able to sustain the very first charge of your speech. 'Twil therefore be less admirable, if the Cadmean opinion [proposed by me] meet with the same fate. Good Cebes, saith Socrates, speak not those magnific things of me, I beseech you; lest envy rise up, and disturb our following discourse. But let God alone with that care also; while we encountering (as Homer saith) hand to hand, try the force of what you can allege.  

He first recites, and sta e the second contrary opinion.  Of all your Inquiries, this is the grand and capital one. You judge it fit to be demonstrated, that the Soul of man is free and exempt from destruction and death: and this, lest a Philosopher, when at the near approach of death, he is of a resolved and undaunted courage, and believes that after death, he shall be far happier than in the short race of this life; should out of an ignorant and foolish confidence, triumph and exsult. Now to affirm, both that the Soul is a thing firm and divine, and that it existeth of itself, before we are born: this, I say, hinders not but all your arguments may come short of the main question in hand: they may serve to evince indeed, not the immortality of the Soul, but only the duration of it: for that an immense time before its entrance into the Body, it hath existed; and then both knew and did many things: and yet notwithstanding all this, we are under no necessity of concluding from thence, that it is immortal: nay rather on the contrary, it seems reasonable, that its very entrance into, and conjunction with the Body, is the beginning of its destruction, and a kind of sickness; so that it lives a sad and miserable life here, tormenting itself with the sense of [various] calamities; and at last perisheth by that end which is called death. But you say, that as to our security from fear of death, it makes no difference, whether the Soul come only once into one Body, or into many successively. For in truth, no just cause of fear is given to any, unless he be very silly, and unable to give a reason why the Soul is immortal. And (this I take it) is the sum of what you said, Cebes: which I industriously recite, and more than once inculcate, that nothing may escape us, and you may add and detract what you please. But I, saith Cebes, at present demand neither to detract, nor to add any thing: and you have faithfully recounted what I said.  
Then Socrates, after he had a pretty while recollected himself from intent and fixed thoughts: the thing you seek, saith he, is not to be contemned, Cebes: as being that, for the sake whereof it may concern us, tightly to inquire into the causes of Generation and Corruption. I will therefore, if you please, pursue my discourse, declaring what are my sentiments concerning the same. Let it be so, saith Cebes. Attend you then diligently, while I explain my thoughts. 
* Accommodating his Answer to the order and method of the opinion he designs to refute; he first removes the prejudices upon which it was grounded; and then teacheth, that the true cause of the Souls immortality, is to be sought in God, who is [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] the very form and fountain of life.  I have saith he, even from my Youth, been strangely enamoured and inflamed with the study of that part of Wisdom which they call the History of Nature. It seemed a magnific and noble thing, to understand the causes of all things, why this or that particular was made, why it should be again destroyed, and by what reason it had existence: and I very often turned myself up and down, first revolving these things in my mind. Why Animals, after hot and cold have undergone a certain sort of putrefaction (as some say) are nourished: and whether the Blood be that by which we have the power of Understanding and growing Wise; or Air, or Fire, or none of all these; but rather the Brain. which gives us the senses of hearing, seeing, smelling, etc. Whether out of these, Memory be made, and Opinion; and from memory and opinion settled by quiet, Knowledge be made, in the same manner. Perceiving clearly the corruptions of these, and observing the contingents both in the Heavens, and on the Earth: I at length thought myself to be so unfit for these contemplations, that nothing can be more unfit. Whereof I will bring a just and convenient argument. So far was I amused and blinded by this way of considering, that what things I had before clearly and certainly (as I myself, and others also thought) known; that was I obliged to unlearn and forget, and to doubt of very many others also, and chief of this, why a man grows and increases in stature and strength: for this I before thought to be evident to every one, that he was nourished, because he eat and drank: and that so he came to be increased in bulk and stature: and when from meats, particularly from flesh, there comes an addition of flesh, and bones are added to bones, and so in the same manner to all other parts their own proper nourishment is brought and assimilated: I thought that by this means a man was increased, from a little tiny infant; to his full stature. These were my thoughts then; and do you think them reasonable and satisfactory? To me, saith Cebes, they seem to be so. Now consider also what remains: I also thought the matter to be sufficiently evident, when a great man stood by a little man, that he was greater by the head; and one Horse greater than another, and what's yet more evident, that ten were more than eight, because two had been added to eight, and that two cubits were more than one, because of double the length. And now, saith Cebes, what think you of these things? Far, by Jove, saith he, very far I am from thinking, that I understood the cause of them: so that now I cannot satisfy myself, whether if one be added to one, the first one be two; or whether that which hath been added, and that to which it is added, be made two, by the addition of one to the other: for I wonder, if when each of them was single and apart, both were one, and not two; but after their growing nearer one to the other, that very coming together hath been the cause why they were made one. Nor if a man by cutting divide one into two, can I yet understand, how this cutting asunder of one thing, hath been the cause why they are two: for that cause is then contrary to their being two: for then when they were placed nearer together, and one was put to the other: and now when they are removed and separated one from the other; I cannot persuade myself, that I know, that one is made. Nor do I know any thing else (to speak all in a word) why it is, or why it ceaseth to be, or whether things be made in that manner and order [that Natural History hath delivered:] but I lightly mix therewith some other mode; and this I in no sort embrace. 
* Here accommodating his last discourse concerning the unreasonableness of acqiescing in secondary and remote Causes, to his present subject, he reprehends Anaxagoras; first for that putting a certain Universal Mind (as he called it) for the First Cause of all things, he had notwithstanding by searching more curiously into second Causes, and ascribing more to them, than was fit, destroyed that First Cause or Mind, by himself supposed; then for that in assigning 2. Causes, he had fised upon Remote ones, such as could not show, what was Best; that is, what is proper and peculiar to every things▪  But when on a time I heard one reading and relaving out of a certain Book (as he said) of Anaxagoras, that there is a certain [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] Mind that disposeth and governeth all things in order, and is the cause of all things: I was much delighted with the Universal Cause, and thought it to be in some degree rightly comparated, namely that a Mind is the cause of all things; and I thus determined with myself, that if there be such a Mind that governs and disposes all things, then certainly it doth dispose all things to the best advantage, and place every thing where it is most convenient it should be placed. I added, that if any man would desire to investigate the causes of singular things, how they are made, and how they perish; he would be obliged to inquire also, by what reason, and in what manner it hath been best for them to be, or to suffer or act any thing; and that from this reason, nothing is to be understood by man, both concerning himself, and of other things, but what is best and most excellent; and in fine, that it is necessary also that he understand what is Worst: 
* 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 There is the same Science of them.  for that of contrary things there is the same Knowledge, When I considered this Doctrine, I with very great pleasure thought, that now I had found a Master, who would according to my own hearts desire, teach me the causes of things, Anaxagoras; and that he would explain to me first whether the Earth were flat and broad, or round; and then would adjoin also a more copious explication of that first Cause, and of Necessity; that is, what is Best [for every singular nature] and why that should be best. Wherefore if he should affirm the Earth to be placed in the middle, he would moreover give Reasons why it was best for it to have that position. And if he should have sufficiently explained these things to me, I had resolved with myself to lay down no other Theory, or Form of Causes. And now I had prepared myself to inquire of him concerning both the Sun, and the Moon, and the rest of the Planets and Stars; namely of their celerity and conversions, and mutual respects, and other Affections and Apparences; how far it was most commodious for every one of them, to do and to suffer, what they did and suffered. For I did not think, that he who taught, that all things are composed and governed by a Mind, would allege any other cause of them, than this, that it was Best for them to be as they are. And so when he attributed and assigned a cause to every thing in particular, and in common to all things; I conceived he would not assign that for a cause to every thing in particular, namely what was properly and peculiarly best for each particular thing; and to all in general, what was their common and universal Good. Thus my hopes were great, and I pleased myself with mighty expectations, such as I would not have parted with for a very great sum of money; and with earnest study I took those Books into my hands, and with as much speed as I could, I read them quite through; that I might quickly understand the Best and the Worst. But (believe me) I soon fell from that lofty hope: for when I had made some progress in reading those Books, I perceived the man to use neither mind nor judgement, nor to assign any Causes to the composition and order of things with conveniency: but putting certain Aerial and Ethererial [influences] and many other absurd [Chimera's] for the true Causes of things. 
* An Example fitly remonstrating the folly of assigning Second Causes.  And me thinks, the same fortune befalls him, that belongs to any other who should say, Whatsoever Socrates doth, he doth with a Mind, and with judgement: and then designing to explicate the causes of the particular actions I do, should further say, first that I sit here, because my Body consists of bones and nerves; and that my bones are solid and firm, and have their differences and intervals of joints betwixt them; and that my nerves are so contrived and form, that they may be extended and relaxed again, and environ and bind the bones together with the flesh and skin, which contains and invests them. When therefore the bones are raised up in their joints, the sinews which are one while upon the stretch, and by and by relaxed, cause me to have the faculty of moving, bowing, and extending my limbs: and that by this cause I come to sit bowed forwards in this posture. And that he might explicate the causes of this my conference with you, should affirm them to be certain words or voices form of air, and hearing, and infinite others equally remote, but should neglect the true and certain cause; namely that the Athenians having been pleased by giving their suffrages to condemn me: I am likewise pleased to sit here; and it seems more just, that I should suffer the punishment they have doomed me to suffer. Since, by the 
* This Oath was familiar not only to Socrates, but to Zeno also. Witness Diogen. Laertius in vit. Soc. and Serranus in his Annotations on this place.  Dogg-starr, those bones of mine had long ago been carried (as I think) among the Megarensians or Baeotians, 
* Here Socrates is made to reflect upon, and occasionally justify his refusal to fly to the Megarensians, or to the Beotians, when Crito would have persuaded him to escape, and assisted him therein; as at large is recorded by Plato in his Dialogue entitled Crito.  by order of that Best; if I had not judged it more just and honourable to undergo, and patiently endure the punishment which the City hath decreed for me; than to live a fugitive or exile in another Country. But to call these things, Causes, is extremely impertinent. Whereas if one should say, that unless I had both bones and sinews, I could not do what actions I had a mind to do, he would indeed speak truth. And yet notwithstanding if any man should affirm, that by reason of my bones and nerves, I do the actions I do, and that I so far do them with understanding and a Mind, but not upon choice of the Best; truly he would reason but negligently and supinely. For this in truth, is not to be able to distinguish and discern, that really there is another cause; and another something, without which a cause is not a cause. In which error they seem to me to be involved and amused, who groping as it were in the dark, and abusing the propriety of that name, call that Second a Cause. Some therefore, while they place about the Earth a great gulf of Waters beneath the Heavens, will have it that the Earth come thereby to consist and remain firm: others prop up the Air, its fundament, as with a b●●d Kneading-tubb. But that virtue or power which hath been able to constitute things themselves in the best manner, what it is, and how it doth consist; this (I say) they inquire not, nor conceive it to have a Divine force and Energy: but imagine they have found a new Atlas' stronger than the first, and by a kind of immortality much more lasting, and more comprehensive of all things; and think that that Good and Beautiful [Being] doth bind together, and contain [and support] nothing. For my part, I would gladly learn from any man, the nature and proprieties of that Cause, whatsoever they be. But since I have not been able, either of myself to find it, or to understand from any other, what it is: are you, Cebes, willing I should give you an account of the Second Voyage I with exquisite study designed and attempted, for the finding of that Cause? I vehemently desire to hear it, saith he.  
When my mind was grown weary and faint with considering things intently, I perceived myself obliged to beware, lest that might befall me, which usually happens to those who gaze upon the Sun in an Eclipse. For their faculty of seeing would be taken from them, unless they beheld the image of the Sun in Water, or in some other the like [Diaphanous and Specular] body. Something like this came into my mind, and I feared lest my understanding might be wholly blinded, if I looked upon things themselves with my eyes, and attempted to touch them with my senses. 
* What way Socrates took in his researches of the First cause; coming to knowledge thereof by certain degrees; viz. by Reasons and Discourses; which yet he saith were efficacious and powerful, lest we might conceive some imaginary knowledge to be thereby signified, Plato therefore affirms, that as God is the most potent cause of all things, so he is also the sole and most certain Cause of the Soul. Which fundament is to be laid down as necessary to this disquisition, before we come to other reasons nearer to us.  I held it therefore very well worth my labour, to have recourse to Reason, or at least to that discourse which retains the prints of reason; and therein to contemplate the nature and verity of things. But perhaps this Simile or Example whereby I have endeavoured to represent this matter, will not be exactly fit and consentaneous. For I do not fully grant, that he who contemplates things in the [mirror of] reason or discourse, doth contemplate them rather in images than in works Nevertheless I took this course, and laying for a foundation, that reason which I judge to be most valid and most firm; what things appear to me to have congruity therewith, those I put for true, both as to Causes, and to all others: and on the contrary, what have no congruity therewith, those I conclude to be untrue. Which having thus noted in general, I will explain it more fully to you: for yet, I conceive you understand it not. Not very well, by Jove, saith Cebes. Yet replies he, I here speak nothing a new; but the very same I have, both at other times, and in my precedent disputation perpetually declared. For I am going to show to you the image of that Cause, in the re-search whereof I have thus long been versed: and I again return to those [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] renowned [Excellency's] and from them deduce my beginning; laying this down for a principle, That there is a something Beautiful, Good and Great, and every way perfect in and by itself. Which if you grant, I hope I shall, from those attributes of perfection, first show you an image of that Supreme Cause, and then convince you, that the Soul is immortal. But saith Cebes, supposing I grant this [your Fundamental] there is no need of a longer preface to support your conclusion. Consider then, saith he, what are the consequences of those Perfections? if at least your opinion be the same with mine. For thus I think, if there be any other Beautiful besides that self-beautiful, that it is Beautiful no otherwise, than as it is participant of the same self-beautiful; and the same I affirm of all. Do you embrace this Cause? I embrace it, saith he. I therefore, saith he again, understand no more; nor can I comprehend those wise Causes: but if any inquire of me, why any thing is beautiful, or why it hath a florid colour, or elegant figure, or any other the like fair quality; I securely pass by and neglect all other Causes, (with all which truly I am amused and perplexed) and simply, and genuinely without any Sophistry, and perhaps also foolishly, determine with myself, that nothing makes that thing beautiful, but either the presence, or communication of that self-beautiful, by what reason or way soever that hath come to it. For that I do not yet affirm: but this above all things I maintain, 
* An Axiom, certain and evident, that whatsoever is in the University of Nature, hath both its existence and form from God alone, who is the first and true Cause of all things. And that is the first fundament of the Souls immortality, viz. that God hath endowed man with an immortal Soul; which was before demonstrated by Socrates, who therefore in this place, only brings Examples for illustration.  that by the sole virtue and efficacy of that Beautiful, all things are made beautiful: for this I take to be the safest answer I can give both to myself, and to others: and firmly adhering to this truth, I believe I shall never be divorced from it; and think it safe to answer both to myself and others, that by that Beautiful alone all things that are beautiful, are made so. Do you think so too? I do. Likewise by Magnitude, that those things that are great, are made great; and those that are greater, are made greater; and those that are less, are made less by smallness. Certainly. Neither would you admit, if any should say that some other is greater by the head, and another less by the head: but profess that you say▪ nothing else but this, that whatever one thing is greater than another, comes to be so by no other cause but magnitude: and whatever is less, comes to be so only by smallness, and therefore is less by reason of smallness itself. Fearing, I think, lest, if you should have said, that such or such a man is greater or less by the head; another might contradict you, opposing this, that a man otherwise little, is bigger in the head than another otherwise bigger. Besides, that you say, the greater is greater by t e head, (which is but a small thing) that is some Monster, that you should affirm a thing to be great by that which is little. Are you not afraid of this answer? Yes, saith Cebes smiling. Are you then afraid, saith he, to say that ten are more than eight by two, and exceed two by that ration, but not by reason of multitude: and that two Cubits are greater than one Cubit by the half, but not by magnitude? for there is the same fear. There is, saith he. And what? if one be put to one, will you say that that putting or accession is the cause why they are made two: or if one be divided, are you not afraid to affirm that division to be the cause why one is made two? may you not cry out aloud, that you are ignorant by what other reason things exist, unless so far as every thing is participant of its own proper nature: and so you have no other reason, why two are made, than (that I may so speak) the participation of duty or Twoness. So that it is necessary, that those things which are to become two, participate of that duty: and those that are to be one, partake of Unity? But as for those cuttings asunder, those puttings together, and other the like witty trifles; you may very well omit them all; and leave the honour of answering them, to those that are wiser than yourself. But you fearing your own shadow (as they say) and diffident of your own ignorance, would you, certainly adhering to the firmness of that Position, in good earnest answer so? and if any man should rely upon that same position, would you neglect him, and not answer, until you had considered the consequents, whether in your judgement some of them agreed or disagreed with others. And when you should be obliged to render a reason thereof, would you in like manner, laying down another Hypothesis, grant those of the premises that seemed best, until you should arrive at what is just and fit? At the same time you would not confound things themselves (as the Contentious use to do) disputing both of the principle resolved upon, and of the consequents arising naturally from that principle: at least if you desired to find out some of those things which truly are; for those perhaps have no consideration, no care of these things: but are endowed with so singular a faculty, that they are able by their wisdom to commix and confound all things, and yet please themselves at the same time. And as for you, if you be one of those Philosophers, you will (I think) do what I say. You speak very great truths, answer Cebes and Simmias.  Ech. 
They answered rightly, by Jove, Phedo; for it seems to me, that he spoke admirably well, and perspicuously to the sense and capacity of a man, even of a vulgar wit.  Phe. 
He did, Echecrates; and so all that were present, judged.  Ech. 
We who were not present, are of the same judgement, hearing only the rehearsal. But what were his Discourses afterward.  Phe. 

Another Socratic Argument of the Souls immortaiity, taken from the proxim reasons of Second Causes, from whence follows the same Conclusion; after requisite Positions.  These, as near as I can remember: When these things were granted, and it was agreed upon among us, that single Species or Images are something, and that other things which communicate with them, do challenge to themselves their Surname: he than proceeds to interrogations. Seeing you say so, saith he; do you not in saying that Simmias is greater than Socrates, but less than Phedo; imply, that in Simmias are both Greatness and Smallness at once? I do so. But saith he, you confess in that that Simmias exceeds Soerates, it is not in reality so, as it is expressed in words. 
* First Position; that in the collation of things, the things themselves are not to be considered simply, but their Relations or respects one to another.  For you think not that Simmias is so comparated by nature, as he is Simmias; but only in respect of the magnitude wherewith he is endowed: nor that he exceeds Socrates, as he is Socrates, but that Socrates hath smallness, being compared to Simmias his greatness. Right. Nor that Simmias is exceeded by Phedo, as he is Phedo; but because compared to the smallness of Simmias, Phedo is endowed with greatness. Right again. Thus than Simmias hath the appellation of both great and little, since placed in the middle of them, he exceeds the one in greatness, and by reason of his smallness, yields to the others greatness. And at the same time smiling, I seem, saith he, to be delighted with words like an Historian. Is it not as I say? He assented. This I say out of desire, that you may be of the same opinion with myself. 
* Second Position; that contraries, as contraries, are neither made, nor capable of existing together; but either give place each to other, or perish, when one comes upon another.  For I conceive, that Magnitude itself is not only never willing to be both great and small at once; but also that the magnitude which is in us, never receives smallness, nor wills to be exceeded: but of the two, one either vanishes and gives place, when its contrary, namely smallness, approaches; or is destroyed, when the other appears: for when it hath once received and put on smallness, it can be no longer greatness, nor is it willing to be other than what it then is. As I, when I have received and put on smallness, and am yet the same that I am; or am this same little I. But that hath not dared, since it is great, to be little. In the same manner also that little that is in us, would not be made great: nor will one of two contraries, while it is what it is, become what the other is; but either it gives place, or perishes in this passion. Very right, saith Cebes, as I conceive. 
* Objection from the Doctrine above demonstrated, which seems repugnant to this Position; for it was before affirmed, that Contraries are produced out of Contraries; but here he saith, that Contraries cannot be together.  Then one of those who were present (who it was, I do not well remember) by the Gods, saith he, was it not granted in the precedent disputation, that one contrary may have being out of the other, viz. that a greater hath existence out of a less, and a less out of a greater: and that this is the generation of Contraries out of Contraries? and now it seems tome to be said, that that never is done. Here Socrates having inclined his ear to the speaker, you have, saith he, manfully remembered what was delivered: but you understand not the difference betwixt what is now said, and what was said before. 
* That Objection solved, by reconciliation of the two Positions seemingly repugnant. Where he also distinguishes betwixt the form of a contrary, and the Subject that is susceptible of a contrary; making good his Thesis by various examples.  In the precedent dispute it was said, that out of one contrary is made another: but here 'tis said, that a contrary cannot be contrary to itself; neither that which is in us, nor that which is in nature. Then we spoke of those things that have contraries, giving these the Surname of those: Now we speak of Contraries themselves, whose Surname those things wherein they are, obtain. And these contraries we could never affirm to be willing to receive mutual generation one from the other. And converting his eyes upon Cebes, he said, doth any of these things trouble you, Cebes? Neither am I discomposed, saith Cebes, nor doth what you say trouble me. 
* He returns to his Second Position; and both proves and illustrates it by Examples.  We are then agreed saith he, that a contrary can never be contrary to itself. We are so, saith Cebes. Consider this therefore with me, saith he; whether you can assent to it. Do you call any thing hot and cold? yes. What? as Snow and Fire? No. Is any other thing hot, but fire: any thing cold, but Snow? yes certainly. But this you conceive (I think) that Snow, while it continues Snow, will never receive heat (as we said above) but at the accession of it, either yield to it, or be abolished. Right. And that fire, at the accession of Cold, will likewise go out, or be destroyed; but never dare, after the admission of Cold, to be what it was, namely fire and cold. You say true, saith Cebes. To 
* In Numbers, and their various forms.  some of this sort also it usually happens, that they not only perpetually account and design the same Species by the same name, but some other thing too, which indeed is not that, though it always hath the form thereof, when it existeth. But now perhaps what I say, will be more easily explained in this manner. Ought an Odd number to have this name wherewith we now mark it, or not? Yes doubtless. This alone of all things (for this I ask) or somewhat else, which though different from Odd, ought nevertheless always to call it by its own name; because the nature of it is such as never to defect from Odd? This I say, is that very thing, as the number of three, and many other numbers suffer. Now consider this in the number Three; are Three to be called both by their own name, Three, and by that of Odd also, though Odd be not the same with a Triad, or Ternary? But thus comparated is also a Ternary, and Five, and every half of a number; so that though it be not the same as Odd, yet always every one of them is Odd. Two likewise, and Four, and again every other Series of number, though it be not the same as Even; yet must always be Even. Do you grant this, or not? Why should I not? saith he. Observe then saith he, what I design to demonstrate; it is this. 
* A Third Thesis dependent on the precedents. That what admits a contrary quality, is One thing; and the contrary quality admitted another, The Contrary Subject therefore remains, while contrary qualities are variously induced; but so, that contrary qualities cannot be in the same mode. But so long as a contrary quality is present, it communicates its nature and name to the subject; as while an Odd number shall be present, that number will be, and be called Odd▪ while Heat shall be in a body, the body will be, and be called hot, etc.  It seems, that not only those Contraries are incapable of mutually receiving each other, but all other things whatsoever, which though they be not contrary among themselves, yet always have contraries: nor do they seem capable to put on that form which is contrary to the Species wherein they are: but when that contrary form once intervenes, they presently either perish, or give place. Shall we not say, that Three will sooner perish, or suffer any thing else, than endure to be made Even? Yes, saith Cebes. And yet, saith he again, the number Two is not contrary to the number Three. It is not, truly. Therefore not only contrary Species admit not the accession of one to another mutually; but some other contraries also abhor, and are incapable to suffer that mutual accession. You speak with great probability, saith Cebes. Will you then, saith he, that, if we be able, we define of what quality these things are? With all my heart, saith he. Will they not be such, Cebes, which so conform whatsoever they possess, as not only to force it to retain its own Species of form, but also suffer it not to admit and put on the Species or form of any Contrary whatsoever? How say you to this, saith Cebes? As we said a little before: for you know it to be necessary, that that which contains the Species of Three, is not only Three, but also Odd. Right. For this reason we said, that the Species contrary to that form which makes this, can never be induced. By no means. Hath the Species of Odd perfected that form? Certainly. And is the Species of Even contrary to the Species of Odd. It is. Therefore the species of Even shall never force itself upon Three. Never. Are Three then free from she ration of Even? Free. Therefore tste number Three is odd. Certainly. What therefore I undertook to define, I have now defined; namely, 
* He repeateth what he had above distinctly applicated, viz. that contrary qualities cannot be together in the same subject; but one of necessity expelleth the other. But the subjects themselves admit contraries successively.  that of what sort those things are, which being contrary to none, yet admit not a Contrary; as now the number Three is not at all contrary to Even, and yet is nevertheless incapable thereof. For the number Two always infers a contrary to Odd, and Fire a Contrary to Cold; and the like of very many others But consider whether you agree that the matter ought to be defined thus; That a Contrary doth not only not receive its contrary; but that also which may adfer any contrary to that, to which itself may come, namely that which adfers it, doth never admit a form contrary to the form of that which is adferred. But again rub up your memory; for 'tis no incommodity to hear the same again. The number Five never admits the ration of Even; nor the number of Ten (the duple of five) the ration of Odd. This therefore, being itself contrary to another, will yet never admit the ration of Odd. Nor will that number and half that number, or half a number admit the ration of the whole, nor a third part, etc. at least if you comprehend my meaning, and assent unto me. I both understand your sense, saith he, and assent without the least doubt or scruple.  

* Here recomodating his precedent Suppositions; and treating of second Causes; he first evinceth this, that we are to seek, not remote, but proxime causes; not (as his Interpreters speak) Accidentary, but substantial ones; as he teaches by the Examples alleged.  But tell me again, reflecting upon our precedent positions; (yet I would not have you answer to the questions I ask, expressly and in the same prints of words [as before.] For besides that certain way of answering, of which I have treated before, I find another naturally arising from the things said by us just now, and this certain and firm; for example, if you ask me what that is, which if it be in a body, the body will be hot; I will not give that gross and ignorant answer, that it is Heat; but a more elegant and polite one, from our last conclusions, namely that it is fire. Nor, if you ask, what that is, which if it invade the body, the body will be sick: will I answer, that it is a disease, but more precisely, that it is a Fever: and if you ask me what is that, which if it intervene to a number, the number will be Odd: I will not say, it is imparity or Oddness, but Unity: and of others in the same manner. But look if you sufficiently understand me. Very clearly, saith he. Answer me then, what is that which if it be in the body, 
* First Theorem, the Soul is the proxim cause of life in man.  the body will be alive. The Soul, saith he. And is not that always so? Why not, saith he? The Soul therefore always brings life to the Body it embraceth, whatsoever the Body be? It doth always bring life, saith he. Is any thing contrary to Life, or not? Yes, saith he. 
* Second Theorem; death is contrary to life, and therefore contrary to the Soul, which is the cause of life: and conclusion; therefore the Soul admits not death; from the conceded supposition, that one Contrary never admits of another.  What? Death. The Soul therefore shall never receive the contrary to that which itself always induceth, as hath been granted from our late conclusions. True, saith Cebes. What then? That which admits not the Species or ration of Even, by what name do we now call it? Odd, saith he. And what do we call that which admits not Justice, or Music? That we call ; this Immusical. 
* Consummation of that Conclusion, from adjuncts: the Soul receives not death; therefore it is immortal.  What do we call that which is incapable of Death? Immortal, saith he. Is not the Soul capable of Death? No. Therefore the Soul is a thing immortal. It is immortal. Well then, saith he, shall we acknowledge this to be thus demonstrated? or what think you of it? Demonstrated perfectly, Socrates, saith he. 
* Another Theorem of the same Conclusion, If what is Immortal, be 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, exempt from destruction; then certainly the Soul is also 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, exempt from destruction, because proved to be Immortal.  What therefore, saith he, if it were necessary, that Odd be free and exempt from all destruction, would not Three also be free and exempt from all destruction? Why not? Therefore, if it were necessary, that that which is wholly void of Heat, be likewise free and exempt from all destruction; when a man should induce Hot upon Snow, would the Snow go out safe and unmelted? for it would not then perish, when it had once admitted and received heat. You say true, quoth he. In the same manner, I opine, if that which is void of Cold, were free from all destruction; when any cold thing should be brought to fire, it would not be destroyed or perish, but go away safe and entire. Of necessity, saith he. We are therefore by necessity obliged to conclude the same of an Immortal. For if what is immortal, be free and exempt from all destruction, 'tis impossible the Soul should perish, when death comes to it. For from our late Positions, it will not suffer or undergo death, and so not die: as a Ternary will never (as we have said) be Even; nor will Odd be by any means Even; nor Fire be Cold, nor the Heat which is in fire, be coldness. But some may Object, What hinders that Odd may not be made Even, if Even be added, as hath been granted: and Odd being extinct, Even succeed into the room thereof? To him that should thus argue, we could not (I confess) deny, but that Odd may perish; for Odd itself is not exempt from all destruction: Since, if that were not agreed upon among us, we might easily evince, that when Even comes in place, Odd and the Ternary instantly fly away; and so we might firmly determine of fire and hot, and the rest. Might we not? Yes. 
* Last conclusion; that the Soul is both immortal, and free from all destruction, which is certainly demonstrated from the given and proved Hypothesis of proxim and cognate causes.  Now therefore of an immortal also; since we are now agreed, that an Immortal is absolutely free and exempt from all destruction; it is demonstrated beyond all doubt or dispute, that the Soul, since it is immortal, is free and immune from all destruction: but if that be not granted, it will require another disputation. But, saith he, in good truth there is no need of further dispute, as to that point. For it is impossible, that any thing whatever should escape death, if this immortal and sempiternal undergo corruption and destruction.  

* A confirmation of the Immortality and indissolubility of the Soul, from the first and principal Cause [God] which being 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the very form of life, the Soul also must be sempiternal; because Divine? and made after the Exemplar of that primary Idea, which is confessed in the former disputation.  That God, saith Socrates, the very form of life (as I conceive) and if there be any other Immortal, can never die; is confessed by all men. By all, by Jove, saith Cebes, not only men, but Gods too I believe An Immortal therefore, being incapable of Corruption; what else ought we to conclude, than that the Soul, since it is certainly immortal, must be also free and exempt from all destruction? It is absolutely necessary. When therefore death comes to a man, what is in him mortal, doth (as is manifest) die: but what is immortal, departs safe and free from all corruption, giving place to death. It seems so. Then without all doubt, Cebes, the Soul is a thing immortal, and free from destruction: and certainly our Souls will eternally survive apud inferos. I can say no more to this, saith Cebes; nor any way deny my assent to your Reasons. But if Simmias, or any other hath any new matter to object, he shall do well not to conceal it: since I do not see to what more convenient time he can differ the handling of these things, if he desire either to speak, or to hear any thing concerning them. I also, saith Simmias, have nothing that detains me from submitting my faith to all you have explained in your former discourse. And yet by reason of the Grandeur and Excellency of the things commemorated, while I think Human infirmity not at all worthy of so great Endowments and Prerogatives, I find myself constrained, not yet entirely to resign up my belief to your later conclusisions. You speak with good reason, Simmias, saith Socrates, and modestly: for those our first Suppositions, though we be persuaded of their verity, are yet more diligently and accuratly to be considered: But if ye shall, after they have been decently and with just reason examined and explicacated, once receive them: ye will understand the whole matter, as far as man's intellect is capable to comprehend things of that [abstruse] nature: and if that be once made clear and evident, ye will require no more. You have reason, saith he.  

The Third part of the discourse, arising from the conclusision of the Souls immortality, and concerning the state of it after death; which Socrates blindly describes, from the opinion of the vulgar and superstitious fictions of Poets.  But my Friends, saith he, 'tis fit we make diligent inquisition into this also; that if the Soul be immortal, we are highly concerned to take care of it, not only in respect of this short time, which we define by the name of life, but of Eternity that remains after this life: and the danger now seems to be great, if any man shall neglect his Soul. For if Death be a separation and dissolution of the whole, it were to be reputed an advantage and emolument to dissolute and wicked men, that when they are dead, they might be freed from their Body and Soul, and improbity all at once: Whereas now it is manifest, that the Soul is immortal; a man hath no other way to avoid Evils, and acquire security from future dangers, but to become as wise and virtuous as is possible. For the Soul departing hence to the Mansions of Ghosts, carries along with it nothing but its former manners and education, which are said to be of very great moment, either to the importance of Utility, or aggravation of loss to him who is dead, when he first arrives there. And Tradition tells us, that every one of the dead is by that very Daemon that attended on him living, purposely led into a certain place, where it is ordained, all Ghosts assembled together, must receive their Doom, and according to the form of Judgement ratified and constituted, go to the Infernal Mansions, with that Guide, to whom command is given to conduct those who are at those places. But when they have obtained those things they ought to obtain, and remained there the time appointed; another Leader brings them back again, after many and long periods of time. But this Journey is not such as Telephus in Aeschylus describes to be; for he affirms, there is but one way, and that Uniform too, that leads to the Infernal Mansions: whereas to me it seems more probable, the way is neither Uniform, nor Single: for if there were but one way, neither would there be any need of Guides, nor could any Soul go out of it. But now this seems to have many byways, diversions, and intricate wind: whereof I make a conjecture from Sacrifices, and other Rites and Ceremonies belonging to Religion, which are here performed. Further, a moderate and prudent Soul, both follows his Guide willingly and cheerfully, and knows things present: but a Soul fettered with sense of Lusts, and commerce with the Body (as we formerly declared] still hankering after the Body with an affrighting and tumultuary error, and striving much, and suffering much about a visible-place; is not without extreme difficulty at length led away by that Daemon, to whom the care of it was committed. And when it comes to that place where other Souls are; from this impure Soul, which hath either committed Murder, or polluted itself with some other crime; or perpretrated some other villainous act of kin to that wickedness, such as are the works of impious Souls: from this Soul, I say, every Soul flies away with detestation, and will be neither Companion, nor Guide unto it; while itself wanders up and down, hardly pressed and hemmed in with the greatest straits immaginable, until certain prefixed moments of time arrive; which being elapsed, it is then by a certain necessity hurried to that place which hath been destined for its habitation. But the Soul that hath led a life of purity and moderation, having obtained the Gods for both companions and Guides, inhabits that place, which hath been peculiarly and properly assigned unto it.  
There are many and wonderful places of the Earth: 
Comments of men concerning the mansions of departed souls, vain and uncertain.  which yet is neither such, nor so great as it is thought to be by some, who are wont to speak of it, as I have heard from one. And here Simmias interrupting him, saith, how say you this, Socrates? for I also have heard many things concerning the Earth: but not the same perhaps that that man hath persuaded you to believe; and therefore I desire to hear from you his opinion. But Simmias, saith Socrates, the art of Glaucus itself seems insufficient to explain those so great and abstruse things; and to prove by convincing arguments, that they are true, appears to me more difficult, than that Glaucus should be able by all his skill to perform. To render so great and reserved mysteries intelligible by discourse, I perhaps may be unable: and if I understood them, yet would not the short remainder of my life suffice to so prolix and copious an Argument. Yet nothing hinders but I may adventure briefly to describe to you the form of the Earth, and its places, such as I have received them to be. And this, saith Simmias, will be enough, the narrowness of our capacity considered. This then, saith he, I have fixed and established in my belief; first, if the Earth be placed in the middle of the Universe, on all sides encompassed by Heaven equally distant from it; than it needs not the defence or guard of any thing, either of the Air, or of any other prop or support, to secure it from falling; but is able to sustain itself, since Heaven that environs it, is in all its parts the same, and the Earth itself equally balanced, and placed in the middle of another thing whose parts are all the same and equidistant; can neither more nor less swerve or decline to any side: and what is always in the same manner disposed, is constantly permanent in the same place, without the least or tendency or inclination to any other. This (I say) is my first persuasion, And a right one it is, saith Simmias. My next is, that the face of the Earth is broad and large: and that we inhabit the places from the River Phasis to Hercules his pillars, in a very small spot, as Pismires about the extended plain of some wide field, or as Frogs about the Sea: and various other Nations dwell in other places. For, that there are through the whole Earth, many and various Concavities, from both the form itself, and bulk of its magnitude, into which both Air, and Darkness, and Water have followed together. But that the pure Earth itself is seated in a pure Heaven, wherein are the Stars, and what very many of those who are wont to speak of these matters, call Aether: the dregs and sediment whereof these things are, and flow together into the hollows of the earth. Yet that we who inhabit in these Hollows, know not that we do so, but imagine that we dwell upon the higher parts of the Earth; as if a man dwelling at the bottom of the Sea, should think he dwelled above upon the Surface, and beholding the Sun and other Stars through the Water, conceive the Sea itself to be Heaven: and by reason of the slowness and infirmity of his understanding, having never come up to the top of the Sea, nor beheld it, nor risen up, and put his head above Water into this our place, could not know how much more beautiful and pleasant this lightsome Region is, than that obscure and deep one is, where he resides: nor heard from any other who had seen our place. This (I say) is exactly our case: For, inhabiting in some Hollow of the Earth, we conceive, that we are seated upon the eminent places thereof, and call the Air, Heaven: as if the Stars really moved through the Air, as Heaven; and we beheld their motions and ways. And that herein we are so amused and confounded, that by reason of our slowness and infirmity, we cannot penetrate to the highest air. Since, if any should arrive at the top of it, and as with wings fly up thither, when he had gotten his head once above it, he would behold all these things clearly: just as if Fishes mounting up out of the Sea, should behold our places, so would he. And if he were by nature qualified for contemplation, he would soon know, that it is the true Heaven, and true Light, and true Earth; for both the Earth, and the Stones, and all this place are corrupted and eaten away; as things in the Sea are, by the saltness thereof. Nor is any thing of value, any thing perfect bred commonly in the Sea; but Caverns, and Sand, and an infinite quantity of mud and filth are in it, and where Earth is: which are in no respect to be compared to our Beauties. But those Above seem to excel ours. Now to describe what kind of Countries there are in the Earth, I shall think it no trouble to relate to you a Fable pleasant, and worthy your attention. That, saith Simmias, would we fain hear. In the beginning therefore, they say the face of the Earth appeared to the sight such, as (if a man looked down from on high, and surveyed it) our little Balls made up of twelve square pieces of Leather put together, various indeed, and distinguished by several colours; not unlike the colours Painters use, as samples, here with us: That there all the Earth doth consist of these various colours, much more splendid, bright and pure than ours are: one, purple, exceedingly fair and deep; another, shining like Gold; but that which is white, is whiter than Chalk or Snow, and composed of other colours also, both more and more beautiful than have ever been seen by our eyes. Then that those very Cavities of the Earth, being full of Water and Air, represent a certain kind of colour, shining through in a variety of other colours, so that the form thereof may be perceived both simple and various at once. That herein thus constituted, the same things are in the same manner produced, Trees, Flowers, Fruits: and Mountains and Stones have the same forms and qualities, in perfection, in perspicuity, and in colours, far more beautiful than our precious Stones are, which are but thin particles of those; Sardonixes, and jasper's, and Emeralds, and all others of great price: and that there is nothing there, but what vastly excels all our finest Rarities of the same sort. That the cause of this vast difference is, because the Stones there are pure, not (as ours are) fretted and eaten by putrefaction and saltness, from the things that flow in together hither, and that produce diseases and decays in Stones, in Plants, and in Animals of our Earth. That the Earth itself is every where adorned with such fine productions, and moreover with Gold and Silver, and other Metals: which naturally shine in a wonderful manner, as being both very many, very great, and dispersed through the whole Earth: so that to behold it, is a most delightful sight to the happy Spectators. That there are in that Earth, living Creatures also of very many Kind's, and Men too: of whom some live in Mediterranean places, others about the Air, as we about the Sea; others in Islands, which the Air environs, as situate in the very Continent. In sum, in those places, the Air is to them, what the Sea is to us, and serves them for the same uses: only this, their Air is our Aether. And the seasons of the year are with them so admirably constituted in point of temper, that the men there live both free from Diseases, and much longer than ours: and in seeing, hearing, understanding, and other the like faculties, they as far excel us, as Air excels Water, and the Aether, Aire, in purity. That there are likewise Groves and Temples of Gods, who reside in them, and give Answers and Prophecies from Oracles; and the men hold familiar conversation and commerce with Gods themselves. That the Sun, and Moon, and other Stars are behe d by them clearly and distinctly as they are, and that they have this one felicity more to accompany them. That this is the form and constitution of the Earth, and the things that are about it. That there are places therein, and in the Hollows, and in the circumference thereof, many, some deeper and wider, in which we dwell; others deeper indeed, but of narrower mouths than that wherein we dwell: others again less profound than ours, but wider. That all these Cavities every where perforated one into another, and communicating by underground passages, have both by turn and diversions, as well in narrower as in broader places; so that a vast plenty of Water flows out of some into others, as into Cisterns: and very great currents of Rivers, and perpetual springs of Waters, both cold and hot. Much fire also, whole Rivers of fire, and many streams of Water, Muddy, and Pure, and Dirty: as those Rivers in Sicily, which flow from the Torrent called [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] the muddy River; and the Torrent itself. That every one of those places are filled, according to the quantity of Water every day brought in; and that all these are moved up and down, like some hanging Vessel upon the Earth. But this Pencil Vessel, by reason of some such nature, is some one of the Gaping or Chasms of the Earth; and the very biggest of all, piercing from side to side through the whole Earth; which Homer himself intimated in that Verse, Far hence in th' Earth there gapes a pit immense: Which both he elsewhere, and other Poets call Tartarus; and into which all Rivers have their confluence, re-flowing out of it by turns: But all Rivers are of the same nature as the Region is through which they run: and this is the cause why all both issue from thence, and return thither again: because that Humid hath neither bottom nor foundation; but is lifted up, and wavers upward and downward; and the air and breath about it, doth the same: but follows it, both when it ascends, and when it descends to us. And as in living Creatures endowed with Respiration, the Spirit or Breath is inspired and expired alternately: so here the Breath being raised up with moisture, yields winds, strong, & in ungoverned force almost infinite, while it rusheth in and out. But the Water, when stirred up by some impulse, it runs to that place, which is called Below; both flows into those gushing Lakes, and fills them; as those who drink full bowls: and when it runs out from thence, in its circulation tending thither again, it replenishes the places here. They thus replete, it flows on through passages and channels of the Earth. When all Fountains and Streams arrive at those places, whither Seas have more expeditely and opportunely flowed: they produce Lakes, Rivers, and Fountains. Thence going under ground again, some when they have traveled and compassed greater and more places, precipitate themselves again into Tartarus, or the bottomless Gulf. some more deeply than whence they were exhausted; others less deeply: but all flow in more deeply, than whence they flowed out. Some pour in themselves through a part contrary to, and disparate from that out of which they had their efflux; others through the same. Some wheeled about in a circle, and once or often, in serpentine wind, Sires and spiral Meanders, infolding the Earth, as much as was possible; bowing downwards, impel themselves forward, to descend where way is given them, to the very middle on each side, and no farther: for at each extreme Confluence, each part is impervious. There are besides these, many other Confluents of Waters great and various: among all which are four, whereof the greatest and deepest flowing in a round, is called the Ocean. By a motion contrary to this, flows Acheron; which comes in through other desert places, and indeed running under ground, passes on to the Acherusiad Marish, where crowds of departed Souls have their common rendezvous; and whence, after certain periods of time predestined by Fate, to some longer, to others shorter, they are remitted hither again to the generation of Animals. Betwixt these two runs the third River, and not far from its Sours, disembogues itself into a certain great place, that burns with much fire, and there stagnating, makes a Mere or Lake greater than the Sea with us, and perpetually boiling with water and mud: hence it gusheth forth with violence, running into a round, troubled and full of filth; and having often fetched a compass under ground, pours itself into the deepest part of Tartarus; passing to the Extremes of the Acherusiad Marish, but not mixing with the Waters thereof. This is that River which they yet call Pyriphlegethon, the Burning River of Hell; whose Rivulets with violent force making way through the broken Earth, rise up wheresoever they can drill themselves a vent. Opposite to this, the Fourth River falls first into a place horrid with mouldiness and stinking damps, wild and savage (as they say) of a blue colour, which they call the Stygian place, that is the dismal seat of hate, fear, and grief; and the River flowing into it, makes the Stygian Lake; and falling in there, with mighty strength reinforcing its Torrent, and thrusting itself under ground, with a contrary flood, and various eddies, it throws itself against the Burning River, and goes forward till it meets it in the Acherusiad Marish: but mixes streams with no other Waters, and here revolved in a circle, dischargeth itself into Tartarus, just opposite to the Burning River; and the name of it is (as Poets say) Cocytus, 
The Purgatory of the ancient Heathens described, with their Repentance in Hell, and three parts thereof, Contrition, Confession, Satisfaction,; all which they saw to be necessary, by the light of Nature.  i. e. Sorrow. These things being thus constituted, when Ghosts have arrived whither the tutelar Daemon of every one conducts them, first they are examined, tried, and judged, both they who have lived well, righteously, and justly, and they who have lived in vice, injustice and impiety; they also who have lived in a middle way, going on to Acheron, and mounting into Wagons prepared for them, are therein carried to the Marish: where they both remain, and suffer punishments appointed for the expiation and expurgation of their sins. After they are thus expiated, they are absolved and quitted: and every one receives rewards for their good deeds, according to their merits. But if for the greatness of their Crimes, they be found incurable, having committed either many or great Sacrileges, or unjust and unlawful Homicides, or such execrable Wickednesses; a just lot casteth them into Tartarus, from whence they never get out. Whereas they who stand convicted of, and obnoxious to sins great indeed, but not inexpiable; as they who have, in heat of anger committed any violence against Father or Mother, and truly repent of it all their life after; or who have been Homicides through immoderate passion: upon these is imposed a necessity of falling into Hell. But when they have been there a year in Torments, the Waves cast them forth: Homicides, by Cocytus; Killers of Father or Mother, by the Burning River. And when they come to the Acherusiad Marish, then with a loud voice they by name call, some those whom they have killed, others, those whom they have wronged, and beg and beseech them to be satisfied with their unfeigned penitence, and grievous sufferings, and to give them leave to departed out of that Marish. If they prevail, they retire thence, and are freed from those miseries: if not, they are carried back again into Tartarus, and so returned to the other rivers, not ceasing to suffer their renewed torments, until they have obtained pardon from those to whom they have been injurious; for this punishment is appointed for them by the decree of the Judges. Now they who have been rightly purged by Philosophy, live ever after without bodies, and come into other habitations fair and delightful; which to describe, is too difficult for my understanding, and too long for the short remainder of my life.  

Commodious admonitions, concluding the description of Hell; that we are not obliged to give credit to those Poetic fictions; and yet it is useful to reflect upon them, that we may be incited to aim at felicity after death, and to follow the only path that leads to it, viz. Wisdom and Virtue.  But as for the concernment and importance of what we have here related, Simmias; we ought to labour with all possible study and care, that we may follow the conduct of Virtue and Wisdom, in this life. For the reward is great, and the hope good. That the descriptions I have recounted to you of the places and conditions of Souls after death, are true; becomes not a wise man to affirm. But that there are some such, or the like, as for what concerns the state and condition of our Souls, and the places whither they are to go for habitation; seeing it is evident that our Souls are immortal, this also seems both consentaneous, and worthy the danger, to believe they are such. For the danger is honourable and glorious; and we are obliged to inculcate, and as it were inchant these things into our minds; wherefore I have been the more prolix in commemorating that Fable. But yet, as to what concerns a man's own Soul, he ought to be with full confidence persuaded of these things, who while he hath lived, hath repudiated corporeal pleasures, and outward Ornaments, as alien and unnecessary, and so hath resolved to addict himself to any thing rather than to lusts of the body: and hath made it the grand business of his life, to furnish his mind with learning, and to render it polite and brave, not with strange, but it's own proper ornaments; namely with Temperance, Justice, Fortitude, Liberty, Truth. Thus armed, let him expect the time, when he is to take his Journey ad inferos, to the Mansions of Souls departed, and let him so prepare and address himself, as to set forward readily and cheerfully, whensoever Fate shall call him. And for your parts, Simmias and Cebes, and the rest that are here, ye shall all go this Journey, each in his appointed time: Fate (as the Tragedian saith) calls me now. But perhaps it is time for me to go and wash myself; for I think it more decent to be washed, before I drink the poison, that I may give the Women no trouble in washing my Body, after death.  
Be it so then, saith Crito to him. 
An Historical Narration of the manner of Socrates his death, which was perfectly agreeable to his Life and Doctrine.  But do you, Soorates, give to those here, or to me, any command, either concerning your Children, or about any other matter, wherein we may chief gatifie you? No truly, saith he, Crito, I leave no new command with you, besides what I have always told you, namely, that if ye take due care of yourselves, you will perform your duty to me, and to mine, and to yourselves also, whatever ye do, though now ye make no promises, nor enter into new engagements: but if ye neglect yourselves, and will not order your life according to the prints as it were, of what I now remonstrate to you, & what I have heretofore enjoined ye; though ye should even with vehement asseveration promise to do many, and great things, for my sake, ye will do (I am sure) nothing more. This, saith Crito, we will with courage and alacrity of mind endeavour to perform. But in what manner shall we Bury you? Even how ye please, saith he; at least if ye can catch me, and I not fly out of your reach. And when he had sweetly smiled, and turned his eyes upon us; my Friends, saith he, I cannot persuade Crito here, that I am that Socrates who just now disputed, and pursued all parts of the discourse in order: but he thinks me to be the same whom after a few hours ye shall behold dead; and asketh me how I desire to be Buried: not remembering, that a good while since, I made a long discourse to this very purpose, that after I have drank the poison, I shall be no longer with you, but go away to the Felicities of the Blessed. This seems to have been spoken by me in vain, while yet I endeavoured to consolate both you and myself. Do ye therefore undertake for me to Crito, in an obligation quite contrary to what he entered into on my behalf, before my Judges. He was surety for me, that I should remain: but be ye my sureties to him, that I shall not remain after I am dead, but fly away; to the end that Crito may more easily bear my departure, and seeing my Body to be burned or committed to the ground, he may not be troubled or grieved for me, as if I had suffered any great calamity; nor say at my Funeral, that Socrates is exposed to sight, or carried forth, or put into the Grave. But be assured of this, my Crito, that to speak of these [important] matters without due circumspection, is not only a great offence, but brings detriment also to men's Minds. It becomes us rather to be of good courage and resolution: and I will command that my Body be buried, and buried so as shall be grateful to you, and you shall judge to be most consentaneous to the Laws.  

Other Circumstances conducing to the saith of the History.  Having said this, he arose and went into an inner room to wash himself: and Crito following him; enjoined us to stay and expect his return. We therefore expected, discoursing among ourselves of the things that had been commemorated by him, and conferring our judgements concerning them. And we frequently spoke of the calamity that seemed to impend on us by his death: concluding, it would certainly come to pass, that as Sons deprived of their Father, so should we disconsolately spend the remainder of our life. After he had been washed, and his Children were brought to him (for he had two Sons very young, and a third, almost a Youth) and his 
* That Socrates had indeed Two Wives, is plainly delivered by Diogen. Laertius, who saith, the first was Xantippe, upon whom he begat Lamprocles; the other Myrto, the Daughter of Aristides the just, who brought him Sophroniscus and Meneximus.  Wives also were come; he spoke to them before Crito, and gave them his last commands: so he gave order to his Wives and Children to retire. Then he came back to us. By this time, the day had declined almost to the setting of the Sun; for he had stayed long in the room where he washed himself. Which done, he returned, and sat to repose himself, not speaking much after that. Then came the Minister of the Eleven, the Executioner; and addressing himself to him, I do not believe, Socrates, said he, that I shall reprehend that in you, which I am wont to reprehend in others; that they are angry with me, and curse me, when by command of the Magistrates (whom I am by my Office obliged to obey) I come and give notice to them, that they must now drink the poison; but I know you to be, at all times, and chief at this, a man both generous, and most mild and civil, the best of all men that ever came into this place: so that I may be assured you will not be displeased with me, but (you know the Authors) with them rather. Now therefore (for you know what Message I come to bring) Farewell, and endeavour to suffer as patiently and calmly as you can, what cannot be avoided: Then breaking forth into tears, he departed. And Socrates converting his eyes upon him, and Farewell thou too, saith he: we will perform all things. Then turning to us again, How civil this man is, saith he! all this time of my mprisonment, he came to me willingly, and sometimes talked with me respectfully, and hath been the best of all that belong to the Prison; and now how generously doth he weep for me! But Crito, let us spare him; and let some other bring hither the deadly Draught, if it be already bruised: if not, let him bruise it. Then Crito, I think, saith he, the Sun shines upon the tops of the Mountains, & is not yet quite gone down; * and I have seen some delay the drinking of the poison much longer: nay more, 
By the Athenian Law, no man was to be put to death, until after Sunset; lest the Sun, for which they had a singular veneration, might be displeased at the sight.  after notice had been given them that they ought to dispatch, they have Supped, and drank largely too, and talked a good while with their Friends: be not then so so hasty; you have yet time enough. Those men of whom you speak, Crito, saith he, did well; for they thought, they gained so much more of life; but I will not follow their example: for I conceive, I shall gain nothing by deferring my draught till it be later in the night; unless it be to expose myself to be derided, for being desirous, out of too great love of life, to prolong the short remander of it. But well; get the Poison prepared quickiy, and do nothing else till that be dispatched. Crito hearing this, beckoned to a Boy that was present; and the Boy going forth, and employing himself a while in bruising the Poison, returned with him who was to give it, and who brought it ready bruised in a cup: Upon whom Socrates casting his eye, be it so, good man, said he; tell me, (for thou art well skilled in these matters) what is to be done? Nothing, saith he, but after you have drank, to walk, until a heaviness comes upon your legs and thighs; and then to sit: and this you shall do. And with that he held forth the Cup to Socrates, 
* Socrates, with admirable constancy, receives and drinks off the Poison. Which appears to have been the Juice of Hemlock, both from the authority of Diog. Laertius in vita Socrat. where he expressly names it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, i. e. Cicura; and from the manner of its operation, whereof consult Dioscorides; As also from that of Seneca, Epist. 13. Cicuta magnum Socratem fecit.  which he readily receiving, and being perfectly sedate, O Echecrates, without trembling, without change either in the colour, or in the air of his face, but with the same aspect, and countenance intent and stern, (as was usual to him) looking upon the man: what sayest thou, saith he? may not a man offer some of this Liquor in Sacrifice? We have bruised but so much, Socrates, saith he, as we thought would be sufficient. I understand you, saith he: but yet it is both lawful, and our duty to pray to the Gods, that our transmigration from hence to them, may be happy and fortunate. Having spoke those words, and remaining silent [for a minute or two] he easily and expeditely drank all that was in the Cup. Then many of us endeavoured what we could, to contain our tears: but when we beheld him drinking the Poison, and immediately after; no man was able lon-her to refrain from weeping: and while I put force upon myself to suppress my tears, they flowed down my cheeks drop after drop. So covering my face, I wept in secret: deploring not his, but my own hard fortune, in the loss of so great a Friend, and so near a Kinsman. But Crito no longer able to contend with his grief, and to forbid his tears, rose up before me. And Apollodorus first breaking forth into showers of tears, and then into cries, howl, and lamentations, left no man from whom he extorted not tears in abundance; Socrates himself only excepted: Who said, what do ye, my Friends? truly I sent away the Women for no other reason, but lest they should in this kind offend. For I have heard, that we ought to die with good men's and gratulation: But recompose yourselves, and resume your courage and resolution. Hearing this, we blushed with shame, and suppressed our tears. But when he had walked awhile, and told us that his thighs were grown heavy and stupid; he lay down upon his back: for so he who had given him the poison, had directed him to do. Who a little time after, returns, and feeling him, looked upon his legs and feet: then pinching his foot vehemently, he asked him, if he felt it? and when he said no, he again pinched his legs; and turning to us, told us, that now Socrates was stiff with cold: and touching him, said he would die so soon as the Poison came up to his heart; for the parts about his heart were already grown stiff. Then Socrates, putting aside the Garment wherewith he was covered; we owe, saith he, a Cock to 
* Intimating, that death was most grateful to him; for which, and for his deliverance now granted to him, he would have a Sacrifice offered to Aesculapius. See Erasmus, Chiliad. 3. cent. 3. pag. 1.  Aesculapius: but do ye pay him, and neglect not to do it. And these were his last words. It shall be done, saith Crito: but see if you have any other Command for us To whom he gave no answer: but soon after fainting, he moved himself often [as if suffering Convulsions.] Then the Servant uncovered him: and his eyes stood wide open; which Crito perceiving, he closed both his mouth and his eyes. 
* A most august testimony given by Plato, of his Master Socrates, to vindicate both his person and Doctrine from the prejudice of an ignominious death.  This, Echecrates, was the end of our Friend and Familiar, a man as we in truth affirm, of all whom we have by use and experience known, the Wisest, and most Just.  
Quid dicam de Socrate? cujus morti illachrimari soleo, Platonem legens. Cicero de natura Deor. lib. 3.  
Quidni ego narrem, ultima illa nocte Catonem Platonis librum legentem, posito ad caput gladio? Duo haec in rebus extremis inst umenta prospexerat, alterum ut vellet mori, alterum ut posset, etc. Seneca Epist. 24.  
Sic longa virtute fuit mens sancta Catonis  
Purgata; atque illi vitae immortalis honorem  
Jam contemplanti, divini fata Platonis  
Phaedonem tradunt. Cum laetus talia fatur.  
Salve sancte liber, superis demisse Catoni:  
Dirige tu cursum, vitaeque extrema meantis  
Instrue: non alium moriturus quaero magistrum;  
Nec restare alias voluerunt Numina curas, etc.  Tho. Maius, in Supplemento Lucani, lib. 4. 
Quid Ambraciotes ille (Cleombrotus videlicet) qui cum Platonis illum Phaedonem perlegasset, praecipitem se dedit, nullam aliam ob causam, nisi quod Platoni credidit? Lactantius.   

Certain General AXIOMS Collected out of the Precedent Dialogue concerning the Soul.  

1. Axioms Moral.  
1. PAin and Pleasure are of Kin, and so linked together, that they closely succeed each other by turns.  
2. No man ought, upon what account soever, to desert the station wherein God hath placed him: but to persist in the duties thereof, contemning all opposition.  
3. Self-murder is a great Crime. 

[*— Ac donec Deus ille Creator  
Qui terrena Animam primò statione locavit,  
Evocat, haud illa statione excedere fas est.]    
4. A Wise man ought not only not to fear Death, but also to desire it; with submission to to the Divine Will.  
5. Philosophy is the perpetual meditation of Death; that is, to recall and divorce the Soul from commerce with the Senses, and alienate it from Corporeal lusts and pleasures. Which is an anticipatton of Death, that is defined to be, a solution and separation of the Soul from the Body.  
6. The Virtues of Politicians are not true Virtues, but only faint resemblances of the true.  
7. Philosophy is the way to true Felicity: and the two grand Duties of it are (1) To contemplate the perfections of God, and (2) to alienate the Soul from the allurements of the Senses, and from indulgence to the Body.  
8. Hope of future Felicity, is a very great Reward; that is, the best way of passing through both the Temptations and Adversities of this Life, with satisfaction of Mind.  
9 Decent Burial, such as is ordained and prescribed by good Laws of the Country, ought not to be neglected by a Wise man: nor Funeral Pomp, affected. 
* So Epicurus in his last Will and Testament; Sepeliunto nos quà videbitur in hortis commodissimum, nihilq, interim sumptuosiùs, quod sivo ad sepulturam, sive ad monumentum pertineat, agunto. Diog. Laert. lib. 80.    

II. Axioms Natural.  
1. COntraries are produced out of Contraries: but cannot possibly subsist the same in one subject, at the same time.  
2. To learn, is to remember what the Soul knew, before it came into the Body: or there are naturally and congenially in the Soul, the seeds of all Sciences; which are only cultivated and matured by method of Discipline, not implanted or ingraffed at first, as Aristotle taught.   

III. Axioms Theological.  
1. GOd takes care of Men, for that they are his own Possession.  
2. God, according to Plato's definition here, is not only the Cause of his own Being, but gives both Being and Wellbeing to all things else.  
3. The Soul of Man is the Offspring of God, in a peculiar manner participant of the Divine Nature, incompound, without figure or shape, Incorruptible, immortal, as God.  
4. The Soul in this Life, doth indeed use the service of the Body: yet is not composed organically of the Senses, and other Faculties thereof; but simple, and existeth apart by itself, after separation by Death▪ whereby the Body, being compound, is dissolved; but the Soul goes away untouched and void of all Corruption, into another Life, and there lasteth Eternally.  
5. Of our Souls departed, there is a Twofold state: some are happy, others unhappy.  
6. Seeing that in this Life things are carried on intemperately, and in confusion; there must be in the next Life [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] a certain and just Judgement of God the Supreme and Universal Judge, whereby Good men may be distinguished from Wicked: this being an Axiom evident by the very Light of Nature, that God will reward every man according to his works in this life. 

[*— Deus ipse sequendam  
Proposuit Virtutem, & praemia debita justis.  
Haec, quoniam justos injusta potentia fraudat  
Saepiùs in terris, & gens humanu rebellat,  
Solvere post mortem justissimus ipse tenetur.]    
7. Positively and with confidence to describe the places whither the Souls of the Dead go, and to define what are the Rewards and Punishments they there receive; is the part of a man extremely ignorant and superstitious: though it be most certain, there are Rewards and Punishments appointed, and absolutely necessary for every man here to have his cogitations seriously exercised in the contemplation of them.  
8. True it is also, that the Souls of Good men, by Death delivered from the chains of the Body and its Senses, go immediately to a place, invisible indeed by Human eyes, but of complete felicity, where they are conjoined to God for ever: while on the contrary, the Souls of Wicked men suffer the punishments justly due to their crimes, in places convenient.  
9 Unreasonable it is, and unworthy a Philosopher, to pretermit the Principal and Primary Cause, God, who is in truth not only the most Potent Cause, but Cause of all secondary Causes: to acquiesce in Second Causes, which really are not more but concurrent and instrumental: and in second causes themselves, to omit the Proxime, while he rambles in search of remote, namely Constellations and Etherial influences, and such like Chimeras; as do those injudicious Professors of Judicial Astrology, and as did Anaxagoras, who held the great Mind of the Universe to be utterly void of understanding and judgement; as Plato affirms.  
10. The use of this most excellent Doctrine of the Immortality of the Soul, is to induce us to put ourselves into the way of Virtue, as that which alone leads to Eternal Happiness: and to abhor Vice, as the direct Road to endless Misery.     

REFLECTIONS Upon the Athenian Laws mentioned in the Apology and Dialogue Precedent.  

I.  
THe Law which Socrates was accused to have Violated, and by which he was Condemned, yet extant under the first Title of Athenian Laws collected and explained by the Learned Monsieur Petit; seems to be this: Lex esto antiquissima, aeteruaeque auctoritatis in Attica, venerandos esse Deos, atque Heroas patrios & indigenas, publice secundum patrias sanctionos, privatim vero bonis verhis, frugumque primitiis, libis annuis; pro facultatum modulo.  
By this Law was provided, ne quis novos habessit Deo., that no man should introduce new Gods; and the Transgressor was called into question before the Areopagites; whereof we have two eminent Examples: one in St. Paul, who was hurried to the most severe Tribunal of the Areopagites, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, quod peregrinorum Deornm videretur annunciator. esse (Act. Apostol. cap. 17. vers. 18.) the other in Diodorus surnamed the Atheist, whose Indictment upon the same Statute, and convention before the same High Court of Justice, are recorded by Diogenes Laertins.  
How came it then that Socrates, accused to have both denied the Divinity of the Old Gods of the Athenians, and endeavoured the insinuation of new; was not likewise tried by the Areopagites, but by other Judges, contrary to the tenor of this Law?  
I answer with Monsieur Petit, (Commentar. in leges Atticas, pag. 3.) that perhaps the jurisdiction of the Arcopagites extended not to the Citizens of the Attic Republic, such as Socrates was; but was limited only to Strangers, such as was that ill-conjoyned pair, St. Paul and Diodorus.   

II.  
Socpates (you may remember) in his defence dissolving that part of his Charge which concerned the Corruption of Youth, puts his Adversary Melitus in mind of a certain Law, whereby he was obliged, not to have brought an Impeachment against him to the Magistrates, but privately and in a friendly manner admonished him of that his error, supposing him to be really guilty thereof, not out of malice, but incogitancy. Now the Law itself where to he then had respect, was this; Peccantes invite in jus ne rapiuntor, sed privatim officii admonentor: and the reason of it is obvious, Talibus enim non poena opus est, sed institutione. Which is to be understood of Errors of no great moment, nor likely to bring detriment to the Commonwealth; such as those objected to Socrates, in that article of his Indictment, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; Socrates doth contrary to right and equity, in that he curiously inquires into things both subterranean and sublime, and by his sophistry turns falsehood into truth, and teaches the same to others. For granting him to be guilty hereof, the fault was but light and venial: In his enim neque sitae erant opes Greciae, neque ex iis detrimenti quicquam Respublica capere potuit. Wherefore he had right to the favour and indulgence of this Law, which his malicious Adversary had, by omitting the private admonition thereby required, violated.   

III.  
By the Religion of the Athenians, no Deity was held more potent and venerable than Apollo; none had so many sacred Buildings erected in their City to his Worship, none so many solemn Sacrifices, and public Feasts instituted to his Honour, as he had: and among their Festivals, none were celebrated with more ceremonious Joy, than that of Inspection mentioned by Plato in Phaedon. Concerning which they had this peculiar Law; Deliornm festos dies, dum Delum itur, reditur, damnatorum suppliciis ne funestato. And the observance of this Law hath been noted both by Xenophon and Plato, as the reason why Socrates was detained in Prison thirty days after his Condemnation, before he was put to death: the Athenians esteeming it piacular, to darken the public rejoicing and solemnity of that Feast, by the death of any condemned, however notorious a Malefactor. So much was given to the Honour of Apollo Delius, whom not only the Grecians, but even Foreiners from the remotest parts of the Earth, while in Greece, were obliged to Worship with Oblations of their First Fruits; as appears from the History of Abaris, a Scythian, who is said to have lived in Greece about the 52 Olympiad, and wrote de Oraculis; and from the example of the Tyrians alleged by Euripides (in Phoenissis) whose Verses in the Chorus are worthy the serious remark of Antiquaries, as giving much of light to what hath been obscurely delivered by Geographers and Historians, concerning the Colonies of the Tyrians in Africa, and the neighbouring Islands.   

X.  
From the same religious respect to Apollo it seems deducible, that within the Attic Territories, no condemned person suffered death until after the Sun was gone down: The Law itself, I confess, I have not yet found among all those with such vast labour collected by Monsieur Petit: but that they had such a Law, may be inferred from the Example of Socrates, and from what we read in Stobaeus (Sermone 1. who saith expressly enough; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.    

Mythological Reflections UPON Some Ancient Rites and Traditions concerning the Soul, mentioned by Plato in the precedent Dialogue.  

1. Of Lustration.  
AMong the ancient Grecians who traveled into Egypt, on purpose to pry into and learn the Sacred Rites, and mysterious Ceremonies used by the Priests of that Superstitious Nation; Orpheus is celebrated as the first, by Diodorus Siculus: who (Lib. 4. pag. 162.) saith thus of him; Orpheus in Aegyptum profectus, multa ibi didicit; ita ut tam Initiationibus & Theologia, quam Poesi & Melodia esset Graecorum praestantissimus, etc. Now this Poet returning into Greece, brought with him [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] most of the mysterious Rites used by the Egyptians, and the Orgies of Bacchus, and the Mythology of the Infernal Mansions: and recommending them to his Countrymen, so far prevailed, that not long after, the very same were introduced as religious institutes among them also, and by most with devote observance embraced.  
Of all these thus transplanted Rites, none were held more grateful to their Deities, or of more sacred importance to the Votaries, than those of Initiation or admittance, more espececially the [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] Lustration: which according to the computation of our Second Selden, Sir John Marsham, from the authority of the Epicha Marmorea cited in his lately published Chronic. Canon (a work of profound Learning, and vast labour) was first instituted in Greece, when Pandion the Son of Cecrops ruled at Athens, about the year 257. of the Attic Aera.  
This Lustration was double: either an Expiation from Humane blood spilt by slaughter, or a Preparation to Sacrifice, and other religious worship. Of Expiation, we have illustrious Examples in Apollo himself, who, as Pausanias relates (Lib. 10. pag. 620.) was thereby solemnly purged from the stain of blood by Carnanor: in Hercules, whom Diodorus Siculus reports to have been in like manner purified by Musaeus the Son of Orpheus, both at his initiation to the Eleusinian Sacrifices, and before his descent into Hell, thence to fetch the only Hellhound Cerberus: and in Theseus, who, as Plutarch in his life hath left upon Record, required the same Expiation after the Homicides he had committed.  
To the other kind of Lustration, among the Egyptians, and old Hebrews, were required Washing, Fasting, and Abstinence from Women. Of Washing, let Moses be a witness, who when he was to receive the Decalogue from Almighty God, sanctified the people, and commanded them to purge themselves by washing, and not to come near their Wives. Of Fasting, we are certified from the very form of the solemn Respons and Profession to be made by the Votary; which Clemens Alexandrinus (Protreptic. pag. 13.) delivers to be this; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Jejunavi, ebibi cyceonem. And as for Castimony; we have an authentic testimony from Arrianus (in Epictetum lib. 3. cap. 21.) Hominem ad sacra rite accessurum, [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, post sacrificium, & post preces, & premissa castitate. The High Priest therefore always abstained from Matrimony: and those of Ceres Eleusina were anointed with the juice of Hemlock, to extinguish the heat of Concupiscence, as the old Scholiast upon the 5th. satire of Persius observes; and St. Hierome (contra Jovian. lib. 1.) remembers, that the Hierophantae among the Athenians were castrated by frequently sipping the same juice of Hemlock, losing their virility to obtain the Pontificate. A custom repugnant to the Mosaic Law, by which none but perfect men are capable of Priesthood: and to the Constitutions also of the Papacy, none having been (as they say) for many Ages together heretofore admitted to sit in St. Peter's Chair, until he had undergone the Scrutiny of the Sella Perforata, now laid aside as unnecessary; whereof a witty Poet made this Tetrastich.  

Non poterat quisquam reserantes aethera claves  
Non exploratis sumere testiculis.  
Cur igitur nostro mos hic jam tempore cessat?  
Ante probat sese quilibet esse Marem.   

In ancient times, none was Elected Pope,  
Till he had passed the Sex-discerning grope.  
Why is that scrutiny now used no more?  
Now Priests approve their Manhood long before.   
But not further to digress, evident it is, that this inaugural Lustration with its Ceremonies, was common to all Religions; though perhaps not without some difference in the instruments, or outward means: it being a remark of the most learned Sir John Marsham, out of Procopius Gazaeus, (in Deuteronom.) that the purifications ordained in the Levitical Canons, differed from those of the Grecians in this, that these were performed usually with incantations, salt, bay leaves, barley, sea-water, and passing through fire; but those not.  
Of these three parts of Lustration inaugural, that accounted most efficacious, seems to have been Baptism or Washing: a thing of sacred esteem in all ages, and in all religions; and among the Hebrews, strictly enjoined by their wise Lawgiver Moses. For we read (Exod. 19 v. 14.) that when the Israelites were to be initiated to the holy Disciplines by him instituted, he came down to the people, and sanctified them, and they washed their Garments: and by this ablution of their , Interpreters unanimously understand the washing of their bodies also; according to the very letter of that precept given, (Levit. 15. ver. 11. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Lavabit vestimenta, & lavabit corpus aqua. Hence the Jews at this day deduce the origine of their Baptism; which that Nation hath ever since used with solemn Reverence, not only to the purgation of their external impurities, or to the ablution of their sins; but also to the Regeneration of their Proselytes, when they give up their names to Judaisme; of whom Jethro, the Father-in-law of Moses, is accounted the first. For, the three rites of initiation to be observed by a Gentil converted, at his admission into the Hebrew Church or Congregation, are well known to be Circumcision, Baptism, and Oblation. Concerning which our Prince of Antiquaries, Mr. Selden professedly discoursing, proves by many credible testimonies, that the Baptism of a Proselyte was celebrated in the presence of at least three Elders, so soon as the wound of Circumcision was healed, and in some river or fountain of living water, not in any vessel or artificial Bath, and never but once (on that occasion) either by the Proselyt himself, or by any of his posterity. Hereof the Effect was this, that a Proselyt thus inaugurated, was held perfectly regenerate, and a new man, as an infant born of a new Mother, and inspired with a new Soul from Heaven: so that being utterly devested of all former cognation, he was thenceforth reputed to have no kindred, no affinity, either in right of Espousal, or succession to the goods of the deceased, besides those who likewise had the character of Baptism. Upon which distinguishing character it was, that Arrianus reflected, when (in Epictetum, lib. 2. cap. 9 he said; quum quispiam induerit sibi affectum Baptizati & inter sectatores asciti, tunc & est revera, & appellatur Judaeus.  
Now though the Hebrews may have derided this Lustration by Baptism, from the institute of Moses: yet it is not improbable, but he might first derive it from the example of the Egyptians, among whom he had so long lived, and in whose Learning as well sacred as civil, he had been from his childhood educated. For, Apuleius Metamorphos, Lib. 9) being himself to be initiated to the Mysteries of Isis, expressly declares, that washing was in use among the Egyptians, in all their sacred Admissions: and describing the ceremonies of his own admission, Sacerdos (saith he) stipatum me religiosa cohorte deducit ad proximas balneas; & prius sueto lavacro traditum praefarus Deum veniam, purissime circumrorans abluit, etc. Nor is it to be doubted, but this was then done to him, de more antiquo, according to the most ancient use of that Nation. Which while the Israelites remained in bondage among them, were much more likely to give Examples to them, than to receive any from them: it being seldom observed, that Lords imitate their Slaves. But this is confirmed by Tertullian (de Baptismo cap. 5.) where he writes,; Nationes sacris quibusdam per lavacrum initiantur, Isidis alicujus, aut Mithrae [summi apud Persas numinis] ipsos etiam Deos suos lavationibus efferunt, etc. And whencesoever Moses borrowed this rite, we have it under the hand of Diodorus Siculus (lib. 1.) that it was traduced from Egypt to Athens by King Erechtheus.  
Nor is there just cause, why the traduction of the like Baptism from the Jews to Christians, should be urged to the disparagement of our Mystical Ablution at the font, when by the Church we are admitted to Christianism: as well because ours was changed from a mere rite to a blessed Sacrament, by Christ himself, the Author of our faith, honoured by his Example, and sanctified by his Benediction, and the Divinity of its constitution confirmed by the miraculous descent of the most Holy Spirit, in form of a Dove; as because, though the External act of washing continue still the same, yet the Signification and Effiacy thereof is become infinitely more noble and excellent. Again, if it be true (as some very learned men have held) that those Articles of faith, and those religious Rites and Ceremonies, that are embraced by men of all Religions, and as it were sealed by universal consent of Mankind, in all Ages, be less obnoxious to exceptions and dispute, than others that are proper and peculiar only to some one Religion, Age, or Nation. then certainly by how much more antique and common to various Religions and Nations, this Rite of Expurgation by Water hath been; by so much more sacred aught it to be esteemed. But this is only a Digression from my Theme, the Lustration of Ethnics, and more particularly of the Grecians.  
Whereby those who were legitimately initiated, were esteemed not only more honourable than others in this life, but more happy after death. For, their Wise men taught, and the Vulgar therefore believed, that by virtue of such Lustrations, the Souls of men were rendered more defecate and pure from the contagion of the body, refined as it were from the dross of sensual affections, and made more fit and expedite for contemplation of Divine things. Whence Sophocles the Tragedian, writing of Mysteries, is said by Plutarch (de audiendis Poetis) to have composed these verses. 
— 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
— Felice's nimis  
Initia quotquot ista cum conspexerint,  
Eunt ad Orcum. Namque eos solos manet  
Ibi vita: reliquos, miserias praeter, nihil.  and the Chorus in Aristophanes' Comedy named the Frogs, was made to sing these; 
Solis nobis Sol  
Et lux hilaris est,  
Qui initiamur, &  
Piam degimus vitam, etc.   
This persuasion therefore being so universally diffused among the Grecians, and rendered so plausible by Superstition; no wonder if Plato, in this Dialogue, put this as an Axiom into the mouth of Socrates: Whoever not expiated, nor with due rites initiated, shall descend to the Mansions of Souls departed; shall there lie rolling in mud: but who shall after expurgation and initiation, come thither, shall for ever dwell with Gods. Nor this altogether without reason, because the Initiati were both obliged to newness of life, and reformation of manners; and instructed in Philosophy as well Natural as Moral.   

II. The Antiquity and Traduction of the opinion of the Souls Immortality.  
THough Strabo (Geograph. lib. 15. pag. 713:) speaking of the Indian brahmin's, be so rash to say of them [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] that they, as Plato, compose fables of the incorruptibility of the Soul, and of judgements in the infernal shades: yet to me it seems not to be doubted, but the belief of the Immortality of man's Rational Soul, is fully as ancient as Mankind itself. For, methinks, the Excellency of its own Faculties and Operations, above all Material Agents, should be alone sufficient to afford to every contemplative man, certain glimpses of both the divine Original, and Immortality thereof: and the desire of posthume glory, an affection congenial and natural (Arist. 2. de Anima, calls it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, most natural) to all noble minds, together with a secret fear of future unhappiness, common to all; to give pregnant hints of its sempiternal Existence after death.  
And yet notwithstanding, such has been the cruelty of Time, in the destruction of Books and other Monuments; and so far hath Oblivion swallowed up the Tenants and Doctrines of the younger World: that of this so reasonable and comfortable an opinion, we can find no prints remaining, but what the Grecian Sages observed among the Egyptians, and from them transmitted down to posterity. From them alone therefore, we are to trace the tradition thereof.  
Consentaneous it is, that the Eleusinian Mysteries and other sacred Rites so solemnly observed and celebrated by the ancient Egyptians, more particularly that of Lustration just now explicated, were grounded upon a belief of, and had their chief respect unto a future life, and the different state of good and bad Souls therein. For, to what end could that religious Ablution and Expurgation serve, but (as they were persuaded) to rinse away the stains of guilt from the Soul, or (as Tertullian de Baptismo cap. 5. expresseth it) in regenerationem, & impunitatem perjuriorum suorum: if they were not possessed with a belief even to confidence, of the Eternal Duration of the Soul after death; and that in a condition of Felicity or Misery, according to its virtuous or vicious Affections and Actions in this life? Had they admitted the extinction thereof by death, vain certainly, and absurd had been all their care and solicitude about the purification of it from the pollutions of Sin, and from the dregs of sensual inclinations, before death. The same may be by like genuine consequence inferred from their most magnificent Sepulchers, their exquisite Embalming of the dead, and their Amenthes or subterraneous place into which they held the Souls of the Defunct to be received. But what need we range into their Mythologies in search after evidence of their being strongly possessed with this opinion; when we have proofs from Authority unquestionable, that their Priests and other Learned men expressly taught it?  
Hear then Herodotus (lib. 2. cap. 123.) saying, Aegyptij primi sunt, qui Animam hominis immortalem esse dicerent, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: ejus transmigrationem in alia animalia terrestria, marina, volueria, rursumque in corpus humanum, docuerunt: hunc circuitum ab ea fieri intra 3000 annos, &c Upon which he elsewhere reflecting, hath this pertinent remark: Hinc tantum condiendi cadaveris studium, tantae in struendis repositorijs impensae.  
This Doctrine being brought from the Egyptian Schools by Orpheus, and from him descended to Homer; he thence taught, that Eternal Souls are from Heaven conveyed into human bodies, and that after death they return to the Gods; for a Symbol of this region of Corruption, feigning his Antrum Nympharum, wherein— 
— 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc.  
Janua duplex:  
Haec Boream spectans homines demittit: 
Odyss. 13. v. 109:  at illa  
Respiciens Austrum divinior, invia prorsus  
Est homini, praebetque viam immortalibus unis.  Of which Poetical fiction Porphyrius giving the Mythology, wrote an excellent Book, published by Holstenius, de Antro Homerico: wherein he tells us, that the Cave itself carries [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] an image and symbol of the world: that the Naiads. or Nymphs, are Souls [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] entered into bodies newly generated: that one Gate is for the admittance of Souls descending into bodies; the other for, not Gods, but Souls ascending from bodies to the Gods again. Wherefore he called it the road or way, not of the Gods, but [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] of Souls, which are by their very Essence Immortal.  
From this commonly embraced Existence of Souls departed, arose the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or Image-making of the Ancient Ethnics; whereby they attributed to Souls separated from their bodies, Effigies quasi Corporeas: whereunto Virgil seems learnedly to allude, where he makes Dido, as she was dying, say, 
Et nunc magna mei sub terras ibit imago: and Lucretius (lib. 1.) in these verses;  
— Esse Acherusia templa;  
Quo neque permanent Animae, neque corpora nostra;  
Sed quaedam Simulacra, modis pallentia miris.  From the same fountain, and at the same time also, were derived into Grece the Comments concerning the Mansions of Souls delivered from their bodies, and the Rewards and Punishments to come. For Diodorus Siculus (lib. 1. pag. 61.) hath left this record thereof: Dicunt Orpheum, dum impiorum palmas apud inferos, & piorum prata, & pervulgatas spectrorum fictiones introduxit, funebres Aegyptiorum ritus imitatum fuisse: adding, that from the old institute of the Egyptians, Mercury was made [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] the Conductor of Souls ad inferos. Wherein Homer long after carrying on the tradition of Orpheus, promotes the credit of the fiction, by inserting it into his immortal Poem (in initio Odyss. ῶ.) 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc.  
The Souls of Hero's, Mercury the God  
Calls forth [and guides t' Elysium] with his rod.   
But leaving the most ancient Grecian Poets, who yet were then the only Theologues, let us pursue this tradition of the Souls Immortality, among their most eminent Philosophers, as men less prone to Credulity, and therefore more worthy of credit.  
Of these, the eldest we can find, is Thales Milesius, who (as Plutarch. de placitis lib. 4. cap. 2. attesteth) first defined the Soul to be [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] a nature perpetually moving, and selfmoving. Which argument Cicero indeed afterward borrowing from Plato's Phaedrus, most judiciously explained, in the first book of his Tusculan Questions: but fathers the opinion itself upon Pherecydes Syrius, in these words. Credo equidem etiam alios, sed (quod literis exstet) Pherecydes Syrus (Syrius rather, from Syros, an Island of the Aegean Sea, the place of his birth) primum dixit, Animos hominum esse sempiternos: hanc opinionem discipulns ejus Pythagoras maxim confirmavit.  
But (by Cicero's favour) Pythagoras, who seems to have been younger than Homer by almost 400 years, (for he was among the Egyptians carried away captive by Cambyses, as appears from that place in Apuleius Florid. lib. 2. Pythagoram aiunt, inter captivos Cambysae Regis, doctores habuisse Persarum Magos; ac praecipue Zoroastrem, omnis divini arcani antistitem) drew this Doctrine, not out of the streams of either Orpheus, or Homer, or Phercydes, but from the very springhead of Egypt. And he taught, that the Soul was [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] a selfmoving Number, and [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] incapable of destruction, returning after its departure from the body, to its original the Universal Soul of the world: as we find in the records of Plutarch, de placit. lib. 4. cap. 2.  
Next comes Heraclitus the Ephesian, whom Porphyrius (de Antro pag. 257.) makes the Author of that memorable sentence concerning our Souls [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] that this our life is the Souls death, and our death the Souls life; that the Soul descended from Heaven to animate the body, suffers Exile in this lowest and darksome region, and remains as it were dead, during its imprisonment in flesh.  
Then Empedocles Agrigentinus, a Pythagorean; who (as Plutarch de Exilio commemorates) speaking likewise of the descent of his Soul, as a Banishment from its Celestial home; Ego jamdudum (saith he) eo exul a Deo, & vagus: and of the Eternal Society of the just, that they should be after death, immortalium aliorum contubernales, & convivae, expertes humanarum miseriarum, incorruptibiles, immortales. Whence it may be with good probability conjectured, that Pindar took the main argument of his 2 d. Olympic ode; wherein he sings, that the Just enjoy eternal light, and life exempt from cares and labour among the Gods: whereupon Plutarch excellently descanteth, the fancy in luna.  
And at length our Plato, whom our best Antiquaries and Chronologists agree to have flourished about the 100 Olympiad, in the reign of Artaxerxes Mnemon over the Persians. This Father of the Academics, though he would have Homer ejected out of his Commonwealth, as a Poet; yet both embraced his doctrine of the immortal Existence of the Soul, and added no little authority to his description of the Infernal Mansions; especially in this Dialogue, where he introduceth Socrates discoursing most profoundly of the Immortality of the Soul. Whereupon Cicero perhaps reflecting (in lib. 1. Tusculan.) saith; Platonem ferunt, ut Pythagoraeos cognosceret, in Italiam venisse; & in ea cum alios multos, tum Architam Timaeumque cognovisse, & didicisse Pythagorae omnia; primumque de Animorum aeternitate, non solum sensisse idem quod Pythagoras, sed rationem etiam attulisse.  
From Plato down to his Disciples and Successors the Academics, we need not further deduce this constant Doctrine: it being of itself sufficiently manifest to all men not inconversant in the writings of the ancient Philosophers devolved to our late hands, that whatsoever either the Author of that laudable Dialogue entitled Axiochus (vulgarly ascribed to Plato, and inserted into his works) or Cicero in his noble Dialogue de Senectute, & Contemnenda morte; or Seneca in his Epistles, and elsewhere; or indeed St. Augustin and Tertullian, or any other hath written of this Subject, either ex professo, or only in transitu; hath been borrowed from him. And yet notwithstanding, it may not be thought impertinent, nor vulgar, if we observe; that among the Jews, the Pharises (whose original our universally learned Sir John Marsham hath most plainly traced out, in pag. 151. of his Chronic. Canon) imposing only new terms upon the Philosophy of the Academics, consented to the common opinion of the Greeks concerning the Soul; as Josephus himself attesteth (Belli Judaici lib. 2. cap. 7.) who there delivers the belief of the Essens, concerning the happy state of Good Souls separated from their bodies, in the very words of Homer. Nor is it obscure, that the Jews themselves believed the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or Transmigration of Souls from one human body into another: when some thought our blessed Saviour Jesus Christ to be St. John the Baptist, some Elias, others Jeremias, or one of the Prophets (Math. 16: v. 14.)    

DIGRESSION. How far the Souls Immortality may be proved by human Reason.  
BUT is it not of more importance to know, how strong and reasonable this Opinion of the perpetual duration of separate Souls appears to be, than to investigate the age and tradition of it? Certainly yes, and should my Reader here require my estimate of the force and validity of the various Arguments or pretended Demonstrations brought by Plato in the precedent Dialogue, to evidence the verity thereof: I might justly enough make use of the licence thereby given me, to examine what I designed only to translate. But because it may be thought an indecency, if not ingratitude in a mere Interpreter, to censure the power and extent of the reasonings used, and the conclusions thence drawn by his Author, and because this laudable curiosity of the Reader (whom I presume to be possessed with such) may perhaps be more fully gratified, by a frank communication of my sentiments concerning that more general Enquiry, viz. How far the Immortality of the Soul may be proved by simple reason, or the sole light of Nature, without the illumination of sacred Writ, or revelation Divine: I shall therefore with the freedom belonging to a Philosopher, and due submission to more elevated Wits, adventure to acquaint him briefly with those my thoughts; choosing rather to expose them to his severest scrutiny, than by animadversions upon the arguments of Plato in particular, to show the least umbrage or irreverence towards his memory.  
I confess then, that though I have read, and with due attention of mind considered the utmost rigour of many Discourses professedly composed for, and speciously promising a sufficient eviction of the sempiternal Existence of the Rational Soul after death, by reasons drawn only from her own excellent nature, faculties, affections, operations, etc. yet I could not perceive, that any one of them taken single, or all put together, had the force of a perfect Demonstration; so that were not the Light of the Holy Scriptures infinitely more clear and convincing, as to that among many other important truths concerning the Soul, I should still remain unassured of the endless Duration of my noblest part. For  
First, as to the Origine of this excellent Being; the Doctrines of Natural Philosophers concerning this, are no less various than their Sects; and all but darksome opinions, or precarious conjectures. Nay even those few among them, who held it to be of Divine Original, though therein they hit the very white of truth, appear notwithstanding to have shot wide, when they conceived it to have been Eternal ex parte ante, a particle of the Divine Essence itself, and pre-existent to its conjunction with the body. Whereas that sacred Oracle, the Word of God plainly teaches, that the Soul of the first man was created immediately by God himself, and united to the body then already perfectly form and prepared to receive it.  
Secondly, As to the grand Difficulty, the natural Exemption of it from the power of Death, when thereby divorced from the body; the Arguments brought from Physical Mediums for probation hereof, do indeed suffice to convince us of the Spirituality and Seperability of the Soul: but suffice not (in my judgement at least) to demonstrate the impossibility of its destruction, or that absolutely it shall survive the dissolution of the body for ever the same.  
I grant, that some, and chief that most rigid of Physico-Mathematicians, Des Cartes (in meditat. Metaphysic. de Anima, & respon. ad object. secund.) have gone so far, as fairly to convince any man of competent understanding, that the Soul, though in this life obliged to act for the most part, by the Organs of the Senses, doth yet discover its excellency, by actions proper and peculiar to her spiritual nature, wholly independent upon, and distinct from the Senses: and thence by genuine consequence inferred, that the same Soul, though by a strict and intimate conjunction with the body, united into one Compositum therewith, is yet nevertheless a thing or substance distinct from the body. I grant also, that by this very Argument the Immortality of the Soul may be sufficiently proved against Epicureans and Atheists. For these men taking the Soul to be, not formally and truly a Substance, but only a certain Modisication of body; thereupon concluded, that it must of necessity perish, or cease to be the same, when the fabric or frame of the body, from whence it resulted, is destroyed by Death. If therefore from some intellectual operations of this Soul, such to which matter or body, however modified, or organised, cannot possibly reach; it be made appear (and Des Cartes seems to have done it) that she is a Substance distinct from, and independent upon the body: there will remain no reason, much less an absolute necessity, why the dissolution of the body should infer the destruction of the Soul, as they imagine; more especially if the latter be conceived to be (what most certainly it is) a simple and spiritual substance, as incapable of destruction, as themselves hold matter to be.  
But I dare not grant, that this Cartesian Demonstration holds good, as against Epicureans and Atheists, who exclude God from having any hand in the creation and conservation of the Soul; so likewise against those who acknowledge God to be the sole Creator and preserver of all things. For, admitting the Soul to be both a substance distinct from the body, and immediately created, and continually conserved by God: yet can we not lawfully infer from thence, that it is not possible for such a Soul ever to cease to be. For what assurance can simple reason give us, that God hath not ordained, that this Soul, as it had a beginning when it was created to be infused into the body, so at the time of its separation from the body, shall lose its being, and vanish into its primitive nothing? That the duration thereof necessarily depends upon God's conserving power and influence, is undeniable: and it seems consentaneous, that as the Union or Association of the Soul to the Body was at first made, not by any Agents merely Natural, but upon conditions depending solely upon God's free and arbitrary institution▪ so (for aught we can learn from the weak light of Nature to the contrary) one of the Conditions may be, that at the dissolution of that Union, both Body and Soul should cease to be. Especially since to the Souls relapsing into its first nothing, no more is required, but Gods withdrawing his conserving influence, by which alone all his Creatures are supported, and their Being is preserved. Here than we find ourselves left in the dark by human reason; so that were it not for the brighter beams of Revelation Divine, how fair soever our hopes might be of Immortality, we should want a full assurance of it. To conclude therefore this Parergon, with the concordant judgement, and in the most elegant words of that most excellent Philosopher and Christian, the noble Mr. Boyl; 
In Pag. 30. of his Book concerning the Excellency of Theology.  all that mere Reason can demonstrate concerning this Subject, may be reduced to these two things: One, That the Rational Soul being an Incorporeal substance, there is no necessity that it should perish with the body; so that if God hath not otherwise appointed, the Soul may survive the body, and last for ever: The Other, That the Nature of the Soul, according to Des Cartes, consisting in its being a Substance that thinks; we may conclude, that though it be by death separated from the body, it will nevertheless retain the power of thinking. To more than this Des Cartes was both too circumspect, and too conscious of the dimness of human reason to pretend, though some of his Sectators, mistaking the design and scope of that his discourse, have conceived it to extend even to an eviction also of the Souls absolute Immortality. For (in artic. 7. respon. ad object. 2.) he makes this ingenuous profession. Cur de immortalitate animae nihil scripserim, jam dixi in Synopsi mearum meditationum; quod ejus ab omni corpore distinctionem satis probaverim, supra ostendi. Quod vero additis, ex distinctione animae a corpore non sequi ejus immortalitatem; quia nihilominus dici potest, illam a Deo talis naturae factam esse, ut ejus Duratio simul cum duratione vitae corporeae finiatur; fateor a me refelli non posse. Neque enim tantum mihi assumo, ut quicquam de ijs quae a libera Dei voluntate dependent, humanae rationis vi determinare aggrediar. Docet quidem naturalis cognitio, mentem a corpore esse diversam, ipsamque esse substantiam, etc. Sed si de absoluta Dei potestate quaeratur, an fort decreverit ut animae humanae iisdem temporibus esse desivant, quibus corpor a quae illis adjunxit, destruuntur; solius est Dei respondere. Cumque jam ipse nobis revelaverit, id non futurum; nulla plane, vel minima est occasio dubitandi.  

III. Of the Comments of the ancient Ethnics, concerning the infernal Mansions of Souls departed.  
Tho' the description of Tartarus and Elysium here in the latter part of this grave Dialogue made by Plato, be by himself declared to have been borrowed for the most part from the Fictions of others, chief Poets; and that he expressly affirms, that to deliver any thing positively concerning the future state of Souls, and the qualities of Rewards and Punishments in the next life, is the part of a rash, not a wise man: yet forasmuch as the design and utility of those fictions, is not more conspicuous, than the first invention of them is to men inconversant in the monuments of Antiquity, obscure; and because there are, even at this day, not a few who entertain and promote as gross, and in many things the like superstitious conceits of Hell: I think it worth the expense of a few vacant minutes, to deduce them briefly from their original, as high at least as my little reading reacheth.  
The first Natural Philosophy, whereof the envy of Time hath spared some little fragments to be handed down by tradition to this our so distant age; seems to be that which supposed two Contrary Principles of all things that had beginning. Of these, one was God the Maker, in the Grecian Theology named 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 (concerning the Etymology of which name, 'twill be no lost labour, nor impertinent, to consult the most learned Vossius, in Etymologico Linguae Latinae, in verbo, Juvo) and the Author of Life: The other, Matter, called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, which hath the power of Dissolution or Death. To the First was ascribed Light and Day; to the Latter, Darkness and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Non-apparence: for 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 signifieth privation of Light. Under the Empire of Zeus or Jove, was placed the upper part of the World: the inferior was assigned to the dominion of Pluto: the middle betwixt these two contrary Principles, was imagined to be agitated by perpetual reciprocations, or alternate changes; so that Life and Death, Light and Darkness, Good and Evil rule by turns. Congruous whereunto is that assertion of the Prince of Physicians, Hypocrates (lib. de Diaeta) nihil gigni, neque prorsus interire, That as to Matter, nothing is either generated or destroyed: and that to be generated, is to grow out of Hade into light; men thinking that to perish, which from light decreased into Hade or darkness again. For, it hath been an universal Axiom of ancient Philosophers, nihil ex nihilo fieri, aut in nihilum redigi: and therefore they who allowed the World to have had a beginning, held the Matter of it to have been pre-existent from all Eternity.  
Now this which the Grecians named Hades, the Egyptians called Amenthes, which signifies a place giving and receiving, viz. Souls; as Plutarch (de Iside) interpreteth it. Which notion, together with the opinion of the Souls Immortality, and future rewards and punishments, being by the Egyptian Priests communicated to Orpheus: he from thence, after his return into Greece, feigned a Hell, in imitation of the Funeral Rites he had observed among them, as is expressly averred by Diodorus Siculus (lib. 1. pag. 71.) formerly quoted: who addeth, that the other Comments of the Grecians de inferis, were in most things conformable to the manner and place of Obsequies performed by the Egyptians, even in his own time. For (saith he) the boat wherein dead bodies are usually carried to burial, is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and a halfpenny is given for a fare to the Boatman, who in the tongue of that Nation is called Charon: not far from the Ferry, there stands (they say) a Temple of Hecate the Darksome; and the gates of Cocytus and Lethe, made fast with brazen bars; and other gates of Verity, by which stands an image or statue of Justice, without a head, etc.  
And Servius (in Virgil. lib. 6. ad hunc versum; sic demum lucos Stygios, regna invia vivis, aspicies) delivers, that Seneca in a certain book he wrote de ritu & sacris Aegyptiorum, reports, that about Sienes, an extreme part of Egypt, is a certain place which they call Philas, that is, the Female Friends; because there Isis was appeased and attoned by the Egyptians, after her displeasure conceived for that she had not found the limbs of her husband Osiris, whom his brother Typhon had slain. Which being afterward found, when she desired to bury them, she chose the safest place of a near Marish, whereunto the access was extremely difficult, and embarrassed; the Marish being full of Mudd and Papyr-flaggs. Beyond this is a short Island, inaccessible to men: whence it was called Abatos, and mentioned by Lucan; Hinc Abatos, quam nostra vocat veneranda vetustas. This Mere is named Styx, because it raiseth Sadness and Sorrow in all that pass over it: and hither on certain days, come such who have been initiated to the sacred Rites; and that it had been written, that the neighbouring people carry over their dead to the other side of the Lake: but if any chance to perish in the difficult passage, and his body be not found; his Funeral Obsequies are to be deferred until a hundred years be expired. Whence that dream, Centum errant annos, volitanque haec littora circum.  
Farther, well known it is, even to young Students of Homer, that his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 is divided into Tartarus (described at the 13th. Iliad v. θ) and Elysium (described Odyss. ♌ v. 563.) and both according to the doctrine of the Egyptians, who placed both the Bridewell of the wicked and the Mulberry Gardens of the Just ' 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, in a subterraneous place or region ' But where to fix his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, hath puzzled all his Commentators. Strabo (Geograph. lib. 3. pag. 150.) thereby understands the remotest part of Spain, and contends for the placing his Elysium there. More recent Poets take the [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] Islands of the Fortunate, for the seats of the blessed: whereof see Hesychius, ad verbum 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, where you shall read this also. Some say, Elysium lies in Egypt, some in Lesbos, others in a place guarded with thunder and lightning, and not to be approached by Mortals. So that a man would think, Eden to be turned into Elysium, nor doth it seem to be either more or less than what Diodorus just now related from the Egyptians, that the gates of Cocytus and Lethe were secured by brazen bars. But Plutarch removes this Paradise from the Hollows of the Earth, into the globe of the Moon (lib. de fancy in Luna.) So various are the conjectures of men, so uncertain their imaginations, so easy their credulity; especially when they are blinded by superstition. What pleasure other● may find in reading these various Comments upon Fictions, I cannot divine: but this I will adventure to confess, that to me they appear as idle and extravagant, as the works of Didymus a Grammarian did to Seneca, Who (in Epist. 88) derides him for writing 4000 Volumes, wherein he chief inquires about the native Country of Homer, the true Mother of Aeneas, whether Anacreon were more addicted to wine or women; whether Sapph were a common prostitute, and other the like ridiculous impertinences, which were to be forgotten, if you knew them. Wherefore leaving these dissenting Expositors, let us resume our clue, and follow the trace of the Fiction itself.  
Though Homer constituted Rhadamanthus and his brother Minos' Judges in the infernal Arches (Odyss. 4. v. 567.) and fetched those names from Crete: yet the ground or example was derived from Egypt, as appears from this relation of Diodorus Siculus (lib. 1. p. 58.) Among the Egyptians (saith he) when a dead body is to be interred, the Kindred of the deceased give notice of the day to the Judges, and to the friends and acquaintance of the defunct; and proclam that he is at that time to be wafted over the Lake. At the day prefixed, more than 40 Judges assembled together, seat themselves in a Semicircle or Halfmoon, on the brink of the Lake: and a Boat ready prepared for that use, is launched, with a man therein to row it, whom they in the Egyptian language call Charon. Then, before the body is put aboard, it is permitted to every man present, to bring in what accusations he thinks just, against the party deceased. If any prove, that he lived an evil life, the Judges immediately give sentence upon him according to the nature and quality of his transgressions: and the body is forbidden to be buried. But a false and malicious accuser is obnoxious to to great penalties. When no just impeachment is brought in, the kindred laying aside the mourning and laments, praise the defunct, in their laudatory harangues, not mentioning the nobility of his blood and extraction (as the the Grecians use to do) because they hold, that all in Egypt are equally nonoble; but his good Education in youth, and the piety, justice, continency, and other virtues of his maturer age, all which they particularly recount and celebrate. This funeral Oration ended, they address their Orisons to the infernal Deities, beseeching them to receive him into the Society of the Pious: with no small devotion making this prayer, the form whereof hath been preserved and transmitted down to us by Porphyrius (de Abstinentia lib. 4. Sect. 10.)  
O Lord Sun, and all ye Gods who give life to men, receive me, and deliver me a companion to the immortal Gods. For while I lived here in this age, I piously worshipped the Gods whom my Parents taught me to worship: and honoured those who begat me: nor have I killed any man: nor defrauded any that trusted me: nor committed any inexpiable evil. But if at any time of my life, I have offended by eating or dtinking any thing forbidden; I offended not by myself, but by those bowels of mine there (pointing to a little Coffin wherein the stomach and guts are reposed apart.)  
Which said, the speaker throws the little Coffin into the water, as containing the offending parts; and the whole assembly with loud and ingeminated applauses recommending the defunct (that is, him who had performed all the duties of life) as one that shall enjoy the everlasting conversation of pious Souls apud inferos; the body is put into the Boat, and ferried over the Lake to be inhumed.  
Here reflecting upon this Egyptian prayer, or Apology rather, made in the name of the dead, we may en passant observe, both a touch of Pharisaical arrogancy and self-justification; and precepts exactly concordant with those given, first (as the tradition of the Talmudical Rabbins teacheth) to the Sons of Noah, and afterward by Moses to the Hebrews, in the second Table of the Decalogue, and from them descended down to us. So that that saying of Solomon, that nothing is new under the Sun, was true many hundred of years before his days, yea and before Moses' too. But I have made a digression of a prayer; and must return into the little remainder of my way.  
From these Egyptian obsequies it was (as the same Diodorus in the same place observes) that Orpheus having, while he sojourned among their Priests, curiously remarked them, first invented his fiction of Hell; in some things keeping close to the original he copied, and adding others from the mint of his own Poetical fancy: and so divulging the same to his admirers in Greece, transmitted it to posterity, as matter of Faith.  
From their belief, that Good Souls were after death advanced to the honour and felicity of conversing with the Gods, first arose the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of the Ancients: and first of all Hercules was, for his Heroic virtues, accordingly Deified. Whence Homer describing the transcendent happiness of his condition, saith, apud Deos immortales oblectatur in convivijs, & habet pulchris talis Hebem: by assigning him Hebe or Youth for a Wife, intimating his Immortality.  
And from the Egyptian custom of interdicting sepulture to the bodies of men convicted of great crimes, came the opinion of the Grecians, that the Souls of men whose bodies want interment, are repulsed by Charon. Whence in Homer, the Ghost of Elpinor appearing to Ulysses, complains of his repulse, because his body yet remained unburied. So doth that of Patroclus to Achilles, begging the human office of inhumation: sepeli me quam citissime; ut intrem portas Plutonis.  
To these remarkable instances of Similitude betwixt the old Egyptian rites of burial, and the Grecian fictions de inferis; I might, were not my pen already blunted with the drudgery of transcription, add many others collected by Diodorus Siculus. But from what I have alleged, it seems clearly evident, that the original of the Grecian traditions and doctrine concerning Hell, was fetched from Egypt: and that the grand pipe through which they were transmitted and diffused, was the pen of Homer, who flourished about the year 676 of the Attic Aera.  
Nor is it less manifest, that some Philosophers also, and those too of great name and authority in their times, laboured by their Writings to propagate the belief of the same Fantastical comments in the minds of the superstitious vulgar. For, Diogenes Laertius, in the lives of Democritus and his Scholar Protagoras, of Antisthenes and Heraclides Ponticus, expressly delivers, that each of them wrote whole Volumes [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] of the regiment and judicial proceed apud inferos: the loss whereof, the Commonwealth of Letters hath no great reason to lament. And as for Plato, we have already perused his ample Chorography and description of the same infernal regions, in this Dialogue of Phoedo; wherein whoever is not satisfied, let him at his leisure have recourse to the sixth book of Virgil's Aeneids; where he shall find even the Topography of Hell and Elysium most accurately painted, according to the patterns of Homer and Plato. More particularly, at verse 327. he shall find Charon refusing to transport the Souls of bodies unburied: at verse 426. he shall behold the Limbus or apartment or Infants: at verse 430. the receptacle of men condemned unjustly: at verse 434. the Newgate of Self-murderers: at verse 440. the melancholy walks of unfortunate Lovers: at verse 540. the Campus Martius of Warriors: at verse 548. the burning river and other torments of the impious: at verse 638. the Paradise of Mahomet, at verse 738. a most cruel Purgatory, wherein polluted Souls being cleansed and whitened, by air, fire and water, are after a long tract of time, removed into Elysium, there with impatience to expect [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉] Regeneration. All which being compared with the descriptions of the same places, extant in Homer and Plato: he will at length be convinced, that Virgil therein imitated them most exactly; and that Purgatory is no such modern invention as the unlearned take it to be. The Sandy foundation whereof lying so exposed to all eyes not blinded with the mist of Bigotism: I cannot but applaud the Wisdom of our Divines assembled in the Convocation house by K. Henry VIII. in the year 1536. Who among some Ecclesiastical Constitutions then made, delivered their judgement concerning Purgatory, in these memorable words.  
Forasmuch as according to due order of Charity, and the book of Macchabees, and divers ancient Writers, it is a very good and charitable deed to pray for Souls departed: and forasmuch as such uses have continued in the Church even from the beginning, that all Bishops and Preachers should instruct and teach the people not to be grieved with the continuance of the same: But forasmuch as the place where those departed Souls be, the name thereof, and the kind of pains there also, be to us uncertain by Scripture, that therefore this and all other such things were to be remitted to God Almighty, unto whose mercy it is meet and convenient to commend them, trusting that God accepteth our prayers for them; referring the rest wholly to God, to whom is known their state and condition. And therefore that it was necessary that such abuses should be clearly put away, which under the name of Purgatory have been advanced, etc. As is recited by the Lord Herbert, in the life of K. Henry VIII. pag. 468.   
FINIS.