'Yes, and what they say would be true, Simmias, except for their claim to be aware of it themselves; because they aren't aware in what sense genuine philosophers are verging on death and deserving c of it, and what kind of death they deserve. Anyway, let's discuss it among ourselves, disregarding them: do we suppose that death is something ?'
'Certainly,' rejoined Simmias.
'And that it is nothing but the separation of the soul from the 5 body? And that being dead is this: the body's having come to be
apart, separated from the soul, alone by itself, and the soul's being apart, alone by itself, separated from the body? Death can't be anything else but that, can it?'
'No, it's just that.'
'Now look, my::'friend, and see if maybe you agree with me on 10 these points; because through them I think we'll improve our know- d ledge of what we're examining. Do you think it befits a philosophical man to be keen about the so-called pleasures of, for example, food and drink?'
'Not in the least, Socrates,' said Simmias. 5
'And what about those of sex?'
'Not at all.'
'And what about the other services to the body? Do you think such a man regards them as of any value? For instance, the possession of smart clothes and shoes, and the other bodily adornments—do 10 you think he values them highly, or does he disdain them, except in so far as he's absolutely compelled to share in them?' e
'I think the genuine philosopher disdains them.'
'Do you think in general, then, that such a man's concern is not for the body, but so far as he can stand aside from it, is directed 5 towards the soul?'
'I do.'
'Then is it clear that, first, in such matters as these the philosopher differs from other men in releasing his soul, as far as possible, from 65 its communion with the body?'
'It appears so.'
'And presumably, Simmias, it does seem to most men that someone who finds nothing of that sort pleasant, and takes no part 5 in those things, doesn't deserve to live; rather, one who cares nothing for the pleasures that come by way of the body runs pretty close to being dead.'
'Yes, what you say is quite true.'
'And now, what about the actual gaining of wisdom? Is the body 10 a hindrance or not, if one enlists it as a partner in the quest? This is b the sort of thing I mean: do sight and hearing afford men any truth, or aren't even the poets always harping on such themes, telling us that we neither hear nor see anything accurately? And yet if these
of all the bodily senses are neither accurate nor clear, the others will hardly be so; because they are, surely, all inferior to these. Don't you think so?'
'Certainly.'
'So when does the soul attain the truth? Because plainly, whenever it sets about examining anything in company with the body, it is completely taken in by it,'
'That's true.'
'So isn't it in reasoning, if anywhere at all, that any of the things that are become manifest to it?'
'Yes.'
'And it reasons best, presumably, whenever none of these things bothers it, neither hearing nor sight nor pain, nor any pleasure either, but whenever it comes to be alone by itself as far as possible, disregarding the body, and whenever, having the least possible communion and contact with it, it strives for that which is.'
'That is so.'
'So there again the soul of the philosopher utterly disdains the body and flees from it, seeking rather to come to be alone by itself?'
'It seems so.'
'Well now, what about things of this sort, Simmias? Do we say that there is something just, or nothing?'5
'Yes, we most certainly do!'
'And again, something beautiful, and goodV
'Of course.'
'Now did you ever yet see any such things with your eyes?'
'Certainly not.'
'Well did you grasp them with any other bodily sense-perception?6 And I'm talking about them all—about largeness, health, and strength, for example—and, in short, about the Being of all other such things, what each one actually is;7 is it through the body that their truest element8 is viewed, or isn't it rather thus: whoever of us is prepared to think most fully and minutely of each object of his inquiry, in itself, will come closest to the knowledge of each?'
'Yes, certainly.'
'Then would that be achieved most purely by the man who approached each object with his intellect alone as far as possible,
neither adducing sight9 in his thinking, nor dragging in any other sense to accompany his reasoning; rather, using his intellect alone 66 by itself and unsullied, he would undertake the hunt for each of the things that are, each alone by itself and unsullied; he would be separated as far as possible from his eyes and ears, and virtually from his whole body, on the ground that it confuses the soul, and doesn't 5 allow it to gain truth and wisdom when in partnership with it: isn't it this man, Simmias, who will attain that which is, if anyone will?'
'What you say is abundantly true, Socrates,' said Simmias. 10
'For all these reasons, then, some such view as this must present b itself to genuine philosophers, so that they say such things to one another as these: "There now, it looks as if some sort of track is leading us, together with our reason, astray in our inquiry:10 as long as we possess the body, and our soul is contaminated by such an evil, 5 we'll surely never adequately gain what we desire—and that, we say, is truth. Because the body affords us countless distractions, owing to the nurture it must have; and again, if any illnesses befall it, they c hamper our pursuit of that which is. Besides, it fills us up with lusts and desires, with fears and fantasies of every kind, and with any amount of trash, so that really and truly we are, as the saying goes, never able to think of anything at all because of it. Thus, it's nothing 5 but the body and its desires that brings wars and factions and fighting; because it's over the gaining of wealth that all wars take place, and we're compelled to gain wealth because of the body, enslaved d as we are to its service; so for all these reasons it leaves us no leisure for philosophy. And the worst of it all is that if we do get any leisure from it, and turn to some inquiry, once again it intrudes everywhere 5 in our researches, setting up a clamour and disturbance, and striking terror, so that the truth can't be discerned because of it. Well now, it really has been shown us that if we're ever going to know anything purely, we must be rid of it, and must view the objects themselves e with the soul by itself; it's then, apparently, that the thing we desire and whose lovers we claim to be, wisdom, will be ours—when we have died, as the argument indicates, though not while we live. Because, if we can know nothing purely in the body's company, then one of 5 two things must be true: either knowledge is nowhere to be gained, or else it is for the dead; since then, but no sooner, will the soul be 67
alone by itself apart from the body. And therefore while we live, it would seem that we shall be closest to knowledge in this way-if we consort with the body as little as possible, and do not commune with 5 it, except in so far as we must, and do not infect ourselves with its nature, but remain pure from it, until God himself shall release us; and being thus pure, through separation from the body's folly, we shall probably be in like company, and shall know through our b own selves all that is unsullied—and that, I dare say, is what the truth is; because never will it be permissible for impure to touch pure." Such are the things, I think, Simmias, that all who are rightly called lovers of knowledge must say to one another, and must 5 believe. Don't you agree?'