εἰ δέ γε μή, ὦ φίλε ἑταῖρε, ὥσπερ οἱ ποτέ του ἐρασθέντες, ἐὰν ἡγήσωνται μὴ ὠφέλιμον εἶναι τὸν ἔρωτα, βίᾳ μέν, ὅμως δὲ ἀπέχονται, καὶ ἡμεῖς οὕτως, διὰ τὸν ἐγγεγονότα μὲν ἔρωτα τῆς τοιαύτης ποιήσεως ὑπὸ τῆς τῶν καλῶν πολιτειῶν τροφῆς, εὖνοι μὲν ἐσόμεθα φανῆναι αὐτὴν ὡς βελτίστην καὶ ἀληθεστάτην, ἕως δʼ ἂν μὴ οἵα τʼ ᾖ ἀπολογήσασθαι, ἀκροασόμεθʼ αὐτῆς ἐπᾴδοντες ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς τοῦτον τὸν λόγον, ὃν λέγομεν, καὶ ταύτην τὴν ἐπῳδήν, εὐλαβούμενοι πάλιν ἐμπεσεῖν εἰς τὸν παιδικόν τε καὶ τὸν τῶν πολλῶν ἔρωτα. ᾀσόμεθα δʼ οὖν ὡς οὐ σπουδαστέον ἐπὶ τῇ τοιαύτῃ ποιήσει ὡς ἀληθείας τε ἁπτομένῃ καὶ σπουδαίᾳ, ἀλλʼ εὐλαβητέον αὐτὴν ὂν τῷ ἀκροωμένῳ, περὶ τῆς ἐν αὑτῷ πολιτείας δεδιότι, καὶ νομιστέα ἅπερ εἰρήκαμεν περὶ ποιήσεως. παντάπασιν, ἦ δʼ ὅς, σύμφημι. μέγας γάρ, ἔφην, ὁ ἀγών, ὦ φίλε Γλαύκων, μέγας, οὐχ ὅσος δοκεῖ, τὸ χρηστὸν ἢ κακὸν γενέσθαι, ὥστε οὔτε τιμῇ ἐπαρθέντα οὔτε χρήμασιν οὔτε ἀρχῇ οὐδεμιᾷ οὐδέ γε ποιητικῇ ἄξιον ἀμελῆσαι δικαιοσύνης τε καὶ τῆς ἄλλης ἀρετῆς. σύμφημί σοι, ἔφη, ἐξ ὧν διεληλύθαμεν· οἶμαι δὲ καὶ ἄλλον ὁντινοῦν. καὶ μήν, ἦν δʼ ἐγώ, τά γε μέγιστα ἐπίχειρα ἀρετῆς καὶ προκείμενα ἆθλα οὐ διεληλύθαμεν. ἀμήχανόν τι, ἔφη, λέγεις μέγεθος, εἰ τῶν εἰρημένων μείζω ἐστὶν ἄλλα. τί δʼ ἄν, ἦν δʼ ἐγώ, ἔν γε ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ μέγα γένοιτο; πᾶς γὰρ οὗτός γε ὁ ἐκ παιδὸς μέχρι πρεσβύτου χρόνος πρὸς πάντα ὀλίγος πού τις ἂν εἴη. οὐδὲν μὲν οὖν, ἔφη. τί οὖν; οἴει ἀθανάτῳ πράγματι ὑπὲρ τοσούτου δεῖν χρόνου ἐσπουδακέναι, ἀλλʼ οὐχ ὑπὲρ τοῦ παντός; οἶμαι ἔγωγʼ, ἔφη· ἀλλὰ τί τοῦτο λέγεις; οὐκ ᾔσθησαι, ἦν δʼ ἐγώ, ὅτι ἀθάνατος ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ οὐδέποτε ἀπόλλυται; καὶ ὃς ἐμβλέψας μοι καὶ θαυμάσας εἶπε· μὰ Δίʼ, οὐκ ἔγωγε· σὺ δὲ τοῦτʼ ἔχεις λέγειν; εἰ μὴ ἀδικῶ γʼ, ἔφην. οἶμαι δὲ καὶ σύ· οὐδὲν γὰρ χαλεπόν. ἔμοιγʼ, ἔφη· σοῦ δʼ ἂν ἡδέως ἀκούσαιμι τὸ οὐ χαλεπὸν τοῦτο. ἀκούοις ἄν, ἦν δʼ ἐγώ. λέγε μόνον, ἔφη. ἀγαθόν τι, εἶπον, καὶ κακὸν καλεῖς; ἔγωγε. ἆρʼ οὖν ὥσπερ ἐγὼ περὶ αὐτῶν διανοῇ; τὸ ποῖον; τὸ μὲν ἀπολλύον καὶ διαφθεῖρον πᾶν τὸ κακὸν εἶναι, τὸ δὲ σῷζον καὶ ὠφελοῦν τὸ ἀγαθόν. ἔγωγʼ, ἔφη.
“But if not, my friend, even as men who have fallen in love, if they think that the love is not good for them, hard though it be, nevertheless refrain, so we, owing to the love of this kind of poetry inbred in us by our education in these fine polities of ours, will gladly have the best possible case made out for her goodness and truth, but so long as she is unable to make good her defence we shall chant over to ourselves as we listen the reasons that we have given as a counter-charm to her spell, to preserve us from slipping back into the childish loves of the multitude; for we have come to see that we must not take such poetry seriously as a serious thing that lays hold on truth, but that he who lends an ear to it must be on his guard fearing for the polity in his soul and must believe what we have said about poetry.” “By all means,” he said, “I concur.” “Yes, for great is the struggle,” I said, “dear Glaucon, a far greater contest than we think it, that determines whether a man prove good or bad, so that not the lure of honor or wealth or any office, no, nor of poetry either, should incite us to be careless of righteousness and all excellence.” “I agree with you,” he replied, “in view of what we have set forth, and I think that anyone else would do so too.” “And yet,” said I, “the greatest rewards of virtue and the prizes proposed for her we have not set forth.” “You must have in mind an inconceivable magnitude,” he replied, “if there are other things greater than those of which we have spoken.? For surely the whole time from the boy to the old man would be small compared with all time.” “Nay, it is nothing,” he said. “What then? Do you think that an immortal thing ought to be seriously concerned for such a little time, and not rather for all time?” “I think so,” he said; “but what is this that you have in mind?” “Have you never perceived,” said I, “that our soul is immortal and never perishes?” And he, looking me full in the face in amazement, said, “No, by Zeus, not I; but are you able to declare this?” “I certainly ought to be,” said I, “and I think you too can, for it is nothing hard.” “It is for me,” he said; “and I would gladly hear from you this thing that is not hard.” “Listen,” said I. “Just speak on,” he replied. “You speak of good and evil, do you not?” “I do.” “Is your notion of them the same as mine?” “What is it?” “That which destroys and corrupts in every case is the evil; that which preserves and benefits is the good.” “Yes, I think so,” he said.
τί δέ; κακὸν ἑκάστῳ τι καὶ ἀγαθὸν λέγεις; οἷον ὀφθαλμοῖς ὀφθαλμίαν καὶ σύμπαντι τῷ σώματι νόσον, σίτῳ τε ἐρυσίβην, σηπεδόνα τε ξύλοις, χαλκῷ δὲ καὶ σιδήρῳ ἰόν, καί, ὅπερ λέγω, σχεδὸν πᾶσι σύμφυτον ἑκάστῳ κακόν τε καὶ νόσημα; ἔγωγʼ, ἔφη. οὐκοῦν ὅταν τῴ τι τούτων προσγένηται, πονηρόν τε ποιεῖ ᾧ προσεγένετο, καὶ τελευτῶν ὅλον διέλυσεν καὶ ἀπώλεσεν; πῶς γὰρ οὔ; τὸ σύμφυτον ἄρα κακὸν ἑκάστου καὶ ἡ πονηρία ἕκαστον ἀπόλλυσιν, ἢ εἰ μὴ τοῦτο ἀπολεῖ, οὐκ ἂν ἄλλο γε αὐτὸ ἔτι διαφθείρειεν. οὐ γὰρ τό γε ἀγαθὸν μή ποτέ τι ἀπολέσῃ, οὐδὲ αὖ τὸ μήτε κακὸν μήτε ἀγαθόν. πῶς γὰρ ἄν; ἔφη. ἐὰν ἄρα τι εὑρίσκωμεν τῶν ὄντων, ᾧ ἔστι μὲν κακὸν ὃ ποιεῖ αὐτὸ μοχθηρόν, τοῦτο μέντοι οὐχ οἷόν τε αὐτὸ λύειν ἀπολλύον, οὐκ ἤδη εἰσόμεθα ὅτι τοῦ πεφυκότος οὕτως ὄλεθρος οὐκ ἦν; οὕτως, ἔφη, εἰκός. τί οὖν; ἦν δʼ ἐγώ· ψυχῇ ἆρʼ οὐκ ἔστιν ὃ ποιεῖ αὐτὴν αὐτὴν κακήν; καὶ μάλα, ἔφη· ἃ νυνδὴ διῇμεν πάντα, ἀδικία τε καὶ ἀκολασία καὶ δειλία καὶ ἀμαθία. ἦ οὖν τι τούτων αὐτὴν διαλύει τε καὶ ἀπόλλυσι; καὶ ἐννόει μὴ ἐξαπατηθῶμεν οἰηθέντες τὸν ἄδικον ἄνθρωπον καὶ ἀνόητον, ὅταν ληφθῇ ἀδικῶν, τότε ἀπολωλέναι ὑπὸ τῆς ἀδικίας, πονηρίας οὔσης ψυχῆς. ἀλλʼ ὧδε ποίει· ὥσπερ σῶμα ἡ σώματος πονηρία νόσος οὖσα τήκει καὶ διόλλυσι καὶ ἄγει εἰς τὸ μηδὲ σῶμα εἶναι, καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν ἅπαντα ὑπὸ τῆς οἰκείας κακίας, τῷ προσκαθῆσθαι καὶ ἐνεῖναι διαφθειρούσης, εἰς τὸ μὴ εἶναι ἀφικνεῖται—οὐχ οὕτω; ναί. ἴθι δή, καὶ ψυχὴν κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον σκόπει. ἆρα ἐνοῦσα ἐν αὐτῇ ἀδικία καὶ ἡ ἄλλη κακία τῷ ἐνεῖναι καὶ προσκαθῆσθαι φθείρει αὐτὴν καὶ μαραίνει, ἕως ἂν εἰς θάνατον ἀγαγοῦσα τοῦ σώματος χωρίσῃ; οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη, τοῦτό γε. ἀλλὰ μέντοι ἐκεῖνό γε ἄλογον, ἦν δʼ ἐγώ, τὴν μὲν ἄλλου πονηρίαν ἀπολλύναι τι, τὴν δὲ αὑτοῦ μή. ἄλογον. ἐννόει γάρ, ἦν δʼ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων, ὅτι οὐδʼ ὑπὸ τῆς τῶν σιτίων πονηρίας, ἣ ἂν ᾖ αὐτῶν ἐκείνων, εἴτε παλαιότης εἴτε σαπρότης εἴτε ἡτισοῦν οὖσα, οὐκ οἰόμεθα δεῖν σῶμα ἀπόλλυσθαι·
“How about this: Do you say that there is for everything its special good and evil, as for example for the eyes ophthalmia, for the entire body disease, for grain mildew, rotting for wood, rust for bronze and iron, and, as I say, for practically everything its congenital evil and disease?” “I do,” he said. “Then when one of these evils comes to anything does it not make the thing to which it attaches itself bad, and finally disintegrate and destroy it?” “Of course.” “Then the congenital evil of each thing and its own vice destroys it, or if that is not going to destroy it, nothing else remains that could; for obviously the good will never destroy anything, nor yet again will that which is neutral and neither good nor evil.” “How could it?” he said. “If, then, we discover anything that has an evil which vitiates it, yet is not able to dissolve and destroy it, shall we not thereupon know that of a thing so constituted there can be no destruction?” “That seems likely,” he said. “Well, then,” said I, “has not the soul something that makes it evil?” “Indeed it has,” he said, “all the things that we were just now enumerating, injustice and licentiousness and cowardice and ignorance.” “Does any one of these things dissolve and destroy it? And reflect, lest we be misled by supposing that when an unjust and foolish man is taken in his injustice he is then destroyed by the injustice, which is the vice of soul. But conceive it thus: Just as the vice of body which is disease wastes and destroys it so that it no longer is a body at all, in like manner in all the examples of which we spoke it is the specific evil which, by attaching itself to the thing and dwelling in it with power to corrupt, reduces it to nonentity. Is not that so?” “Yes.” “Come, then, and consider the soul in the same way. Do injustice and other wickedness dwelling in it, by their indwelling and attachment to it, corrupt and wither it till they bring it to death and separate it from the body?” “They certainly do not do that,” he said. “But surely,” said I, “it is unreasonable to suppose that the vice of something else destroys a thing while its own does not.” “Yes, unreasonable.” “For observe, Glaucon,” said I, “that we do not think it proper to say of the body either that it is destroyed by the badness of foods themselves, whether it be staleness or rottenness or whatever it is;”
ἀλλʼ ἐὰν μὲν ἐμποιῇ ἡ αὐτῶν πονηρία τῶν σιτίων τῷ σώματι σώματος μοχθηρίαν, φήσομεν αὐτὸ διʼ ἐκεῖνα ὑπὸ τῆς αὑτοῦ κακίας νόσου οὔσης ἀπολωλέναι· ὑπὸ δὲ σιτίων πονηρίας ἄλλων ὄντων ἄλλο ὂν τὸ σῶμα, ὑπʼ ἀλλοτρίου κακοῦ μὴ ἐμποιήσαντος τὸ ἔμφυτον κακόν, οὐδέποτε ἀξιώσομεν διαφθείρεσθαι. ὀρθότατʼ αὖ, ἔφη, λέγεις. κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τοίνυν λόγον, ἦν δʼ ἐγώ, ἐὰν μὴ σώματος πονηρία ψυχῇ ψυχῆς πονηρίαν ἐμποιῇ, μή ποτε ἀξιῶμεν ὑπὸ ἀλλοτρίου κακοῦ ἄνευ τῆς ἰδίας πονηρίας ψυχὴν ἀπόλλυσθαι, τῷ ἑτέρου κακῷ ἕτερον. ἔχει γάρ, ἔφη, λόγον. ἢ τοίνυν ταῦτα ἐξελέγξωμεν ὅτι οὐ καλῶς λέγομεν, ἢ ἕως ἂν ᾖ ἀνέλεγκτα, μή ποτε φῶμεν ὑπὸ πυρετοῦ μηδʼ αὖ ὑπʼ ἄλλης νόσου μηδʼ αὖ ὑπὸ σφαγῆς, μηδʼ εἴ τις ὅτι σμικρότατα ὅλον τὸ σῶμα κατατέμοι, ἕνεκα τούτων μηδὲν μᾶλλόν ποτε ψυχὴν ἀπόλλυσθαι, πρὶν ἄν τις ἀποδείξῃ ὡς διὰ ταῦτα τὰ παθήματα τοῦ σώματος αὐτὴ ἐκείνη ἀδικωτέρα καὶ ἀνοσιωτέρα γίγνεται· ἀλλοτρίου δὲ κακοῦ ἐν ἄλλῳ γιγνομένου, τοῦ δὲ ἰδίου ἑκάστῳ μὴ ἐγγιγνομένου, μήτε ψυχὴν μήτε ἄλλο μηδὲν ἐῶμεν φάναι τινὰ ἀπόλλυσθαι. ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ἔφη, τοῦτό γε οὐδείς ποτε δείξει, ὡς τῶν ἀποθνῃσκόντων ἀδικώτεραι αἱ ψυχαὶ διὰ τὸν θάνατον γίγνονται. ἐὰν δέ γέ τις, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὁμόσε τῷ λόγῳ τολμᾷ ἰέναι καὶ λέγειν ὡς πονηρότερος καὶ ἀδικώτερος γίγνεται ὁ ἀποθνῄσκων, ἵνα δὴ μὴ ἀναγκάζηται ἀθανάτους τὰς ψυχὰς ὁμολογεῖν, ἀξιώσομέν που, εἰ ἀληθῆ λέγει ὁ ταῦτα λέγων, τὴν ἀδικίαν εἶναι θανάσιμον τῷ ἔχοντι ὥσπερ νόσον, καὶ ὑπʼ αὐτοῦ, τοῦ ἀποκτεινύντος τῇ ἑαυτοῦ φύσει, ἀποθνῄσκειν τοὺς λαμβάνοντας αὐτό, τοὺς μὲν μάλιστα θᾶττον, τοὺς δʼ ἧττον σχολαίτερον, ἀλλὰ μὴ ὥσπερ νῦν διὰ τοῦτο ὑπʼ ἄλλων δίκην ἐπιτιθέντων ἀποθνῄσκουσιν οἱ ἄδικοι. μὰ Δίʼ, ἦ δʼ ὅς, οὐκ ἄρα πάνδεινον φανεῖται ἡ ἀδικία, εἰ θανάσιμον ἔσται τῷ λαμβάνοντι—ἀπαλλαγὴ γὰρ ἂν εἴη κακῶν—ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον οἶμαι αὐτὴν φανήσεσθαι πᾶν τοὐναντίον τοὺς ἄλλους ἀποκτεινῦσαν, εἴπερ οἷόν τε, τὸν δʼ ἔχοντα καὶ μάλα ζωτικὸν παρέχουσαν, καὶ πρός γʼ ἔτι τῷ ζωτικῷ ἄγρυπνον· οὕτω πόρρω που, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐσκήνηται τοῦ θανάσιμος εἶναι. καλῶς, ἦν δʼ ἐγώ, λέγεις. ὁπότε γὰρ δὴ μὴ ἱκανὴ ἥ γε οἰκεία πονηρία καὶ τὸ οἰκεῖον κακὸν ἀποκτεῖναι καὶ ἀπολέσαι ψυχήν, σχολῇ τό γε ἐπʼ ἄλλου ὀλέθρῳ τεταγμένον κακὸν ψυχὴν ἤ τι ἄλλο ἀπολεῖ, πλὴν ἐφʼ ᾧ τέτακται. σχολῇ γʼ, ἔφη, ὥς γε τὸ εἰκός.
“but when the badness of the foods themselves engenders in the body the defect of body, then we shall say that it is destroyed owing to these foods, but by its own vice, which is disease. But the body being one thing and the foods something else, we shall never expect the body to be destroyed by their badness, that is by an alien evil that has not produced in it the evil that belongs to it by nature.” “You are entirely right,” he replied. “On the same principle,” said I, “if the badness of the body does not produce in the soul the soul’s badness we shall never expect the soul to be destroyed by an alien evil apart from its own defect—one thing, that is, by the evil of another.” “That is reasonable,” he said. “Either, then, we must refute this and show that we are mistaken, or, so long as it remains unrefuted, we must never say that by fever or any other disease, or yet by the knife at the throat or the chopping to bits of the entire body, there is any more likelihood of the soul perishing because of these things, until it is proved that owing to these affections of the body the soul itself becomes more unjust and unholy. But when an evil of something else occurs in a different thing and the evil that belongs to the thing is not engendered in it, we must not suffer it to be said that the soul or anything else is in this way destroyed.” “But you may be sure,” he said, “that nobody will ever prove this, that the souls of the dying are made more unjust by death.” “But if anyone,” said I, “dares to come to grips with the argument and say, in order to avoid being forced to admit the soul’s immortality, that a dying man does become more wicked and unjust, we will postulate that, if what he says is true, injustice must be fatal to its possessor as if it were a disease, and that those who catch it die because it kills them by its own inherent nature, those who have most of it quickest, and those who have less more slowly, and not, as now in fact happens, that the unjust die owing to this but by the action of others who inflict the penalty.” “Nay, by Zeus,” he said, “injustice will not appear a very terrible thing after all if it is going to be fatal to its possessor, for that would be a release from all troubles. But I rather think it will prove to be quite the contrary, something that kills others when it can, but renders its possessor very lively indeed, and not only lively but wakeful, so far, I ween, does it dwell from deadliness.” “You say well,” I replied; “for when the natural vice and the evil proper to it cannot kill and destroy the soul, still less will the evil appointed for the destruction of another thing destroy the soul or anything else, except that for which it is appointed.” “Still less indeed,” he said, “in all probability.”
οὐκοῦν ὁπότε μηδʼ ὑφʼ ἑνὸς ἀπόλλυται κακοῦ, μήτε οἰκείου μήτε ἀλλοτρίου, δῆλον ὅτι ἀνάγκη αὐτὸ ἀεὶ ὂν εἶναι· εἰ δʼ ἀεὶ ὄν, ἀθάνατον. ἀνάγκη, ἔφη. τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δʼ ἐγώ, οὕτως ἐχέτω· εἰ δʼ ἔχει, ἐννοεῖς ὅτι ἀεὶ ἂν εἶεν αἱ αὐταί. οὔτε γὰρ ἄν που ἐλάττους γένοιντο μηδεμιᾶς ἀπολλυμένης, οὔτε αὖ πλείους· εἰ γὰρ ὁτιοῦν τῶν ἀθανάτων πλέον γίγνοιτο, οἶσθʼ ὅτι ἐκ τοῦ θνητοῦ ἂν γίγνοιτο καὶ πάντα ἂν εἴη τελευτῶντα ἀθάνατα. ἀληθῆ λέγεις. ἀλλʼ, ἦν δʼ ἐγώ, μήτε τοῦτο οἰώμεθα—ὁ γὰρ λόγος οὐκ ἐάσει—μήτε γε αὖ τῇ ἀληθεστάτῃ φύσει τοιοῦτον εἶναι ψυχήν, ὥστε πολλῆς ποικιλίας καὶ ἀνομοιότητός τε καὶ διαφορᾶς γέμειν αὐτὸ πρὸς αὑτό. πῶς λέγεις; ἔφη. οὐ ῥᾴδιον, ἦν δʼ ἐγώ, ἀίδιον εἶναι σύνθετόν τε ἐκ πολλῶν καὶ μὴ τῇ καλλίστῃ κεχρημένον συνθέσει, ὡς νῦν ἡμῖν ἐφάνη ἡ ψυχή. οὔκουν εἰκός γε. ὅτι μὲν τοίνυν ἀθάνατον ψυχή, καὶ ὁ ἄρτι λόγος καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἀναγκάσειαν ἄν· οἷον δʼ ἐστὶν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ, οὐ λελωβημένον δεῖ αὐτὸ θεάσασθαι ὑπό τε τῆς τοῦ σώματος κοινωνίας καὶ ἄλλων κακῶν, ὥσπερ νῦν ἡμεῖς θεώμεθα, ἀλλʼ οἷόν ἐστιν καθαρὸν γιγνόμενον, τοιοῦτον ἱκανῶς λογισμῷ διαθεατέον, καὶ πολύ γε κάλλιον αὐτὸ εὑρήσει καὶ ἐναργέστερον δικαιοσύνας τε καὶ ἀδικίας διόψεται καὶ πάντα ἃ νῦν διήλθομεν. νῦν δὲ εἴπομεν μὲν ἀληθῆ περὶ αὐτοῦ, οἷον ἐν τῷ παρόντι φαίνεται· τεθεάμεθα μέντοι διακείμενον αὐτό, ὥσπερ οἱ τὸν θαλάττιον Γλαῦκον ὁρῶντες οὐκ ἂν ἔτι ῥᾳδίως αὐτοῦ ἴδοιεν τὴν ἀρχαίαν φύσιν, ὑπὸ τοῦ τά τε παλαιὰ τοῦ σώματος μέρη τὰ μὲν ἐκκεκλάσθαι, τὰ δὲ συντετρῖφθαι καὶ πάντως λελωβῆσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν κυμάτων, ἄλλα δὲ προσπεφυκέναι, ὄστρεά τε καὶ φυκία καὶ πέτρας, ὥστε παντὶ μᾶλλον θηρίῳ ἐοικέναι ἢ οἷος ἦν φύσει, οὕτω καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν ἡμεῖς θεώμεθα διακειμένην ὑπὸ μυρίων κακῶν. ἀλλὰ δεῖ, ὦ Γλαύκων, ἐκεῖσε βλέπειν. ποῖ; ἦ δʼ ὅς. εἰς τὴν φιλοσοφίαν αὐτῆς, καὶ ἐννοεῖν ὧν ἅπτεται καὶ οἵων ἐφίεται ὁμιλιῶν, ὡς συγγενὴς οὖσα τῷ τε θείῳ καὶ ἀθανάτῳ καὶ τῷ ἀεὶ ὄντι, καὶ οἵα ἂν γένοιτο τῷ τοιούτῳ πᾶσα ἐπισπομένη καὶ ὑπὸ ταύτης τῆς ὁρμῆς ἐκκομισθεῖσα ἐκ τοῦ πόντου ἐν ᾧ νῦν ἐστίν, καὶ περικρουσθεῖσα πέτρας τε καὶ ὄστρεα ἃ νῦν αὐτῇ, ἅτε γῆν ἑστιωμένῃ, γεηρὰ καὶ πετρώδη πολλὰ καὶ ἄγρια περιπέφυκεν ὑπὸ τῶν εὐδαιμόνων λεγομένων ἑστιάσεων.
“Then since it is not destroyed by any evil whatever, either its own or alien, it is evident that it must necessarily exist always, and that if it always exists it is immortal.” “Necessarily,” he said. “Let this, then,” I said, “be assumed to be so. But if it is so, you will observe that these souls must always be the same. For if none perishes they could not, I suppose, become fewer nor yet more numerous. For if any class of immortal things increased you are aware that its increase would come from the mortal and all things would end by becoming immortal.” “You say truly.” “But,” said I, “we must not suppose this, for reason will not suffer it nor yet must we think that in its truest nature the soul is the kind of thing that teems with infinite diversity and unlikeness and contradiction in and with itself.” “How am I to understand that?” he said. “It is not easy,” said I, “for a thing to be immortal that is composed of many elements not put together in the best way, as now appeared to us to be the case with the soul.” “It is not likely.” “Well, then, that the soul is immortal our recent argument and our other proofs would constrain us to admit. But to know its true nature we must view it not marred by communion with the body and other miseries as we now contemplate it, but consider adequately in the light of reason what it is when it is purified, and then you will find it to be a far more beautiful thing and will more clearly distinguish justice and injustice and all the matters that we have now discussed. But though we have stated the truth of its present appearance, its condition as we have now contemplated it resembles that of the sea-god Glaucus whose first nature can hardly be made out by those who catch glimpses of him, because the original members of his body are broken off and mutilated and crushed and in every way marred by the waves, and other parts have attached themselves to him, accretions of shells and sea-weed and rocks, so that he is more like any wild creature than what he was by nature—even such, I say, is our vision of the soul marred by countless evils. But we must look elsewhere, Glaucon.” “Where?” said he. “To its love of wisdom. And we must note the things of which it has apprehensions, and the associations for which it yearns, as being itself akin to the divine and the immortal and to eternal being, and so consider what it might be if it followed the gleam unreservedly and were raised by this impulse out of the depths of this sea in which it is now sunk, and were cleansed and scraped free of the rocks and barnacles which, because it now feasts on earth, cling to it in wild profusion of earthy and stony accretion by reason of these feastings that are accounted happy.”
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