Ancient Philosophy

Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle

Plato's Theory of Immortality

The dialogue named after Phaedo is intriguing in several respects. It offers a vivid depiction of Socrates’ final moments: his conversation just before he consumed the hemlock and the subsequent moments until he lost consciousness. According to Plato, Socrates embodies the ideal human, possessing the utmost wisdom and goodness, entirely devoid of fear in the face of death. In Plato's portrayal, Socrates before death is a significant ethical figure for both ancient and modern times. For pagan or free-thinking philosophers, "Phaedo" served as a counterpart to the Christian account of Christ's passion and crucifixion.

However, Socrates' serenity in his final hour is rooted in his belief in immortality, and the significance of "Phaedo" lies not only in its depiction of a martyr's death but also in the exposition of many doctrines that would later become Christian. The theology of St. Paul and the Church Fathers largely derives, directly or indirectly, from "Phaedo" and cannot be understood without considering Plato.

In an earlier dialogue, "Crito," it is recounted how some of Socrates' friends and disciples devised a plan for his escape to Thessaly, which he could have utilized. Likely, the Athenian authorities would have welcomed his flight, and the proposed plan could very well have succeeded. Yet Socrates refused to take advantage of it. He asserted that he had been condemned by law and that it would be wrong to commit any unlawful act to evade punishment. He was the first to proclaim the principle we associate with the Sermon on the Mount, namely, that “we must not repay evil for evil, no matter the harm we have suffered.” He imagines a dialogue with the laws of Athens, which declare that he must respect them, just as a son must honor his father or a slave his master, and even more so; moreover, every Athenian citizen is free to emigrate if he finds the Athenian state disagreeable. The laws conclude their lengthy speech with these words: “No, Socrates, listen to us, your guardians, and do not place anything above justice—neither children, nor life, nor anything else—so that when you arrive in Hades, you can justify yourself before those who rule there. Indeed, Socrates, if you do what you intend, it will be both less just and less pious, and consequently, it will not benefit you here nor afterward. If you now depart, you will leave aggrieved, not by us, the Laws, but by men. But if you escape from prison, repaying offense with offense and evil for evil, violating the agreements and covenants made with us and inflicting harm on precisely those who should be harmed the least—yourself, your friends, your country, and us—then we shall be angry with you during your life, and when you arrive there, our brethren, the Laws of Hades, will receive you unfavorably, knowing that you sought to destroy us to the best of your ability.”

Socrates responds, “...it seems to me that I hear these speeches, just as the Corybants perceive the sound of flutes.” Thus, he resolves that his duty is to remain and await his death sentence.

"Phaedo" recounts Socrates’ final hour. His shackles are removed, and he is allowed to converse freely with his friends. He sends his weeping wife home so that her grief does not disrupt the dialogue.

Socrates begins by asserting that anyone who truly engages in philosophy will not only fear death but will, on the contrary, welcome it; however, he will not take his own life, for that is considered unlawful. His friends ask why suicide is deemed unlawful, and his response, aligned with Orphic doctrine, closely resembles what a Christian might say: “The hidden teaching declares that we, as humans, are as if under guard, and it is not right to free ourselves by our own means or to flee—this seems to me a noble and profound teaching.” Socrates likens the relationship between man and God to that between livestock and their owner. Would you not be angered, Socrates asks, if your ox took the opportunity to end its own life? Therefore, “it is not unreasonable for a man to refrain from taking his life until God compels him in some way, as, for instance, today—with me.”

Socrates approaches his death with equanimity, convinced that he will journey from here “...first to other gods, wise and good, and secondly to the dead, who are better than the living, those who dwell here on Earth... I am filled with joyful hope that the dead await a certain future, and that, as the ancient traditions proclaim, it is immeasurably better for the good than for the wicked.”

Death, Socrates declares, is the separation of the soul from the body. Here we encounter Plato's dualism: the distinction between reality and appearance, ideas and sensory objects, intellect and sensory perception, soul and body. These pairs are interconnected: the first term in each pair surpasses the second in both reality and goodness. A natural consequence of this dualism is his moral doctrine of asceticism. Christianity partially embraced this doctrine, yet not entirely, as two obstacles impeded its full acceptance. The first obstacle was the implication that, if Plato were correct, the creation of the visible world must have been a malevolent act, leading to the conclusion that the Creator could not be good. The second obstacle was that orthodox Christianity could never condemn marriage, even while it regarded celibacy as more noble. The Manicheans were more consistent in both respects.

The distinction between spirit and matter, which has become prevalent in philosophy, science, and among laypeople, has its religious origins and arose as a differentiation between soul and body. The Orphics, as we have seen, proclaim that they are children of the earth and the starry heavens; the body emerges from the earth, the soul from the heavens. This is precisely the theory Plato seeks to articulate in the language of philosophy.

Socrates in "Phaedo" immediately begins to develop the ascetic ideas of his theory, though his asceticism is of a moderate and gentlemanly nature. He does not assert that a philosopher must completely abstain from ordinary pleasures; rather, he contends that he should not be enslaved by them. The philosopher need not obsess over food and drink, but naturally, he should eat as much as is necessary. Here, there can be no talk of fasting. We are told that although Socrates was indifferent to wine, he could drink more than anyone else on occasion without ever becoming drunk. Socrates condemned not the consumption of alcohol but rather the pleasure derived from it. Similarly, the philosopher should not concern himself with the pleasures of love or fine clothing, sandals, or other bodily adornments. His focus should be solely on the soul and not the body: “...his concerns are not directed toward the body but almost entirely—so far as possible to detach from his own body—toward the soul.”

It is evident that if this teaching were to be popularized, it would likely take on an ascetic character, yet in its intent, it is not strictly ascetic. The philosopher will not exert himself to abstain from sensory pleasures; instead, he will occupy himself with other matters. I have known many philosophers who forgot about food, reading a book even when they finally sat down to eat. These individuals acted as they ought to according to Plato: they did not abstain from gluttony through moral effort, but their interests lay elsewhere. Evidently, the philosopher should marry, bear, and raise children, albeit in a state of distraction, but after the emancipation of women, this has become more challenging. It is not surprising that Xanthippe was a quarrelsome woman.

Socrates continues, stating that philosophers seek to liberate the soul from its communion with the body, while others contend that “...for one who finds nothing pleasant in pleasures and does not receive his share, it is hardly worth living? After all, he is already halfway to death, as he thinks not at all of bodily delights!” In this statement, Plato appears to inadvertently support the perspective of a certain kind of moralist who asserts that bodily pleasures are the only ones that matter. These moralists claim that a person who does not pursue sensory pleasures must utterly renounce enjoyment and live virtuously. This is a fallacy that has caused immeasurable harm. Since the distinction between spirit and body can be accepted, it follows that the worst pleasures, just as much as the best, are spiritual, such as envy and many forms of cruelty and lust for power. Milton's Satan overcomes terrible physical torments and dedicates himself to a work of destruction that brings him delight, which is thoroughly spiritual. Many renowned spiritual figures, having renounced sensual pleasures while neglecting other forms of enjoyment, became consumed by a lust for power, leading them, under the guise of religion, to commit dreadful cruelties and persecutions. In our time, this type of person included Hitler. Reports suggest that sensual pleasures held no significant value for him. Liberation from the tyranny of the body can foster greatness, but it equally enables greatness in sin as well as in virtue.

Yet this is a digression, and we must return to Socrates.

We now turn to the intellectual aspect of religion that Plato (whether rightly or wrongly) attributes to Socrates. We are told that the body serves as an obstacle to the acquisition of knowledge and that sight and hearing are unreliable witnesses; true existence, if it is at all accessible to the soul, is revealed not through sensation but through thought. Let us pause briefly to reflect on the significance of this theory. It entails a complete denial of empirical knowledge, including history and geography. We cannot know whether a place like Athens ever existed or if a man like Socrates lived; his death and his courage in the face of death pertain to the realm of appearances. We learn of all this only through sight and hearing; yet the true philosopher disregards both. What then remains for him? First, logic and mathematics; but these are hypothetical and do not make any categorical assertions about the actual world. The next step—indeed, a decisive one—depends upon the idea of the good. It is presumed that upon reaching this idea, the philosopher knows that the good is real and thus can conclude that the world of ideas is the true reality. Later philosophers had arguments to demonstrate the identity of the real and the good, but Plato apparently accepted this as self-evident. To understand him, we must hypothetically assume that this premise is justified.

Thought is at its finest, says Socrates, when the mind is focused on itself, undistracted by sight, sound, suffering, or pleasure, and when the mind leaves the body and ascends toward true being, “and at that moment the philosopher holds the body in contempt.” From here, Socrates moves on to ideas, or forms, or essences. There exists absolute justice, absolute beauty, and absolute good, yet these are invisible to the eye. “And I do not speak only of these, but also of absolute largeness, health, strength, and the essence or true nature of all things.” All of these can only be perceived through intellectual vision. Therefore, as long as we remain within the body and the soul is tainted by the evils of the body, our quest for truth will remain unfulfilled.

This perspective excludes scientific observation and experimentation as methods for attaining knowledge. The mind of the experimenter does not “concentrate within itself” nor seeks to avoid sounds or sights. The two kinds of mental activity that can be achieved through the method recommended by Plato are mathematics and mystical insight. This explains why they are so tightly interwoven in the thoughts of Plato and the Pythagoreans.

For the empiricist, the body is that which brings us into contact with the external world; yet for Plato, it is a dual evil, a distorting intermediary that compels us to see unclearly, as if through a darkened glass, and a source of desires that distract us from attaining knowledge and contemplating truth. Some quotes elucidate this:

“The body fills us with desires, passions, fears, and a plethora of all sorts of trivial phantoms, so that, believe me, it is indeed quite impossible for us to think clearly about anything! And who is the cause of wars, rebellions, and battles, if not the body and its passions? After all, all wars arise from the desire for wealth, and it is the body, to which we serve as slaves, that compels us to seek it. It is for all these reasons—due to the body—that we have no leisure for philosophy.

But what is worse: even if we manage to free ourselves for a time from the cares of the body to engage in research and reflection, the body still confounds us everywhere, confuses us, and leads us into turmoil, so that because of it we are unable to perceive the truth. On the contrary, we have undeniable evidence that achieving pure knowledge of anything is possible only by detaching ourselves from the body and contemplating things themselves with the soul itself. Then, of course, we will possess that which we desire with the fervor of lovers, namely reason, but only after death, as our reasoning reveals, while in life—by no means. For if, without parting from the body, it is impossible to attain pure knowledge, then it must be one of two things: either knowledge is altogether unattainable, or else—only after death. Surely, for it is only then, and not before, that the soul remains by itself, without the body. As long as we are alive, we seem to be closest to knowledge when we limit our connection to the body as much as possible and remain untainted by its nature, but keep ourselves pure until God Himself liberates us. Having purified ourselves in this way and rid ourselves of the folly of the body, we will likely unite with others like ourselves, [pure essences], and with our own powers perceive all that is pure, which is likely the truth. And the impure are forbidden to touch the pure.

…And is not purification found in… the utmost detachment of the soul from the body? …But this is precisely what is called death—the liberation and separation of the soul from the body.

…There exists but one true currency—reason, and only in exchange for it should everything be given… ‹…› And perhaps those to whom we owe the establishment of mysteries were not so simple but hinted long ago that those who descend into Hades uninitiated will lie in the dirt, while those who have been cleansed and initiated, after departing into Hades, will dwell among the gods. Yes, for, as those knowledgeable in the mysteries say, “many are the followers of Tirsus, but few are the Bacchae,” and “Bacchae” here, in my view, are none other than true philosophers.”

All of this is mystical language, originating from the mysteries. “Purity” is an Orphic concept, initially carrying a ritual significance, but for Plato it signifies freedom from enslavement by the body and its needs. It is interesting to note that Plato claims wars are incited by the love of money and that money is needed to service the body. The first part of the assertion aligns with Marx's view, but the second part stems from an entirely different perspective. Plato believes that a person could live on very little money if their needs were minimized, which is undoubtedly true. However, he also asserts that philosophers should be liberated from physical labor; hence, they must live off the wealth generated by others. In a very poor state, there should likely be no philosophers. It was precisely the imperialism of Athens in the age of Pericles that made the study of philosophy possible for Athenians. Generally speaking, intellectual goods are as costly as more material commodities and are equally dependent on economic conditions. Science requires libraries, laboratories, telescopes, microscopes, etc., and scientists must be supported by the labor of others. Yet for the mystic, all of this is folly. Saints in India or Tibet do not require machines; they wear only loincloths, eat only rice, and are supported by very meager charity because they are regarded as wise. This is the logical development of Plato’s perspective.

Let us return to the “Phaedo.” Cebes expresses doubt regarding the soul's preservation after death and asks Socrates to prove its immortality. Socrates begins to provide evidence, but it must be said that his arguments are rather weak.

The first argument posits that everything which has an opposite arises from that which is opposite to it—a position reminiscent of Anaximander's view on cosmic justice. Thus, life and death are opposites, and therefore, one must generate the other. Hence, the souls of the deceased exist somewhere and, in due time, return to the earth. The assertion of St. Paul: “a seed does not come to life unless it dies,” seems to relate to a similar type of theory.

The second argument posits that knowledge is reminiscence, and therefore the soul must exist prior to birth. This theory is primarily supported by the fact that we possess ideas such as the idea of precise equality, which cannot be derived from experience. We have experiences of approximate equality, but absolute equality has never been encountered among sensory objects; yet we know what we mean by "absolute equality." Since we have not learned this from experience, we must have brought this knowledge with us from a prior existence. Such an argument, he claims, applies to all other ideas as well. Thus, the existence of entities and our capacity to know them serve as proof of the soul's prior existence, endowed with knowledge.

The assertion that all knowledge is reminiscence is elaborated upon in the "Meno." Here, Socrates states, "There is no teaching, only reminiscence." He seeks to prove his point by calling upon a young slave, to whom he poses questions about geometric problems. It is assumed that the young man’s responses demonstrate that he indeed knows geometry, although until this moment, he was unaware of possessing such knowledge. In both the "Meno" and the "Phaedo," the same conclusion is drawn: that knowledge is brought to the soul from a previous existence.

Regarding this, one can first note that this argument is entirely inapplicable to empirical knowledge. It would be impossible to compel the young slave to "reminisce" about when the pyramids were constructed or whether the siege of Troy actually occurred if he had not been present at those events. Only in relation to one kind of knowledge, termed a priori—particularly in logic and mathematics—can it be suggested that it exists within every person independent of experience. In fact, this is the only kind of knowledge (besides mystical insight) that Plato allows to be considered genuine knowledge. Let us examine how this argument can be addressed concerning mathematics.

Take the concept of equality. We must concede that we have no experience of precise equality among sensory objects; we only perceive approximate equality. How then do we arrive at the idea of absolute equality? Or perhaps we do not possess such an idea?

Consider a specific case. A meter is defined as the length of a certain rod at a specific temperature, housed in Paris. What should we think about some other rod if we are told that its length is exactly one meter? I do not think we should infer anything. We might say that the most precise measurement methods known to science at present cannot demonstrate that our rod is longer or shorter than the standard meter in Paris. If we were bold enough, we might even prophesy that no further advancements in measurement techniques will alter this outcome. Yet this remains an empirical assertion—in the sense that empirical evidence could refute it at any moment. I do not believe we genuinely possess the idea of absolute equality that Plato assumed we do.

Even if that were the case, it is clear that no child would possess this idea until reaching a certain age, and that this idea is extracted from experience, albeit not directly derived from it. Furthermore, if our existence prior to birth lacked the nature of sensory perception, then this existence would also be incapable of generating the idea of what true life is; and if it is assumed that our previous existence was partially supersensory, then why should we not assume the same regarding our current existence? For all these reasons, this argument proves to be untenable.

Regarding the assumption that the doctrine of reminiscence is true, Kebes remarked: "Only half of what needs to be proven has been established, namely, that our souls existed before our birth; the other required half of the proof lies in demonstrating that the soul will exist after death just as it existed before birth." Socrates undertakes to provide appropriate evidence for this. He argues that, as has already been stated, all things are generated from their opposites, thus death must give rise to life, just as life gives rise to death. He adds another argument, which has a longer history in philosophy: only that which is composite can disintegrate, while the soul, like ideas, is simple and not composed of parts. It is believed that the simple cannot begin, end, or change. Furthermore, entities are immutable: absolute beauty, for example, remains the same, while objects are in constant flux. Thus, visible things are temporary, while invisible things are eternal. The body is visible, and the soul is invisible; therefore, the soul must belong to the realm of the eternal.

The soul, being eternal, remains itself, contemplating eternal things—that is, entities—but it becomes lost and confused when, through sensory perception, it contemplates the world of changing things.

"…When the soul employs the body, investigating something through sight, hearing, or any other sense (for to investigate through the body and through sense is the same!), the body draws it toward things that are continuously changing, and through contact with them, the soul strays from its path, wanders, experiences confusion, and loses its balance, much like a drunken person…

But when it conducts its inquiry independently, it directs itself toward what is pure, eternal, immortal, and unchanging; and since it is close to and akin to all this, it invariably finds itself united with it as soon as it is alone with itself and encounters no obstacles. Here the end of its wandering occurs, and in continuous contact with the constant and unchanging, it discovers the same properties within itself. This state we call contemplation, do we not?"

The soul of the true philosopher, who in life has ceased to be a slave to the flesh, departs after death to the invisible realm to live in bliss among the gods. But the impure soul, which loved the body, will transform into a phantom, wandering among graves, or will enter the body of some animal, such as a donkey or a wolf, or a falcon, corresponding to its character. A person who was virtuous, yet not a philosopher, will transform into a bee, a wasp, or an ant, or into some other gregarious and sociable creature.

Only the true philosopher ascends to the heavens after death. "But into the lineage of the gods, no one is permitted to enter who has not been a philosopher and who has not purified himself entirely—no one who has not aspired to knowledge." Thus, true admirers of philosophy abstain from bodily passions. They do this not out of fear of poverty or ruin, but because "…those who aspire to knowledge know well this truth: when philosophy takes charge of their soul, the soul is tightly bound within the body and clings to it; it is compelled to contemplate and grasp reality not by itself, but through the body, as though through the bars of a prison, and sinks into profound ignorance. Philosophy perceives the full force of this prison: by yielding to passions, the prisoner himself guards his own cell more firmly than any jailer."

At this point, Simmias introduces Pythagoras's view that the soul is harmony, insisting: if the lyre is broken, can harmony be preserved? Socrates responds that the soul is not harmony, for harmony is complex, whereas the soul is simple. Furthermore, he states that the notion of the soul as harmony is incompatible with the preexistence proven by the theory of reminiscence; because harmony does not exist before the lyre.

Socrates proceeds to explain his own philosophical development, which is quite interesting but does not pertain to the main argument. He continues to expound on the theory of ideas, leading to the conclusion that "each of the ideas is something that exists, and that things receive their names by virtue of participating in them…" Finally, he describes the fate of souls after death: the good soul ascends to heaven, the bad one descends to hell, and the intermediate one goes to purgatory.

Next, Socrates's death and farewell are described. His last words were: "Crito, we owe a rooster to Asclepius. Pay it, and do not neglect this!" People would offer a rooster to Asclepius when they had recovered from illness, and Socrates, too, had recovered from the fever of life.

“Such was…” concludes Phaedo, “the demise of our friend, a man who, as we can assert, was the best, the wisest, and the most just of all the people we knew in that time.”

For many centuries, Plato’s Socrates has served as a paragon for subsequent philosophers. What are we to think of him in ethical terms? (I am concerned only with the man as portrayed by Plato.) His merits are evident. He is indifferent to worldly success, so devoid of fear that he remains calm, courteous, and humorously inclined until the very last moment, caring more for what he deems true than for anything else. Yet he possessed significant flaws. He exhibits a certain lack of integrity and resorts to sophistries in his arguments; he employs intellect more to validate his desired conclusions than for impartial inquiries into knowledge. There is something self-satisfied and sycophantic in him, reminiscent of a bad type of clergyman. His courage in the face of death would be more remarkable were it not for his belief that he would enjoy eternal bliss among the gods. Unlike some of his predecessors, Socrates did not possess a scientific mindset; rather, he obstinately affirmed the existence of a universe aligned with his ethical ideals. This is a betrayal of truth and the gravest of philosophical sins. One might consider that, as a man, he could be admitted to the company of the saints, but as a philosopher, he would require a prolonged stay in a scientific purgatory.