Plato (Collins)/Chapter 6
CHAPTER VI.
THE MYTHS OF PLATO.
The consecration, and the poet's dream."
―Wordsworth.
"As Being is to Becoming," says Plato, "so Truth is to Faith." Where a man cannot prove, he must be content to believe; and the myths which the philosopher introduces here and there are guesses after this Truth which he believes and feels, but cannot precisely define. He is conscious that there are more things in heaven and earth than are "dreamed of in his philosophy," and that there are some unseen realities transcending all mortal experience; and so he builds up his doctrine of ideas, embodies them in circumstances, gives them "a local habitation and a name," and describes in detail the mysteries of the unknown future and the unrecorded past. These descriptions are not intended, he says, to be exactly true. "No man of sense ought to affirm that." All that he claims for them is verisimilitude. "We may venture to think without impropriety that something of the kind is true." Nor, again, is it desirable that these myths should he strictly interpreted; so to interpret them would, he thinks, "be the task—and not a very enviable one—of some person who had plenty of time on his hands."[1]
We have no means of telling how far these Myths are the creation of Plato's own prolific fancy, or how far they are compiled from the ancient Mysteries of his own country, from Pythagoræan tradition, or from oriental legends. But whatever their source may be, his genius has given them a character and beauty of their own; nowhere is his style so grand and impressive as in these fictions, on which he lavishes, as on some "rich strand," all the treasures of his mind.
THE CREATION OF MAN.
(From the "Timæus.")
The world we live in, says the astronomer Timæus, being visible, tangible, and perishable—unlike the world of eternal Ideas—must have been created, and if created, must have been the work of some great First Cause or Architect, who fashioned it after an eternal pattern; "for the work is the fairest of creations, and he is the best of causes." Of this indeed we can have no certain knowledge, but only belief or conjecture, since after all we are but mortal men.
The Creator, being goodness himself, wished that his work should also be good like him; and thus he brought order out of Chaos, and "put intelligence in soul and soul in body, and framed the universe to be the best and fairest work in nature. And therefore, using the language of probability, we may say that the world became a living soul, and truly rational, through the providence of God." It was created of four entire elements, blended together in geometrical proportion; and its form was a perfect and solid sphere, smooth and complete, and moving in a circle. In the centre was the soul (also compounded according to a scale of harmony), and circulating all impressions from the ideal essence through every part of this vast and visible animal, which included in itself all visible creation.
"When the Father and Creator saw the image that he had made of the eternal gods moving and living, he was delighted, and in his joy determined to make his work still more like the pattern; and as the pattern was an eternal creature, he sought to make the universe the same as far as it might be. Now the nature of the intelligible being is eternal, and to bestow eternity on the creature was wholly impossible. But he resolved to make a moving image of eternity, and as he set in order the heaven, he made this eternal image having a motion according to number, while eternity rested in unity; and this is what we call time. For there were no days and nights, and months and years, before the heaven was created, but when he created the heaven he created them also. All these are the parts of time, and the past and future are created species of time, which we unconsciously but wrongly transfer to the eternal essence for we say indeed that he was, he is, he will be; but the truth is that he is' alone truly expresses him, and that 'was' and 'will be' are only to be spoken in the generation in time, for they are motions; but that which is immovably the same cannot become older or younger by time, nor ever did or has become, or hereafter will be, older, nor is subject at all to any of those states of generation which attach to the movements of sensible things. These are the forms of time when imitating eternity and moving in a circle measured by number."—J.
Time was thus created with the heavens, in order that if one was destroyed the other might likewise perish. Then the Deity created the moon and stars to move in their appointed orbits—some fixed, some wandering,—but all were bodies with living souls imitating the eternal nature; and he "lighted a fire which we now call the sun," that men might have light, and learn from the regular succession of day and night the use of numbers. "And the month was created when the moon had completed her orbit and overtaken the sun, and the year when the sun had completed his own orbit." Of all these stars, which are really gods, the earth, our nurse, was the first and oldest, and was made to revolve on her own axis in the centre of the spheres.[2]
Then the Creator commanded the other gods, of whose generation we know nothing except from tradition, to finish his good work by weaving together mortal and immortal elements, and forming living creatures. To these he distributed souls equal in number to the stars, assigning to each star a soul; and he showed to each the nature of the universe, and his own decrees of destiny: declaring that whosoever lived a righteous life upon earth "should return again to the habitation of his star, and there have a blessed existence;" but if he lived unrighteously, he should descend lower and lower in the scale of creation—from a man to a woman, and from a woman to some animal, until at last the spirit should triumph over the flesh, and his reason, which had never become extinct, should restore him to his first and higher self.
And in the head of man the gods put an immortal soul, to be master of the body; and they gave to the body itself its proper limbs and powers of movement and sensation, and in the eyes they placed a pure and gentle fire, which burns not, but streams forth and mingles with the light of day. And they gave man sight, that he might discern the unerring and intelligent motion of the stars, and order his own mind with like exactness; and they gave him voice and hearing, that music might harmonise his soul.
Besides the invisible and imperishable forms of the elements, and the visible images of these Forms—namely, the elements themselves—there is a third kind of being, a formless space or chaos, where these images are stored up, and which is the source and nurse of all generation. From this chaos the great Architect brought forth the four elements, and shook them together "in the vessel of space," and sifted and divided them "as grain is sifted by the winnowing fan," and fashioned them according to certain combinations of form and number. Thus the earth was formed like a cube, the most perfect and solid of all figures; while fire took the shape of a pyramid, and so with air and water. All these elements were formed according to continuous geometrical proportion.
[Then follows a curious but fanciful description of the various phenomena of light, sound, and colour, which, however, the reader may be spared.]
The gods (continues Timæus) gave to man a triple soul: firstly, an immortal soul, dwelling in the head, with the heart acting as its guard-house, and carrying out its commands by means of a fiery network of veins through every part of the body: secondly, a mortal soul, which is again divided—the nobler part dwelling in the breast, and, though itself moved by fear and anger, taking the side of reason against desire; while the lower part, made up of unruly passions and carnal appetites, is chained like a wild beast in the belly, far from the council-chamber of reason, which it would otherwise disturb. Now the gods knew that this lowest soul would never listen to reason, and they therefore ruled it by means of images reflected on the smooth and brilliant surface of the liver—the seat of prophetic inspiration—sometimes fair and sweet, sometimes dark and discoloured by passion.
The marrow, which binds together soul and body, is the seed-plot of mortal life, and, like the world, was originally formed from triangles. These are sharpest and freshest in our childhood, but they grow blunted and gradually wear out in old age, till at last their fastenings are loosened, and "they unfix also the bonds of the soul, and she being released in the order of nature joyfully flies away."
Diseases spring from the disturbance of the original elements of which our bodies are composed; and the soul also suffers from two mental distempers—madness and ignorance. As far as possible, nature should be left to herself; but since there is a strong sympathy between soul and body, the conditions of health in both must be observed; the limbs should be trained by exercise, and the mind should be educated by music and philosophy. For no man can prolong his life beyond a certain time; and medicines ignorantly administered multiply diseases and destroy the constitution.
Man should exercise in due proportion the three souls implanted in him, more especially that highest and divinest element in our heads, which makes us look upward like plants, and draws our thoughts from earth to heaven. If he seeks wisdom and truth, then he "must of necessity, so far as human nature is capable of attaining immortality, become all immortal, as he is ever serving the divine power, and having the genius that dwells in him in the most perfect order, his happiness will be complete." But if he gratifies ambition and desire, he will degenerate into a merely mortal being, and after this life will lose his high place in creation, first passing into the form of a woman, and then into the still lower form of an animal; for animals are only deteriorated humanity—the birds being "innocent and light-minded men," who thought in their simplicity that sight alone was needed to know the truths of celestial regions; and the quadrupeds and wild animals being all more or less brutal and stolid, till at last the lowest stage of all is reached in the fishes.
"These were made out of the most entirely ignorant and senseless beings, whom the transformers did not think any longer worthy of pure respiration, because they possessed a soul which was made impure by all sorts of transgression; and instead of allowing them to respire the subtle and pure element of air, they thrust them into the water, and gave them a deep and muddy medium of respiration; and hence arose the race of fishes and oysters, and other aquatic animals, which have received the most remote habitations as a punishment of their extreme ignorance. These are the laws by which animals pass into one another, both now and ever changing as they lose or gain wisdom and folly."—J.
Thus we may call the world "a visible animal comprehending the visible—itself a visible and sensible God, the image of Him who is intelligible, the greatest, best, fairest, and one most perfect Universe."
THE ISLAND OF ATLANTIS.[3]
The day after the long discussion of the "Republic," Socrates meets three of his friends who had been present—Hermocrates, a rising statesman, Timæus, a distinguished astronomer of Locris (who gives his name to the Dialogue just noticed), and Critias, a young Athenian whose accomplishments made him seem "all mankind's epitome"—being politician, sophist, poet, musician, all in one. At their request Socrates sums up his theories of the previous day, but professes himself to be hardly satisfied with his ideal sketch. Like one who has seen animals in a painting or at rest, and who would like to see them in active movement, so, he tells them, he would like to see how his imaginary State would really act in some great crisis, and how his citizens would bear themselves when they went forth to war; and he appeals to his friends to help him to exhibit his republic playing a noble part in history. And then Critias tells "an old-world story," handed down in his family from his great-grandfather Dropidas, who had heard it from Solon, and Solon had himself heard it in this wise.
Near the mouths of the Nile in Egypt stands the ancient city called Sais, where Amasis the king was born, founded by a goddess whom the Egyptians call Neith and the Greeks Athenè. Thither Solon came in his travels, and was received with great honour; and he asked many questions of the priests about the times of old, and told them many ancient legends, as he thought them, of his own land. But one of the priests, being himself of a great age, said: "O Solon, you Greeks are always children, and there is not an old man among you all. You have no traditions that are really grey with time, and your stories of Deucalion and Phaeton are only the partial history of one out of many destructions by flood and fire which have come at certain periods upon mankind, sweeping away states, and with them letters and all knowledge. The Nile has preserved our land from such calamities; and therefore we have faithful records of past ages preserved in our temples, while you are ever beginning your history afresh, and know nothing of what formerly came to pass in your own land or in any other; all your so-called genealogies are but children's tales. You do not even know that your own city, 9000 years ago, before the great Deluge, was foremost of all in war and peace, and is said to have done the greatest deeds, and to have possessed the fairest constitution of any city under heaven. And the same great goddess who founded our city founded yours also; for she and her brother Hephæstus obtained the land of Athens as their lot, and they planted there a race of brave men, and gave them a fair and fertile soil, and rich pastures, and a healthy climate. And these ancient Athenians (so Critias tells Socrates) realised in actual life the strict division of classes laid down in your 'Republic;' and their guardian soldiers—both men and women—were trained and went out to battle together like yours; and none among them had house or family or gold that he could call his own, but they had all things in common. And the number of these guardians neither increased nor decreased, but was always twenty thousand. And their most famous victory was over the vast army sent forth from the island of Atlantis.
"Now, this island was of a great size—larger than all Asia and Libya together—and was situated over against the straits now called the Pillars of Hercules. It was founded by the god Neptune, who divided the land among the ten sons that were born to him by a mortal woman. And the eldest, who was called Atlas, he made king of all the island; and he made his brethren princes under him, and gave them rule over many men and wide provinces. And the descendants of Atlas multiplied, and he had wealth and power such as no other king ever had before or since. And the soil and climate of this island were so good, that the fruits of the earth ripened twice a-year; and there was abundance of both minerals and metals, and many elephants and other tame and wild animals of various kinds. And the city on the mountain in the centre of the island was a wondrous sight to behold; for bridges were built across the 'zones of sea' which Neptune had made, and a canal was dug from the city to the sea, and a fortress was built having stone walls plated with tin and brass and the red 'mountain bronze,' and in the midst was the king's palace and the vast temple of Neptune, covered with silver, and having pinnacles of gold and a roof of ivory. And within was a golden statue of the god himself riding in a chariot drawn by six winged horses—so huge that he touched the roof; and around were a hundred Nereids riding upon dolphins, and outside the temple were golden statues of the ten kings and their wives. Besides all these things there were many baths and fountains, and public gardens and exercise grounds, and dockyards and harbours full of merchant vessels and ships of war.
"And the plain around the city was sheltered by mountains, and guarded by a vast ditch 100 feet deep, and 600 feet broad, and more than 3000 miles long. And the ten kings who ruled the island held council and offered sacrifice together, and were sworn to assist one another in peace and war. And they had 10,000 chariots and a fleet of 1200 ships.
"And for many generations the people of the island were obedient to the laws, and their kings ruled them wisely and uprightly, setting no value on their riches, nor caring for aught save for virtue only. But as time went on, the divine part of their souls grew faint, and they waxed insolent, and thus in the very plenitude of their power they provoked the jealousy of the gods, who determined to destroy them.
"It was then, or soon after, that the armies of Atlantis were sent to conquer Athens, as they had already conquered Libya and Tyrrhenia. But of the war which followed we know nothing, save that Athens stood alone in the struggle, and won a great battle over these barbarians, and that in the space of one day and night the victors and the vanquished disappeared together—for there was an earthquake and a deluge, and the earth opened and swallowed up all the warriors of Athens, while the great island of Atlantis sank beneath the sea. And to this day the sea which covers this island is shallow and impassable, and there is nothing in the Atlantic Ocean save mud and sandbanks."
THR CHARIOT OF THE SOUL.
(From the "Phædrus.")
Our soul, which has a triple nature, is as a charioteer riding in a chariot drawn by two winged steeds—one of a mortal and the other of an immortal nature. Their wings are the divine element, which, if it be perfect and fully nourished on the pastures of truth and beauty, lifts the soul heavenwards to the dwelling of the gods. There, on a certain day, gods and demigods ascend the heavens—Zeus leading the way in a winged chariot—to hold high festival, and all who can may follow. The gods and the immortal souls, whose steeds have full-grown wings, are carried by a revolution of the spheres into a celestial world beyond, where all space is filled by a sea of intangible essence which the mind—"lord of the soul"—alone can contemplate: and here are the absolute ideas of Truth and Beauty and Justice. And in these divine pastures of pure knowledge the soul feeds during the time that the spheres revolve, and rests in perfect happiness, and then returns to the heavens whence it came, where the steeds feast in their stalls on nectar and ambrosia.
But only to a few souls out of many is it granted to see those celestial visions. The rest are carried into the gulfs of space by the plunging of the unruly horses, or lamed by unskilful driving; and often the wings droop or are broken, and the soul fails to see the light, and sinks to earth "beneath the double load of forgetfulness or vice." And then she takes the form of a man, and becomes a mortal creature; and, according to the degree in which she has attained to celestial truth, she is implanted in one of nine classes,—the highest being that of the philosophers, artists, poets, or lovers—and the lowest stage of all, the tyrant. Ten thousand years must be passed by the soul in this state of probation, before she can return to the place whence she came, and renew her wings of immortality. And at the end of each life is a day of judgment, followed by a period of retribution, either for good or for evil, lasting a thousand years; and after that each soul is free to cast lots and choose another life. Then the soul of the man may pass into the life of a beast, or from a beast again into that of a man. But the soul of him who has never seen the truth will not pass again into the human form.
But from the souls of those who have once gazed on celestial truth or beauty the remembrance can never be effaced. Like some divine inspiration, the glories of this other world possess and haunt them; and it is because their souls are ever struggling upwards, and fluttering like a bird that longs to soar heavenwards, and because they are rapt in contemplation and careless of earthly matters, that the world calls the philosopher, the lover, and the poet "mad." For the earthly copies of justice or temperance, or any of the higher qualities, are seen but through a glass dimly, and few are they who can discern the reality by looking at the shadow.
And thus the sight of any earthly beauty in face or form, thrills the genuine lover with unutterable awe and amazement, because it recalls the memory of the celestial beauty seen by him once in the sphere of eternal being. The divine wings of his soul are warmed and glow with desire, and he lives in a sort of ecstasy, and shudders "with the misgiving of a former world." Often, indeed, a furious struggle takes place between the charioteer and the dark and vicious horse that wishes to draw the chariot of the soul on to unlawful deeds, and can only be curbed by bit and bridle. Happy are they who, with the help of the white immortal steed, can win the victory in this struggle, and end their lives in a peaceful and genuine friendship.
THE OTHER WORLD.
(From the "Gorgias" and "Phædo.")
We mortals, says Socrates, know nothing of the real world, for we live along the shores of the Mediterranean like frogs around a swamp; and we think we are on the surface, when we are really only in one of those hollow places of which our earth is full. But if a man could take wings and fly upwards, he would see the true world, which is a thousand leagues above our own; and there all things are "brilliant with colour, and sparkle with gold and purple, and a purer white than any earthly snow. And there are trees and flowers and fruits, and jewels on all the hills, more precious than the sardonyx or emerald. And there are living beings there, both men and animals, dwelling around the air; for our air is like their sea, and their air is purest ether. And they know neither pain nor disease; and they live longer lives than we creatures of a day; and all their senses are keener and more perfect; and they have temples in which their gods really dwell, and they see them face to face, and hear their voices, and call them by their names. Moreover, they know the sun and moon and stars in their proper nature.
Now the largest of all the chasms in our earth is that which Homer calls Tartarus; and through it many and mighty streams of fire and water are ever flowing to and fro, some driven upwards to our earth by a rushing wind, and others winding in various channels through the lower world. Of these streams four are larger than the rest; and the first of these is called Oceanus, which flows in a circle round the earth. The second is Acheron, which passes through desert places to a lake in Tartarus, where the souls of the dead wait until such time as they are born again. And the third river is Pyriphlegethon, which boils with flames and falls into a lake of fire. And the fourth river is Cocytus, and it passes into the Stygian lake, where it receives strange powers, and then, after many windings, it also falls into Tartarus.
Even in the days of Saturn the same law prevailed as now—that men should be judged, and that those who had done good should be sent to the Islands of the Blest, and those who had done evil should be thrown into Tartarus. But judgment was then given on the day of a man's death, and both the judges and the judged were alive, and owing to men being still arrayed in beauty or rank or wealth, and the garment of the body also acting as a veil to the perceptions of the soul in the case of the judge, the judgment was not always just. So Jupiter ordained that for the future the naked soul of the judge, stripped of all its gross mortality, should judge the souls that were brought naked before him.
For when the soul separates from the body, each part still carries with it its mortal features; and he who was tall in his lifetime will be tall after death, and he who had flowing hair will have flowing hair still, and the slave who was branded by the scourge will carry the scars upon his body into the other world. So also the soul of the tyrant will bear indelible marks of crime, and will be "full of the prints and scars of his perjuries and misdeeds." For such a soul as his there can be no cure; nor will there be any pardon for such as have been guilty of foul murder or sacrilege, but they will be thrown into Tartarus, whence they can never come forth, and their punishment will be everlasting.
But those whose crimes are not unpardonable will be condemned by the three judges to abide in Tartarus for a year; and after that they will be cast forth on the shores of Acheron, where they must wander lamenting, and calling out on those whom they have slain or wronged on earth to pardon and deliver them; and until their prayer is heard, they are forced to return again to their place of torment.
Now the Three look with awe and reverence on the face of him who has lived a life of holiness and truth in this world, and who is probably a private citizen or philosopher, who has done his own work and not troubled himself about the business of others, and they send him to the Islands of the Blest, or to that purer earth of which we spoke before; "and there," continues Socrates, "they live henceforth, freed from the body, in mansions brighter far than these, which no tongue may describe, and of which time would fail me to tell. And he concludes, in language almost apostolic:—
"Wherefore seeing these things are so, what ought we not to do, to attain virtue and wisdom in this life, when the prize is so glorious, and the hope so great?"
THE STORY OF ER.
("Republic," Book x.)
Er, the Pamphylian, a brave man, was slain in battle, and ten days afterwards his body, which, unlike all the other dead, was still uncorrupted, was brought home to be buried; but on the funeral pyre he returned to life, and told all that he had seen in the other world. When his soul left the body (he said) he journeyed in company with many other spirits until he came to a certain place where there were two openings in the earth and two in the heaven, and between them judges were seated,
"who bade the just, after they had judged them, ascend by the heavenly way on the right hand, having the signs of the judgment bound on their foreheads; and in like manner the unjust were commanded by them to descend by the lower way on the left hand; these also had the symbols of their deeds fastened on their backs. He drew near, and they told him that he was to be the messenger of the other world to men, and they bade him hear and see all that was to be heard and seen in that place. Then he beheld and saw on one side the souls departing at either chasm of heaven and earth when sentence had been given on them; and at the two other openings other souls, some ascending out of the earth dusty and worn with travel, some descending out of heaven clean and bright, and always, on their arrival, they seemed as if they had come from a long journey, and they went out into the meadow with joy, and there encamped as at a festival, and those who knew one another embraced and conversed, the souls which came from earth curiously inquiring about the things of heaven, and the souls which came from heaven of the things of earth. And they told one another of what had happened by the way, some weeping and sorrowing at the remembrance of the things which they had endured and seen in their journey beneath the earth (now the journey lasted a thousand years), while others were describing heavenly blessings and visions of inconceivable beauty."—J.
And for all evil deeds each soul suffered a tenfold punishment, and for its good deeds it received a tenfold reward. And Er heard one of the spirits ask another, where Ardiæus the Great was? (He had been tyrant of some city in Pamphylia a thousand years before Er lived, and had murdered his aged father and brother, and committed many other crimes.)
"The answer was: 'He comes not hither, and will never come.' And 'indeed,' he said, 'this was one of the terrible sights which was witnessed by us. For we were approaching the mouth of the cave, and, having seen all, were about to reascend, when of a sudden Ardiæus appeared and several others, most of whom were tyrants; and there were also besides the tyrants private individuals who had been great criminals; they were just at the mouth, being, as they fancied, about to return to the upper world, but the opening, instead of receiving them, gave a roar, as was the case when any incurable or unpunished sinner tried to ascend; and then wild men of fiery aspect, who knew the meaning of the sound, came up and seized and carried off several of them, and Ardiæus and others they bound head and foot and hand, and threw them down and flayed them with scourges, and dragged them along the road at the side, carding them on thorns like wool, and declaring to the pilgrims as they passed what were their crimes, and that they were being taken away to be cast into hell. And of all the terrors of the place, there was no terror like this of hearing the voice; and when there was silence, they ascended with joy. These were the penalties and retributions, and there were blessings as great."—J.
Er and his spirit-companions tarried seven days in this meadow, and then set out again on their journey; and on the fourth day they came to a place where a pillar of light like a rainbow, but far brighter, stretched across heaven and earth, and in another day's journey they reached it, and found that this light bound together the circle of the heavens, as a chain undergirds a ship; and to either end of this pillar was fastened the distaff of Necessity, having a shaft of adamant and a wheel with eight vast circles of divers colours, fitted into one another, and narrowing towards the centre. And in these circles eight stars were fixed; and as the spindle moved round, they moved with it—each slowly or swiftly according to its proper motion. And on each circle a siren stood, singing in one note, and thus from the eight stars arose one great harmony of sound. And round about these circles at equal distances were three thrones, and on these thrones were seated the three daughters of Necessity, clothed in white robes, with garlands on their heads. And they also sang as they turned the circles of the spindle—Lachesis singing of past time, Clotho of the present, and Atropos of time that shall be. The spirits, as they arrived, were led to Lachesis in order by a Prophet, who took from her knees lots and samples of lives, and, mounting a rostrum, spoke as follows: "Thus saith Lachesis, daughter of Necessity. Mortal souls, behold a new cycle of mortal life! Your genius will not choose you, but you will choose your genius; and let him who draws the first lot have the first choice of life, which shall be his destiny. Virtue is free, and according as a man honours or dishonours her he will enjoy her more or less; the chooser is responsible, heaven is justified." When he had thus spoken he cast the lots among them, and each took up the lot which fell near him, all but Er himself, who was not allowed.
And these lives were of every kind, both of men and animals, and were variously composed—beauty, and wealth, and poverty, and strength, and nobility all mingled together. But no definite character was yet attached to any; for the future nature of each soul depended on the life it might choose. And on the choice (so said the Prophet who had arranged the lots) each man's happiness depended: and to choose aright he should know all that follows from the possession of power and talent; and should choose the mean, and avoid both extremes so far as he may, not in this life only but in that which is to come. "Even the last comer, if he choose discreetly and will live carefully, shall find there is reserved for him a life neither unhappy nor undesirable. Let not the first be careless in his choice, neither let the last despair."
It was a sad yet laughable sight (said Er) to see the manner in which the souls made their choice. For the first chose the greatest despotism he could find, not observing that it was ordained in his lot that he should devour his own children; and when he found this out, he lamented and beat his breast, accusing the gods, and chance, and everything rather than himself. And their former experience of life influenced many in their choice: thus the soul of Orpheus chose the life of a swan, because he hated to be born again of woman (for women had before torn him in pieces); and Ajax chose the life of a lion, and Agamemnon that of an eagle, because men had done them wrong; and Thersites, the buffoon of the Iliad, took the appropriate form of an ape. Last of all came Ulysses, weary of his former toils and wanderings; and, after searching about for a while, he chose a quiet and obscure life, that was lying neglected in a corner, for all the others had passed it by.
"Now when all the souls had chosen their lives in the order of the lots, they advanced in their turn to Lachesis, who despatched with each of them the Destiny he had selected, to guard his life and satisfy his choice. This Destiny first led the soul to Clotho in such a way as to pass beneath her hand and the whirling motion of the distaff, and thus ratified the fate which each had chosen in the order of precedence. After touching her, the same Destiny led the soul next to the spinning of Atropos, and thus rendered the doom of Clotho irreversible. From thence the souls passed straight forward under the throne of Necessity. When the rest had passed through it, Er himself also passed through; and they all travelled into the plain of Forgetfulness, through dreadful suffocating heat, the ground being destitute of trees and of all vegetation. As the evening came on, they took up their quarters by the bank of the river of Indifference, whose water cannot be held in any vessel. All persons are compelled to drink a certain quantity of the water; but those who are not preserved by prudence drink more than the quantity: and each, as he drinks, forgets everything. When they had gone to rest, and it was now midnight, there was a clap of thunder and an earthquake; and in a moment the souls were carried up to their birth, this way and that like shooting-stars. Er himself was prevented from drinking any of the water; but how, and by what road he reached his body, he knew not: only he knew that he suddenly opened his eyes at dawn, and found himself laid out upon the funeral pyre."—D.
- ↑ Phædras, 229.
- ↑ The various revolutions and eclipses of the heavenly bodies, according to this Platonic myth, are much too perplexing to be dealt with here.
- ↑ Only two fragments of this "Epic" have come down to us—the prologue and the catastrophe, found in two Dialogues (the "Timæus" and the "Critias"), the latter of which is broken off abruptly.