Which of these opinions is true, some God must determine. It is an important question for us, which has the most appearance of truth? Shall we, then, prefer determining between them, or shall we return to our subject?
A. I could wish both, if possible; but it is difficult to mix them: therefore, if without a discussion of them we can get rid of the fears of death, let us proceed to do so; but if this is not to be done without explaining the question about souls, let us have that now, and the other at another time.
M. I take that plan to be the best, which I perceive you are inclined to; for reason will demonstrate that, whichever of the opinions which I have stated is true, it must follow, then, that death cannot be an evil; or that it must rather be something desirable; for if either the heart, or the blood, or the brain, is the soul, then certainly the soul, being corporeal, must perish with the rest of the body; if it is air, it will perhaps be dissolved; if it is fire, it will be extinguished; if it is Aristoxenus’s harmony, it will be put out of tune. What shall I say of Dicaearchus, who denies that there is any soul?
In all these opinions, there is nothing to affect anyone after death; for all feeling is lost with life, and where there is no sensation, nothing can interfere to affect us. The opinions of others do indeed bring us hope; if it is any pleasure to you to think that souls, after they leave the body, may go to heaven as to a permanent home.
A. I have great pleasure in that thought, and it is what I most desire; and even if it should not be so, I should still be very willing to believe it.
M. What occasion have you, then, for my assistance? Am I superior to Plato in eloquence? Turn over carefully his book that treats of the soul; you will have there all that you can want.
A. I have, indeed, done that, and often; but, I know not how it comes to pass, I agree with it while I am reading it; but when I have laid down the book, and begin to reflect with myself on the immortality of the soul, all that agreement vanishes.
M. How comes that? Do you admit this—that souls either exist after death, or else that they also perish at the moment of death?
A. I agree to that. And if they do exist, I admit that they are happy; but if they perish, I cannot suppose them to be unhappy, because, in fact, they have no existence at all. You drove me to that concession but just now.
M. How, then, can you, or why do you, assert that you think that death is an evil, when it either makes us happy, in the case of the soul continuing to exist, or, at all events, not unhappy, in the case of our becoming destitute of all sensation?
Let’s not forget the Atomists, like Democritus, who described physical reality in a manner very similar to modern science, and yet one can only wonder if, as with Dicaearchus, it is possible to account for life and consciousness, or any reality for that matter, by simply giving an inventory of the parts. What is too readily overlooked is that the parts are informed with a binding order.
It would seem that it is necessary to solve the problem of the nature of the soul before solving the problem of its possible immortality, which, in turn, is necessary to determine whether death is something good or bad.
Here Cicero throws us for a loop.
What if it can be shown that death never has to be an evil, regardless of which model of the soul we choose? An immortal soul? Death can be a blessing. A mortal soul? Death can still be a blessing. Perhaps all the options leave us with the same conclusion. Where there is still something, there remains hope. Where there is nothing, there is no longer any need for worry.
My religious friends are always trying to tell me that things will only get better when I go to Heaven. My atheist friends are always trying to tell me that things will only get better when I no longer have to endure suffering. Considered broadly, those two statements are hardly contradictory, and maybe that’s the whole point.
When trying to teach Plato’s Phaedo a few years back, I got myself in a heap of trouble with some Fortress Catholic parents by speculating that there might not be an afterlife.
“How dare you teach my daughter such lies! She has a place with the Saints!”
“I taught her no such thing. I asked a question.”
“Yes, and some question shouldn’t be asked. You’re a heretic!”
How wonderful it must be to live in a bubble.
The Auditor at least understands the theory of it, though he still has his reservations about it in practice. That’s a problem I constantly confront in my own life, when what I read in a book seems to lose its force once I set it down and try to go it on my own. I say that I know, but I don’t really know, at least not completely. My understanding may be vague, or an abstraction not connected to my actual experience, or considered only hypothetically instead of actually.
It has something in common with the problem of moral incontinence, where I have some grasp of what is right and yet I still don’t do it, a failure of applying the universal to the particular. Another factor is diverting me, and I need to isolate where my thinking is not meshing with my living.
When I am being morally lax, this is usually brought on by a gnawing desire. When I am being intellectually lax, this is usually brought on by a simmering doubt.
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