So that were they able to have a full view of all that is now hidden from them in a living body, they have no idea whether the soul would be discernible by them, or whether it is of so fine a texture that it would escape their sight.
Let those consider this, who say that they are unable to form any idea of the soul without the body, and then they will see whether they can form any adequate idea of what it is when it is in the body.
For my own part, when I reflect on the nature of the soul, it appears to me a far more perplexing and obscure question to determine what is its character while it is in the body—a place which, as it were, does not belong to it—than to imagine what it is when it leaves it, and has arrived at the free aether, which is, if I may so say, its proper, its own habitation.
For unless we are to say that we cannot apprehend the character or nature of anything which we have never seen, we certainly may be able to form some notion of God, and of the divine soul when released from the body.
Dicaearchus, indeed, and Aristoxenus, because it was hard to understand the existence and substance and nature of the soul, asserted that there was no such thing as a soul at all. It is, indeed, the most difficult thing imaginable to discern the soul by the soul. And this, doubtless, is the meaning of the precept of Apollo, which advises everyone to know himself.
For I do not apprehend the meaning of the God to have been that we should understand our members, our stature, and form, for we are not merely bodies; nor, when I say these things to you, am I addressing myself to your body.
When, therefore, he says, “Know yourself,” he says this, “Inform yourself of the nature of your soul.” For the body is but a kind of vessel, or receptacle of the soul, and whatever your soul does is your own act.
To know the soul, then, unless it had been divine, would not have been a precept of such excellent wisdom as to be attributed to a God; but even though the soul should not know of what nature itself is, will you say that it does not even perceive that it exists at all, or that it has motion? On which is founded that reason of Plato’s, which is explained by Socrates in the Phaedrus, and inserted by me, in my sixth book of the Republic.
Whenever I am trying to learn something new, I am always struggling to find a balance between the extremes of stubbornness and gullibility. I see that I am working from what I already know to what I don’t yet know, and I am easily tempted to either lag behind or to jump ahead. On the one hand, it would appear safest to err on the side of caution, and on the other, I am so eager to make progress.
With the former, I get bogged down in skepticism, and with the latter, I let myself be swept away by idle fancies. I generally find that the narrow materialist succumbs to doubt, while the flighty idealist gets too far beyond himself.
One fellow approves only of what he can sense directly, even when it is clearly pointing him to the presence of what he cannot sense directly, and another fellow is so enamored of his grand theories that he rushes over any need for evidence. A moderate philosopher will do his best to avoid either sort of foolishness.
It will be no different when it comes to considering the soul, a principle that could hardly be more immediate, since it is the very grounding for awareness, and yet so elusive, since I cannot touch it or look at it physically.
If my conception of the real is limited merely to the sensing of bodies, my world will be small indeed, a bundle of successive impressions. It will also be quite empty of deliberate meaning and purpose, because I am refusing to inquire about what stands behind those impressions, the causes that must bring about such effects.
So constrained, there will be little point in asking me to wonder about a soul that is separate from a body, since I can’t even recognize a soul that is joined to a body. The very possibility of an active principle, or an underlying identity, is lost on me, as I accept just mass and extension as measures of existence.
I must go further, by reflecting on how I define the common properties of life in general, and then on the activity of the mind in particular, if I wish to come to terms with the nature of the soul. Sticking to the data of the senses is like stopping before I start; the idealist should also be warned that ignoring the data of the senses is like trying to cut in line.
Learn what it means to “have” a soul, but furthermore be able to show how that soul expresses itself in and through the body. None of this will work if the mental and the material are stubbornly made to exclude one another. What cannot be seen is made intelligible by means of what can be seen.
With the myopia of Dicaearchus and Aristoxenus set aside, we should heed the call of Apollo, as inscribed on his temple at Delphi: Know Yourself.
The command is not about studying biology, or even history, economics, and politics, but rather inspires us to go straight to the source, to inquire of the self that resides within.
It is a question of a who, not simply of a what, and it asks us to turn the mind’s eye back upon itself, without distractions, deceptions, or excuses. All those other human aspects, as important as they are, remain totally dependent on revealing this nature of the soul.
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