Why One Must Not Take One's Own Life
61d–63e
Then Cebes asked him: "What do you mean by this, Socrates — that it is not permitted to do violence to oneself, and yet that the philosopher would be willing to follow one who is dying?"
"What, Cebes? Have you and Simmias not heard about such things, when you were with Philolaus?"1
"Nothing clear, Socrates."
"Well, I too speak about them only from hearsay; but I do not mind telling you what I happen to have heard. And indeed it is perhaps 61e especially fitting for one who is about to travel there to inquire into the journey and to tell stories about it — what we think it is like. What else could one do in the time until sunset?"
"Why then, Socrates, do they say it is not permitted to kill oneself? I have heard Philolaus say, as you asked just now, when he was living among us, and others too, that one must not do it; but I have never heard anything clear about it from anyone."
62a "Well, you must take heart," he said, "for perhaps you will hear it. Yet perhaps it will seem strange to you that this alone of all things should be without exception, and that it never happens to a man, as other things do, that at some times and for some people it is better to be dead than alive; and if for some it is better to be dead, perhaps it seems strange to you that for these people it is not holy to do themselves this good, but they must wait for some other benefactor."
Cebes laughed quietly and said, "Zeus knows it is!" — speaking in his own dialect.2
62b "Put that way," said Socrates, "it would indeed seem unreasonable; and yet perhaps there is some reason in it. The account given in the secret teachings, that we men are in a kind of guard-post and that one must not release oneself from it or run away,3 seems to me a weighty one and not easy to see through. But this much, Cebes, seems to me well said: that it is the gods who care for us, and that we men are one of the gods' possessions. Or do you not think so?"
"I do," says Cebes.
62c "Then," said he, "if one of your own possessions were to kill itself without your having indicated that you wanted it to die, would you not be angry with it, and punish it if you had any means of doing so?"
"Certainly," he said.
"In this sense, then, perhaps it is not unreasonable that one must not kill oneself before the god sends some necessity, like the one that is now upon me."
"That seems likely," said Cebes. "But what you were saying a moment ago, that philosophers would readily be willing 62d to die, seems strange, Socrates, if what we have just said is reasonable — that it is the god who cares for us and we are his possessions. For it makes no sense that the wisest of men should not be troubled at leaving this service, in which they are watched over by the best overseers there are, the gods. A wise man can hardly think that he will take better care of himself once he is free. A foolish man might perhaps think that he ought to run away 62e from his master, and would not reflect that one ought not to run away from a good master, but stay with him as long as possible; and so he would run away without thinking. But a man of sense would surely want to be always with one who is better than himself. On this reasoning, Socrates, the very opposite of what was said just now is likely to be true: the wise ought to be troubled at dying, and the foolish to rejoice."
When Socrates heard this, he seemed to me pleased with Cebes' 63a persistence, and looking at us he said: "Cebes is always hunting out arguments, and is never willing to be persuaded straight away by whatever anyone says."
And Simmias said: "But really, Socrates, this time I think myself that there is something in what Cebes says. Why should men who are truly wise want to run away from masters better than themselves, and part from them so lightly? And I think Cebes is aiming his argument at you, because you take it so lightly to leave both us and good rulers — the gods, as you yourself admit."
63b "You are right," he said. "I take it you mean that I must make my defence against this, as if in a law court."
"Certainly," said Simmias.
"Come, then," said he, "let me try to make a more persuasive defence before you than I made before my judges. For if I did not believe, Simmias and Cebes, that I shall go first to other gods who are wise and good, and then to men who have died and are better than those here, I should be wrong not to be troubled at death. But as it is, you may be sure that I hope 63c to come to good men — though this I would not insist on too strongly; but that I shall come to gods who are altogether good masters, you may be sure that if I would insist on anything of this kind, I would insist on that. That is why I am not so troubled, but have good hope that there is something in store for those who have died, and, as has been said from of old, something far better for the good than for the wicked."
"What then, Socrates?" said Simmias. "Do you mean to go away keeping this thought to yourself, or would you share it with us too? 63d It seems to me that this is a good that belongs to us as well; and at the same time it will be your defence, if you can persuade us of what you say."
"I will try," he said. "But first let us see what it is that Crito here has been wanting to say for some time, I think."
"Only this, Socrates," said Crito: "the man who is to give you the poison has been telling me for a while that I must warn you to talk as little as possible. He says that talking makes people heated, and that one must bring nothing of that kind to bear 63e on the poison; otherwise those who do so sometimes have to drink it twice or even three times."
"Never mind him," said Socrates. "Let him just get his part ready to give it twice, or, if need be, three times."
"I more or less knew you would say that," said Crito, "but he has been bothering me for a long time."
"Never mind him," he said.