University of Illinois Greek Art, Drama, and Early Philosophy Essay Instructions: There are three readings for this assignment, write one paragraph for ea

University of Illinois Greek Art, Drama, and Early Philosophy Essay Instructions:

There are three readings for this assignment, write one paragraph for each reading based on the reading questions.

Readings:

Greek Art, Drama, and Early Philosophy.
Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and The Phaedo–Read pages 1-34 (Stop at “ Very true” )
“ The lliad” – Read ( pp. 43-95)
Antigone – Read it All.

-Questions:

1- What was the purpose of early Greek art? What are some characteristics?

2- What does philosophy mean? What were earlyphilosophers searching for?

– Questions:

1- How did Socrates differ from earlier philosophers?

2- Who were Plato and Aristotle? How were their philosophies similar? How were their philosophies different?

3- Who wrote “ The Phaedo?” What is it about?

– Questions:

1- What is the lliad about?

2- Does it give a moral lesson? If so, what is it?

– Questions:

1- What is Antigone about?

2- what lesson can we learn from Antigone?

3- How does the afterlife appear in Antigone?

Remember that you have to answer each reading’s questions in one paragraph. Instructions:
There are three readings for this assignment, write one paragraph for each reading based on the
reading questions.
Readings:
•
Greek Art, Drama, and Early Philosophy.
-Questions:
1- What was the purpose of early Greek art? What are some
characteristics?
2- What does philosophy mean? What were early
philosophers searching for?
•
Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and The Phaedo–Read pages 1-34 (Stop at “ Very true” )
– Questions:
1- How did Socrates differ from earlier philosophers?
2- Who were Plato and Aristotle? How were their
philosophies similar? How were their philosophies different?
3- Who wrote “ The Phaedo?” What is it about?
“ The lliad” – Read ( pp. 43-95)
– Questions:
1- What is the lliad about?
2- Does it give a moral lesson? If so, what is it?
Antigone – Read it All.
– Questions:
1- What is Antigone about?
2- what lesson can we learn from Antigone?
3- How does the afterlife appear in Antigone?
•
•
Remember that you have to answer each reading’s questions in one paragraph.
Phaedo
By
Plato
1
PHAEDO
PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:
Phaedo, who is the narrator of the dialogue to Echecrates of Phlius.
Socrates, Apollodorus, Simmias, Cebes, Crito and an Attendant of the
Prison.
SCENE: The Prison of Socrates.
PLACE OF THE NARRATION: Phlius.
ECHECRATES: Were you yourself, Phaedo, in the prison with Socrates on
the day when he drank the poison?
PHAEDO: Yes, Echecrates, I was.
ECHECRATES: I should so like to hear about his death. What did he say in
his last hours? We were informed that he died by taking poison, but no
one knew anything more; for no Phliasian ever goes to Athens now, and it
is a long time since any stranger from Athens has found his way hither;
so that we had no clear account.
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PHAEDO: Did you not hear of the proceedings at the trial?
ECHECRATES: Yes; some one told us about the trial, and we could not
understand why, having been condemned, he should have been put to death,
not at the time, but long afterwards. What was the reason of this?
PHAEDO: An accident, Echecrates: the stern of the ship which the
Athenians send to Delos happened to have been crowned on the day before
he was tried.
ECHECRATES: What is this ship?
PHAEDO: It is the ship in which, according to Athenian tradition,
Theseus went to Crete when he took with him the fourteen youths, and was
the saviour of them and of himself. And they were said to have vowed
to Apollo at the time, that if they were saved they would send a yearly
mission to Delos. Now this custom still continues, and the whole period
of the voyage to and from Delos, beginning when the priest of Apollo
crowns the stern of the ship, is a holy season, during which the city is
not allowed to be polluted by public executions; and when the vessel
is detained by contrary winds, the time spent in going and returning
is very considerable. As I was saying, the ship was crowned on the day
before the trial, and this was the reason why Socrates lay in prison and
was not put to death until long after he was condemned.
ECHECRATES: What was the manner of his death, Phaedo? What was said or
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done? And which of his friends were with him? Or did the authorities
forbid them to be present–so that he had no friends near him when he
died?
PHAEDO: No; there were several of them with him.
ECHECRATES: If you have nothing to do, I wish that you would tell me
what passed, as exactly as you can.
PHAEDO: I have nothing at all to do, and will try to gratify your wish.
To be reminded of Socrates is always the greatest delight to me, whether
I speak myself or hear another speak of him.
ECHECRATES: You will have listeners who are of the same mind with you,
and I hope that you will be as exact as you can.
PHAEDO: I had a singular feeling at being in his company. For I
could hardly believe that I was present at the death of a friend, and
therefore I did not pity him, Echecrates; he died so fearlessly, and
his words and bearing were so noble and gracious, that to me he appeared
blessed. I thought that in going to the other world he could not be
without a divine call, and that he would be happy, if any man ever was,
when he arrived there, and therefore I did not pity him as might have
seemed natural at such an hour. But I had not the pleasure which I
usually feel in philosophical discourse (for philosophy was the theme
of which we spoke). I was pleased, but in the pleasure there was also a
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strange admixture of pain; for I reflected that he was soon to die, and
this double feeling was shared by us all; we were laughing and weeping
by turns, especially the excitable Apollodorus–you know the sort of
man?
ECHECRATES: Yes.
PHAEDO: He was quite beside himself; and I and all of us were greatly
moved.
ECHECRATES: Who were present?
PHAEDO: Of native Athenians there were, besides Apollodorus, Critobulus
and his father Crito, Hermogenes, Epigenes, Aeschines, Antisthenes;
likewise Ctesippus of the deme of Paeania, Menexenus, and some others;
Plato, if I am not mistaken, was ill.
ECHECRATES: Were there any strangers?
PHAEDO: Yes, there were; Simmias the Theban, and Cebes, and Phaedondes;
Euclid and Terpison, who came from Megara.
ECHECRATES: And was Aristippus there, and Cleombrotus?
PHAEDO: No, they were said to be in Aegina.
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ECHECRATES: Any one else?
PHAEDO: I think that these were nearly all.
ECHECRATES: Well, and what did you talk about?
PHAEDO: I will begin at the beginning, and endeavour to repeat the
entire conversation. On the previous days we had been in the habit of
assembling early in the morning at the court in which the trial took
place, and which is not far from the prison. There we used to wait
talking with one another until the opening of the doors (for they were
not opened very early); then we went in and generally passed the day
with Socrates. On the last morning we assembled sooner than usual,
having heard on the day before when we quitted the prison in the evening
that the sacred ship had come from Delos, and so we arranged to meet
very early at the accustomed place. On our arrival the jailer who
answered the door, instead of admitting us, came out and told us to stay
until he called us. ‘For the Eleven,’ he said, ‘are now with Socrates;
they are taking off his chains, and giving orders that he is to die
to-day.’ He soon returned and said that we might come in. On entering we
found Socrates just released from chains, and Xanthippe, whom you know,
sitting by him, and holding his child in her arms. When she saw us she
uttered a cry and said, as women will: ‘O Socrates, this is the last
time that either you will converse with your friends, or they with you.’
Socrates turned to Crito and said: ‘Crito, let some one take her home.’
Some of Crito’s people accordingly led her away, crying out and beating
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herself. And when she was gone, Socrates, sitting up on the couch, bent
and rubbed his leg, saying, as he was rubbing: How singular is the
thing called pleasure, and how curiously related to pain, which might be
thought to be the opposite of it; for they are never present to a man at
the same instant, and yet he who pursues either is generally compelled
to take the other; their bodies are two, but they are joined by a single
head. And I cannot help thinking that if Aesop had remembered them, he
would have made a fable about God trying to reconcile their strife, and
how, when he could not, he fastened their heads together; and this is
the reason why when one comes the other follows, as I know by my own
experience now, when after the pain in my leg which was caused by the
chain pleasure appears to succeed.
Upon this Cebes said: I am glad, Socrates, that you have mentioned the
name of Aesop. For it reminds me of a question which has been asked by
many, and was asked of me only the day before yesterday by Evenus the
poet–he will be sure to ask it again, and therefore if you would like
me to have an answer ready for him, you may as well tell me what I
should say to him:–he wanted to know why you, who never before wrote
a line of poetry, now that you are in prison are turning Aesop’s fables
into verse, and also composing that hymn in honour of Apollo.
Tell him, Cebes, he replied, what is the truth–that I had no idea of
rivalling him or his poems; to do so, as I knew, would be no easy task.
But I wanted to see whether I could purge away a scruple which I felt
about the meaning of certain dreams. In the course of my life I have
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often had intimations in dreams ‘that I should compose music.’ The same
dream came to me sometimes in one form, and sometimes in another, but
always saying the same or nearly the same words: ‘Cultivate and make
music,’ said the dream. And hitherto I had imagined that this was only
intended to exhort and encourage me in the study of philosophy, which
has been the pursuit of my life, and is the noblest and best of music.
The dream was bidding me do what I was already doing, in the same way
that the competitor in a race is bidden by the spectators to run when he
is already running. But I was not certain of this, for the dream might
have meant music in the popular sense of the word, and being under
sentence of death, and the festival giving me a respite, I thought that
it would be safer for me to satisfy the scruple, and, in obedience to
the dream, to compose a few verses before I departed. And first I made
a hymn in honour of the god of the festival, and then considering that a
poet, if he is really to be a poet, should not only put together words,
but should invent stories, and that I have no invention, I took some
fables of Aesop, which I had ready at hand and which I knew–they were
the first I came upon–and turned them into verse. Tell this to Evenus,
Cebes, and bid him be of good cheer; say that I would have him come
after me if he be a wise man, and not tarry; and that to-day I am likely
to be going, for the Athenians say that I must.
Simmias said: What a message for such a man! having been a frequent
companion of his I should say that, as far as I know him, he will never
take your advice unless he is obliged.
8
Why, said Socrates,–is not Evenus a philosopher?
I think that he is, said Simmias.
Then he, or any man who has the spirit of philosophy, will be willing to
die, but he will not take his own life, for that is held to be unlawful.
Here he changed his position, and put his legs off the couch on to the
ground, and during the rest of the conversation he remained sitting.
Why do you say, enquired Cebes, that a man ought not to take his own
life, but that the philosopher will be ready to follow the dying?
Socrates replied: And have you, Cebes and Simmias, who are the disciples
of Philolaus, never heard him speak of this?
Yes, but his language was obscure, Socrates.
My words, too, are only an echo; but there is no reason why I should not
repeat what I have heard: and indeed, as I am going to another place,
it is very meet for me to be thinking and talking of the nature of
the pilgrimage which I am about to make. What can I do better in the
interval between this and the setting of the sun?
Then tell me, Socrates, why is suicide held to be unlawful? as I have
certainly heard Philolaus, about whom you were just now asking, affirm
9
when he was staying with us at Thebes: and there are others who say the
same, although I have never understood what was meant by any of them.
Do not lose heart, replied Socrates, and the day may come when you will
understand. I suppose that you wonder why, when other things which are
evil may be good at certain times and to certain persons, death is to
be the only exception, and why, when a man is better dead, he is not
permitted to be his own benefactor, but must wait for the hand of
another.
Very true, said Cebes, laughing gently and speaking in his native
Boeotian.
I admit the appearance of inconsistency in what I am saying; but
there may not be any real inconsistency after all. There is a doctrine
whispered in secret that man is a prisoner who has no right to open
the door and run away; this is a great mystery which I do not quite
understand. Yet I too believe that the gods are our guardians, and that
we are a possession of theirs. Do you not agree?
Yes, I quite agree, said Cebes.
And if one of your own possessions, an ox or an ass, for example, took
the liberty of putting himself out of the way when you had given no
intimation of your wish that he should die, would you not be angry with
him, and would you not punish him if you could?
10
Certainly, replied Cebes.
Then, if we look at the matter thus, there may be reason in saying that
a man should wait, and not take his own life until God summons him, as
he is now summoning me.
Yes, Socrates, said Cebes, there seems to be truth in what you say. And
yet how can you reconcile this seemingly true belief that God is our
guardian and we his possessions, with the willingness to die which we
were just now attributing to the philosopher? That the wisest of men
should be willing to leave a service in which they are ruled by the gods
who are the best of rulers, is not reasonable; for surely no wise man
thinks that when set at liberty he can take better care of himself than
the gods take of him. A fool may perhaps think so–he may argue that he
had better run away from his master, not considering that his duty is
to remain to the end, and not to run away from the good, and that there
would be no sense in his running away. The wise man will want to be ever
with him who is better than himself. Now this, Socrates, is the reverse
of what was just now said; for upon this view the wise man should sorrow
and the fool rejoice at passing out of life.
The earnestness of Cebes seemed to please Socrates. Here, said he,
turning to us, is a man who is always inquiring, and is not so easily
convinced by the first thing which he hears.
11
And certainly, added Simmias, the objection which he is now making does
appear to me to have some force. For what can be the meaning of a truly
wise man wanting to fly away and lightly leave a master who is better
than himself? And I rather imagine that Cebes is referring to you; he
thinks that you are too ready to leave us, and too ready to leave the
gods whom you acknowledge to be our good masters.
Yes, replied Socrates; there is reason in what you say. And so you think
that I ought to answer your indictment as if I were in a court?
We should like you to do so, said Simmias.
Then I must try to make a more successful defence before you than I
did when before the judges. For I am quite ready to admit, Simmias and
Cebes, that I ought to be grieved at death, if I were not persuaded in
the first place that I am going to other gods who are wise and good (of
which I am as certain as I can be of any such matters), and secondly
(though I am not so sure of this last) to men departed, better than
those whom I leave behind; and therefore I do not grieve as I might have
done, for I have good hope that there is yet something remaining for the
dead, and as has been said of old, some far better thing for the good
than for the evil.
But do you mean to take away your thoughts with you, Socrates? said
Simmias. Will you not impart them to us?–for they are a benefit
in which we too are entitled to share. Moreover, if you succeed in
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convincing us, that will be an answer to the charge against yourself.
I will do my best, replied Socrates. But you must first let me hear what
Crito wants; he has long been wishing to say something to me.
Only this, Socrates, replied Crito:–the attendant who is to give you
the poison has been telling me, and he wants me to tell you, that you
are not to talk much, talking, he says, increases heat, and this is
apt to interfere with the action of the poison; persons who excite
themselves are sometimes obliged to take a second or even a third dose.
Then, said Socrates, let him mind his business and be prepared to give
the poison twice or even thrice if necessary; that is all.
I knew quite well what you would say, replied Crito; but I was obliged
to satisfy him.
Never mind him, he said.
And now, O my judges, I desire to prove to you that the real philosopher
has reason to be of good cheer when he is about to die, and that after
death he may hope to obtain the greatest good in the other world. And
how this may be, Simmias and Cebes, I will endeavour to explain. For I
deem that the true votary of philosophy is likely to be misunderstood
by other men; they do not perceive that he is always pursuing death and
dying; and if this be so, and he has had the desire of death all his
13
life long, why when his time comes should he repine at that which he has
been always pursuing and desiring?
Simmias said laughingly: Though not in a laughing humour, you have made
me laugh, Socrates; for I cannot help thinking that the many when they
hear your words will say how truly you have described philosophers, and
our people at home will likewise say that the life which philosophers
desire is in reality death, and that they have found them out to be
deserving of the death which they desire.
And they are right, Simmias, in thinking so, with the exception of the
words ‘they have found them out’; for they have not found out either
what is the nature of that death which the true philosopher deserves,
or how he deserves or desires death. But enough of them:–let us discuss
the matter among ourselves: Do we believe that there is such a thing as
death?
To be sure, replied Simmias.

Is it not the separation of soul and body? And to be dead is the
completion of this; when the soul exists in herself, and is released
from the body and the body is released from the soul, what is this but
death?
Just so, he replied.
14
There is another question, which will probably throw light on our
present inquiry if you and I can agree about it:–Ought the philosopher
to care about the pleasures–if they are to be called pleasures–of
eating and drinking?
Certainly not, answered Simmias.
And what about the pleasures of love–should he care for them?
By no means.
And will he think much of the other ways of indulging the body, for
example, the acquisition of costly raiment, or sandals, or other
adornments of the body? Instead of caring about them, does he not rather
despise anything more than nature needs? What do you say?
I should say that the true philosopher would despise them.
Would you not say that he is entirely concerned with the soul and not
with the body? He would like, as far as he can, to get away from the
body and to turn to the soul.
Quite true.
In matters of this sort philosophers, above all other men, may be
observed in every sort of way to dissever the soul from the communion of
15
the body.
Very true.
Whereas, Simmias, the rest of the world are of opinion that to him who
has no sense of pleasure and no part in bodily pleasure, life is not
worth having; and that he who is indifferent about them is as good as
dead.
That is also true.
What again shall we say of the actual acquirement of knowledge?–is the
body, if invited to share in the enquiry, a hinderer or a helper? I mean
to say, have sight and hearing any truth in them? Are they not, as the
poets are always telling us, inaccurate witnesses? and yet, if even
they are inaccurate and indistinct, what is to be said of the other
senses?–for you will allow that they are the best of them?
Certainly, he replied.
Then when does the soul attain truth?–for in attempting to consider
anything in company with the body she is obviously deceived.
True.
Then must not true existence be revealed to her in thought, if at all?
16
Yes.
And thought is best when the mind is gathered into herself and none of
these things trouble her–neither sounds nor sights nor pain nor any
pleasure,–when she takes leave of the body, and has as little as
possible to do with it, when she has no bodily…
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