Phaedo. And you can
 see these and touch them and perceive them by the other senses, whereas the
 things which are always the same can be grasped only by the reason, and are
 invisible and not to be seen? Certainly, said he, that is true. Now, said he, shall we assume two kinds of
 existences, one visible, the other invisible? Let us assume them, said Cebes. And that the invisible is always the same and the
 visible constantly changing? Let us
 assume that also, said he. 
 
 
 Well
 then, said Socrates, are we not made up of two parts, body and
 soul? Yes, he
 replied. Now to which class should we
 say the body is more similar and more closely akin? To the visible, said he; that is clear to
 everyone. And the soul? Is it
 visible or invisible? Invisible, to
 man, at least, Socrates. But we call
 things visible and invisible with reference to human vision, do we
 not? Yes, we
 do. Then what do we say about
 the soul? Can it be seen or not? It
 cannot be seen. Then it is
 invisible? Yes. Then the soul is more like the invisible than the
 body is, 
 
 
 and the body more like the
 visible. Necessarily,
 Socrates. Now we have also been
 saying for a long time, have we not, that, when the soul makes use of the body
 for any inquiry, either through seeing or hearing or any of the other
 senses—for inquiry through the body means inquiry through the
 senses,—then it is dragged by the body to things which never remain the
 same, and it wanders about and is confused and dizzy like a drunken man because
 it lays hold upon such things? Certainly. But when the
 soul 
 
 
 inquires alone by itself, it departs
 into the realm of the pure, the everlasting, the immortal and the changeless,
 and being akin to these it dwells always with them whenever it is by itself and
 is not hindered, and it has rest from its wanderings and remains always the same
 and unchanging with the changeless, since it is in communion therewith. And this
 state of the soul is called wisdom. Is it not so? Socrates, said he, what you say is
 perfectly right and true. And now
 again, in view of what we said before and of what has just been said, to which
 class do you think 
 
 
 the soul has greater
 likeness and kinship? I think,
 Socrates, said he, that anyone, even the dullest, would agree,
 after this argument that the soul is infinitely more like that which is always
 the same than that which is not. And
 the body? Is more like the
 other. Consider, then, the
 matter in another way. Phaedo. When the soul 
 
 
 
 and the body are joined together, nature directs the
 one to serve and be ruled, and the other to rule and be master. Now this being
 the case, which seems to you like the divine, and which like the mortal? Or do
 you not think that the divine is by nature fitted to rule and lead, and the
 mortal to obey and serve? Yes, I
 think so. Which, then, does the soul
 resemble? Clearly, Socrates, the
 soul is like the divine and the body like the mortal. Then see, Cebes, if this is not the conclusion from all
 that we have said, 
 
 
 that the soul is most like
 the divine and immortal and intellectual and uniform and indissoluble and ever
 unchanging, and the body, on the contrary, most like the human and mortal and
 multiform and unintellectual and dissoluble and ever changing. Can we say
 anything, my dear Cebes, to show that this is not so? No, we cannot. Well then, since this is the case, is it not natural for the body to
 meet with speedy dissolution and for the soul, on the contrary, to be entirely
 indissoluble, or nearly so? Of
 course. Observe, he went
 on, that when a man dies, the visible part of him, the body, which lies
 in the visible world and which we call the corpse, which is naturally subject to
 dissolution and decomposition, does not undergo these processes at once, but
 remains for a considerable time, and even for a very long time, if death takes
 place when the body is in good condition, and at a favorable time of the year.
 For when the body is shrunk and embalmed, as is done in Egypt , it remains almost entire for an
 incalculable time. And even if the body decay, 
 
 
 some parts of it, such as the bones and sinews and all that, are, so to speak,
 indestructible. Is not that true? Yes. But the soul, the
 invisible, which departs into another place which is, like itself, noble and
 pure and invisible, to the realm of the god of the other world in truth, to the
 good and wise god, whither, if God will, my soul is soon to go,—is this
 soul, which has such qualities and such a nature, straightway scattered and
 destroyed when it departs from the body, as most men say? 
 
 
 Far from it, dear Cebes and Simmias, but the truth is much
 rather this—if it departs pure, dragging with it nothing of the body,
 because it never willingly associated with the body in life, but avoided it and
 gathered itself into itself alone, since this has always been its constant
 study—but this means nothing else than that it pursued philosophy rightly
 and 
 
 
 
 really
 practiced being in a state of death: or is not this the practice of
 death?