Translated from a Greek Manuscript lately discovered.

ALCIBIADES.

Fly! Praxinoe, fly! I hear the voice of Socrates, and it frightens me as much as the voice of Cerberus. Pick up your girdle and run. Leander, here! remove the wine and fruit. Now my apartment looks more austere than before. Here he comes. I wish he were at the pillars of Hercules. Ah! Socrates, welcome.

SOCRATES.

Alcibiades, we expected you at the house of Agatho. You had promised to be present at our conversation, and perhaps you might have benefited by it as much as by lying on that couch.

ALCIBIADES.

I should have come, Socrates; but I was seized by a sudden sickness, which made me quite unfit for philosophy.

SOCRATES.

I am grieved to hear it; but the colour in your cheeks makes me hope for a speedy recovery.

ALCIBIADES.

I begin to think, indeed, that the disorder has left me.

SOCRATES.

I am sure it has, for I met it at the door. But was that beautiful creature a disease? I imagined, as it glided by me, that it must be Hebe herself who had been visiting you. I never before saw so blooming an illness.

ALCIBIADES.

Ah! Socrates, I never succeed in deceiving you. I think I have heard you boast that you have brought philosophy down from the stars to live amongst men.

SOCRATES.

Is she not likely to do more good to men than to the stars?

ALCIBIADES.

Why, I was going to advise that you should release her and let her fly up again, for she would be much less troublesome amongst the stars than at Athens. The truth is, I cannot enjoy my pleasures while she is observing them, but she might observe the Pleiades as long as she pleased without giving me the least disturbance. But now, since I have lost your conversation to-day, I would willingly hear you explain a difficulty that I can propose. Perhaps one cause of my zeal for instruction at this moment is a wish to divert the reproof that I see coming.

SOCRATES.

I think you have justly interpreted your love of knowledge. However, let me hear the difficulty. But stay, here are more friends; Cleocrates and Hiero.

ALCIBIADES.

Welcome, my friends! but you shall not interrupt our conversation. Therefore, without taking farther notice of you, I proceed to ask Socrates why it is that I, being one man, discover within myself so many different characters? I find a philosopher who would always be engaged in study, a reveller that would make life but one debauch, and a politician who loves to be busy with the state, a prudent man who foresees every danger, and a rash fool who never avoids one, all collected together and called Alcibiades. Nor do these different persons prevail in turn, but all together; I wish to be wise and foolish at the same instant, and frequently cannot decide which I desire the most. So a few hours ago I wished to be both with you at the house of Agatho, and here with a Rhodian girl. So violent was the contest that I expected to be torn into two parts by it, and that one half of me would go to hear you talk, while the other remained here with the Rhodian.

SOCRATES.

I should have been content with a smaller share of you than half; if you had only sent your head by a servant, the fair Rhodian might have kept the remainder, and I imagine you would not have been the less fit to entertain her from wanting merely a head.

ALCIBIADES.

Not at all; but my whole head would not have consented to go, one part of it only being inclined to philosophy. I am the same divided person that Cerberus must be if he has a disposition to each head. Now pray let me hear the explanation of this.

SOCRATES.

I transfer the duty to Cleocrates, who three days ago was about to tell me something that he brought out of Egypt on this very subject. You know that a man cannot be wise without having been in Egypt.

CLEOCRATES.

You shall hear my tale; but Hiero too can tell one to account for these contending inclinations, and he having been not only in Egypt, but in every other country, is entitled to be far wiser than I am. Let him, therefore, speak first.

ALCIBIADES.

Begin, Hiero; and I charge you to omit all apology, preface, and modesty.

HIERO.

Rejecting then all such impediments, I begin by telling you that amongst every people which I have visited in my travels, I have found a great curiosity to know the origin and first condition of mankind, and to learn the changes which have made men what they now are. Accordingly in every country some person has undertaken to gratify this desire, and disclose the first beginning of man, and his progress to the present condition; so that there is not a race to be found, however savage and destitute of literature, which has not some legend of the early circumstances of the world. Fortunately none are so inquisitive as to ask how these things became known to the historian who first divulged them; men think they have nothing to do with the story, but to believe it.

The general opinion seems to be, that since it is absolutely necessary for the peace of our minds that some origin of things should be current amongst us, it would be very unwise to undermine the one we have now, because it might not be easy to find another. The best course is to let things begin as they have been used to do.

Thus the world has as many origins as it has races of men; all are believed with the same resolution, and good men are ready to defend their own beginning of things at the hazard of their lives. Though these histories of unknown times are very different from each other, yet in one particular they all agree, which is in supposing that man is now, by his own vice and folly, in a very inferior condition to that which he once enjoyed.

I shall now give you my narrative of the early state of mankind, being assured that I have as ample information on the subject as any previous author; and I claim the advantage allowed to all historians of this kind, which is, that I shall not be suspected of fiction merely because I relate events of which there is neither remembrance nor history.

The first generation of men was much more powerful and happy than the present. The human race was not divided into two sexes, as now; but the two sexes were united in every single person. Each human being was composed of male and female, so joined together as to make one person. Each, therefore, was supplied with four arms, four legs, two faces, and two bodies. The two were separate in every part except the head, which was the point that united them: the heads grew together without any partition of skull between them, so that the two brains were joined, and thus the two bodies were governed by one will and understanding. The male was always on the right side, and the female on the left. Every man, therefore, was naturally married, and without any choice of his own.

This combination of the two sexes prevented a great part of the miseries by which life is now infested; for it is manifest that the world is unhappy chiefly by the quarrels, jealousies, and contending wishes of man and woman. Hence most of the great wars which have depopulated the earth. If Helen had been fastened to Menelaus by the head, it is plain that she could not have eloped from him, and involved Greece and Asia in misfortune; nor is it probable that Clytemnestra would have divided the head of Agamemnon with an axe if her own head must have shared the blow.

Amongst this double race there was nothing to interrupt domestic peace. It is evident there could be no such passion as jealousy, for when a man's wife was part of himself he could not suspect her of infidelity. There being only one mind in the double body, the male half never was enamoured of the female half of another person, nor did the female side love any but the male to which she was annexed. A man, therefore, was then as unlikely to charge his female side with disobedience as he would be now to accuse his own arm or leg of a mutiny. It is well known too that the present conjugal love, however vehement at first, is very apt to fall out of the heart after a certain time, which accident could not occur in the double condition, the love of one half for the other being a kind of self-love; so that any one who considers the fidelity with which he adheres to himself in our present circumstances, will know with how much greater constancy the man and woman then lived together than they do now. That forgiveness with which a man now regards his own faults and that patience with which he waits for his own reformation were then practised between the two sexes, to the great peace and concord of every family. All sensations felt by one side were imparted equally to the other, so that the husband could not pursue his pleasures apart from his wife. Besides this, when people were born married, as I describe, they avoided all doubt and perplexity of choice; there were no fears and anxieties in love, no vain pursuits, nor affections without return. The male part was no more doubtful of the female's kindness than a man is now apprehensive of losing his own esteem.

But it pleased the gods that this happy condition should cease. The reason of their displeasure I cannot assign with any certainty. It has been thought that these double men having much greater strength and dexterity than the present race, had made Jupiter apprehend that they might at some time revolt from heaven, and become dangerous enemies. And it is observable that in all countries, however religions may vary, there is some obscure tradition of the gods having once imagined their supremacy to be in danger, which I think argues a remarkable cowardice in the divine nature; for when we consider the distance from earth to heaven, we can hardly meditate an attack from this quarter with any reasonable hope of victory. But I am rather inclined to think that in this case Jupiter was not moved by the power of men, but by their happiness. An excess of good is contrary to our nature, and certainly the gods have always shown a very provident care in supplying us with sufficient misfortunes. But whatever reasons may have decided the King of the Gods, it is certain that he resolved to divide man from woman, and make them live as two separate beings. Having therefore counted the number of mortals on the earth, he took the same number of thunderbolts in his hand, and hurled them with such certainty as to cleave every human being into two parts. I think that a god capable of such dexterity needed not to have feared the human race, though every man had had a hundred arms instead of four. All mankind, therefore, having fallen asunder at the same instant, each half was seized with consternation; but yet was so stupified by the blow that it knew not what had happened, and began to wander about by itself in an ignorant terror. After some time, however, these halves became sensible of their condition; and each perceiving that in its amazement it had wandered away from its partner, was seized with a violent desire to be reunited. The earth was covered with these imperfect creatures, running about in search of their associates. When two halves which had been one were so fortunate as to meet they threw their arms round each other, and with passionate embraces declared that they never would be separated. But most of those who did not speedily find their true partners, in horror at being alone, betook themselves to some other half. The male and female sides being equally terrified and forlorn in their sudden solitude, these wrong associations were readily and eagerly formed. When two halves happened to meet, each despairing of its former colleague, they joined themselves together after a short negotiation, with mutual caresses and vows of inseparable union. But it was soon found that a pair could not be thus joined at pleasure with any success. When the two halves which before the thunderbolt had formed one person were restored to each other, they lived together in great harmony and happiness, endeavouring by a perfect unanimity to forget that they were no longer one; but those who had been casually united soon found cause of disagreement, and passed their lives in hatred and dispute. And when one of this unfortunate confederacy happened to meet with its true partner, involved also in a foreign compact, the desire of reunion was incontrollable; and each deserting its provisional associate, returned with delight to the former alliance.

It is easy to discover a secret memory of these events in human nature as it now is, what I have related being the true origin of love and marriage. Each man and each woman of these times is singly but half a creature, and is naturally sensible of its imperfection. In childhood we do not suspect our mutilation; but as soon as the feelings are mature, every person becomes eager to discover the other half of himself, and be reunited to it. Unfortunately, the whole human race has been so dispersed and confused together, that very few have the good fortune to find their authentic halves; but both sexes being conscious of the division they have suffered, are so impatient of solitude, that the generality of persons after a very short search are content to choose partners with which they have no affinity. Hence, a great part of the two sexes are erroneously joined, which explains the number of unhappy marriages; for the law is still in force, that two halves, not belonging to each other, cannot be prosperously united, but to be happy together they must be descendants of the same double person. When any two are once made known to each other as being halves of the same person, nothing can prevent their immediate union, and any former confederacy is instantly abandoned. Thus, when a married woman, to the great astonishment of her friends, deserts her husband and her children for a stranger, the truth is that she has found her corresponding half. Thus, also, we may understand why it is that a man has so often a violent passion for some particular woman, whose charms are so far from being obvious that he is the only person who has sagacity enough to discover them. She is the half which it is the business of his life to find.

When Jupiter made this division of men, he threatened that if they gave him any farther displeasure he would make another partition, and divide every human being, already so imperfect, into two. After some time, I know not upon what provocation, he determined to execute this threat, and with the same skill as before effected a still more lamentable division, the whole human race falling asunder at the same instant. Every man found himself, he knew not why, suddenly standing on one foot. The two halves of a man gazed at each other in amazement; and each asked the other its opinion of what had happened, and of what was to follow. Each body was divided into two even shares; the nose being split exactly in the middle, and the same justice observed from head to foot. At the moment of division a new skin had grown over the parts newly exposed, so as to prevent the loss of a single drop of blood. One of these half men, therefore, putting his hand to that side of his face which had undergone the change, felt a plain flat surface. The voice, though from half a tongue, was as distinct but not so strong as before. A man had no difficulty in supporting himself, or in hopping along on his single foot; for though in the present condition of man it is a severe labour for one foot to discharge the duty of both, and convey the whole body, yet half the burden being taken away the remaining foot could make some progress without any violent exertion. Some practice, however, was required to move with sufficient speed and security; and the right side, by its superior vigour, was the first to attain a proficiency in hopping. As soon as the first consternation was over, men, supposing that their new condition was to continue, endeavoured to reconcile themselves to the being half what they had been, and to supply the loss of limbs by the exercise of what remained. Many disputes and confusions were caused by this event. A man being about to be married to a beautiful girl before the division took place, and one side of him in its first attempt to hop down stairs having broken its neck, the other side found itself provided with two wives by the separation of the intended bride; and as the two halves of her were equally beautiful and loved him with equal fidelity, he knew not which to choose. There was another case not less difficult to decide. A man had been betrothed to a woman of great beauty, but her left cheek was unfortunately disfigured by a scar. The two sides, therefore, being now of different value, the right side of the man claimed the perfect half, maintaining that each ought to take the part corresponding with himself; but this opinion was disputed by the left side of the man, who positively refused to accept of the blemished half.

In many cases great injustice was done by this division to one half of the human being. The brain being separated in the middle, the qualities of the mind were divided. In some instances they had been equally distributed through the head, so that each side contained a just share; but in other cases they had been differently arranged, and one half possessed all the valuable endowments. In some heads the virtues had been all on one side, and the vices collected on the other; so that one half was a man of perfect character, while the other abandoned itself to every sort of depravity. It appeared that some men, who had been distinguished by wit in conversation, had been witty only on one side of the head, and that side remained as agreeable as before, while the other became extremely dull. In a public assembly, soon after this occurrence, the right side of an orator began to speak, and proceeded for some time with great volubility, but suddenly stopped in the middle of a sentence, and appeared at the end of its oratory, upon which the left side finished the sentence, and then continued the harangue to its conclusion. It seemed, therefore, that this oration had occupied the whole head, in which it lay ready for use, and had been cut into two equal parts, the left side of the orator being ignorant of the beginning and the right side of the end.

Jupiter soon discovered that by this second separation he had too much disabled the human race, for men sunk into such misery and dejection that all the duties and enterprises of life would have been speedily forgotten had they remained so decrepit. He therefore ordered Apollo to unite men again, and make them such as they now are, and as they were before the last division. This was done, but not so skilfully as to prevent all bad consequences from the separation. The injury done to us is still apparent; for although on the outside we bear not the least mark of this cruel operation, yet in the minds and characters of men it is easy to find evidence of their having been cleft into two. The truth is, that Apollo thought only of preventing any external injury, and was not careful enough in adjusting the several parts of the brain to each other. In most cases, therefore, the fibres were not accurately united, and in consequence the generality of men may be said to have two minds; one set of passions and opinions on the right side and another on the left. Sometimes one side gains the direction of the man and sometimes the other, and hence arise the contradictory qualities and variations of character in the same person. A man, whose habitual prudence we have long known, surprises us by a sudden rashness; in this case one side of his head only has been stored with prudence, and that has commonly been the governing side, but upon this one occasion the other half has prevailed over it. In the first ages, when man and woman composed one creature, two bodies were governed by a single mind; but now, to our misfortune, one body is subject to the control of two minds, each of which having its own separate passions, and endeavouring to gratify them, there is a perpetual contest between them for the government of the body. Any man who considers what passes within himself, will perceive that he thinks and acts more like two men than one. He finds in himself infirmities which he despises; this is the contempt which one side of him entertains for the other side. He is conscious of two dispositions,—the one wise, moderate, and circumspect, the other intemperate and rash; and he cannot determine which of these is himself, for all the passions seem equally his own. Thus I explain the difficulty proposed by Alcibiades, and I am now ready to hear Cleocrates.

CLEOCRATES.

I learned many things from an Egyptian priest, and amongst other strange doctrines he told me that I had passed many lives upon the earth before that which I enjoy now. Perceiving that I regarded this as a fable intended for amusement rather than belief, he told me that he would soon convince me of the truth of what he taught by restoring to my memory a part of the past. He then mixed together many ingredients, of which I knew not the nature, and making a draught of them desired me to swallow it. I complied, and soon fell into a deep sleep, from which, when I awoke, I found myself wonderfully altered, for I clearly remembered a former life, the chief adventures of which were as distinct to me as the occurrences of my present existence; and besides this I remembered my death, and the treatment which I met with in another world. I shall not relate to you any events of my former life, but confine myself to an account of what I observed as a dead person, because it is that which explains the subject of our present conversation.

As soon as I was dead, then, I found myself in a throng of spectres, approaching the place of judgment, which is conducted in a very different manner from what is usually imagined. When I arrived at the fearful spot, I found that the actions of all those to be tried had been collected together, the deeds of each man forming a separate heap. The judge held in his hands a large sieve, which he presented to the first spectre who came to trial. He then took up a part of this man's actions, and placing them in the sieve commanded him to shake them; the sieve having a peculiar sagacity, by which it lets the meritorious actions pass through, and retains the bad. This spectre had been a pirate, and the sieve was filled with cruelty, rapine, and murder. He shook vigorously, but only one of his actions dropped through; it was the release of a prisoner without ransom, probably at the beginning of his career, and from want of experience. When he had shaken the crimes ineffectually for some time, the judge commanded him to empty the sieve by inverting it, and then placed in it another handful of his life. This he agitated with great resolution, but the sieve refused to part with a single crime. He succeeded no better with the remainder of his exploits; and when all had been shaken sufficiently to try their worth, they were thrown into a heap, from which the judge deducted one crime as an equivalent for the single good action which had passed the sieve, and then ordered the criminal to lie down and roll himself in his sins. As he rolled every crime adhered to him, and he rose from the ground covered with his own enormities. A fury then approached, and touched him with a lighted torch, by which every crime was instantly converted into a flame. He uttered a loud yell; and another fury, armed with a whip, drove him from the place of judgment, blazing violently as he went along. All the spectres had to undergo the same judgment in turn; the actions of each were submitted to the sieve, and for every deed which by passing through could prove itself a laudable act one of the bad actions was removed; the remaining errors were fixed to the guilty spectre as I have described, and set on fire, when each of them burned with violence and pain according to its enormity.

Whether it was Minos who presided at this ceremony I could not learn; but it seemed to me that the office required no great sagacity or justice, for the sieve was really the judge, and I greatly admired the equity with which it detained or dismissed the actions submitted to it. I heard it said that this sieve was Minos himself, who had been transformed into that instrument at his death for the duty I am relating.

I saw the trial of a well known orator, who took the sieve with great confidence as a benefactor to his country. His harangues were placed in it, and a few of them passed through, as having enjoined what was useful; but the chief part, notwithstanding their eloquence, could obtain no passage, and some of them, as soon as they were kindled, seemed to give him great torment. I also saw three celebrated poets receive judgment. They were Anacreon, Archilochus, and Sappho. Their poems lay in the heap amongst the other actions of their lives, and were subjected to the consideration of the sieve. Those strains which had caused virtue immediately fell through, and the lays that had encouraged vice were detained to become firebrands. Many were the dissolute odes which Anacreon shook without success, though he tried every part of the sieve, as if he had imagined that some of its holes would be more indulgent than others. His debaucheries, too, were obstructed in the same manner as his poetry; and as he had lived to a great age, and continued his poetry and his enjoyments to the last, he made a large conflagration. Sappho having lived and and written as voluptuously as Anacreon, was as unsuccessful in her agitation of the sieve. Archilochus, also, had many licentious poems to burn him; and many others were stopped in the sieve on account of their malevolent and unjust satire.

I shall not enumerate all the trials that I saw before I came to judgment myself. I was fully satisfied of the justice of all that I had seen, and was therefore in great terror, for I believed many of my actions to be quite disqualified for passing so rigorous a sieve. And so they proved; for though I shook them with great vigour, a considerable heap remained after the deduction of faults equal in number to the good actions. With great reluctance and horror of mind I rolled myself in them as I was commanded, and rose covered with my crimes, which burst into a blaze as soon as the torch was applied. The pain was dreadful, and I wonder that by any means I could have been made to forget it. The conducting fury drove me away to a large plain, where all the criminals were collected. There was here no light except from the flame of our own crimes, and we all wandered about in restless agony. Some rolled upon the ground in hope of extinguishing their fires, but not a crime could be smothered till it had been burned out in the manner ordained. The whole place was filled with screams and lamentations.

After some years of these dreary pains our fires evidently began to abate. At the end of twenty years three of my errors had gone out, and others were burning faintly. When fifty years had passed the flames had disappeared from all of us.

As soon as we were extinguished, several furies appeared with whips, and drove us to a distant part of hell, where we had to make choice of bodies in which to pass another life in the world. But first we underwent a singular examination. The plain where we had been burning was surrounded by a wall, and in leaving it we all passed through a gate, at which sat a minister of the place, whose name I know not. He seized every spectre that passed, and closely examined him; some he dismissed, but upon others he performed a strange operation. For when he had found one that required this remedy, he fixed his nails into the head, and tore him downwards into two parts, as a man may tear a piece of cloth. Every spectre so divided uttered a loud scream as if the separation were very painful. It was remarkable, that each part was still an entire spectre, and appeared as large as when the two were united. The operator then examined the two halves, and sometimes tore them again, each still retaining its size. Thus, in some instances, he made six or seven spectres out of one. The reason of this I afterwards discovered, and must explain to you. When this ceremony is ended, the spectres are turned into an enclosed place, where they find a crowd of bodies, being those which they had inhabited upon earth. Each has liberty to enter either his own body or any other that he can seize, a great strife, therefore, takes place; and in the contest for bodies it frequently happens that two or more souls obtain a lodgement in the same. These souls are compressed together, and pass through life as one person. This, therefore, is the cause why so many contradictory thoughts and inclinations are often found in the same man, for the two or more souls can never be united so as to make a single mind, but each preserves its own nature; and thus they are always contending together, sometimes one gaining the ascendant and sometimes another. When a man dies they go out of him as one spectre, having been pressed into each other by the body, so that they cannot separate themselves by their own efforts. They are then punished together, since their crimes have been committed in concert; but as they leave the place of punishment they are torn asunder as I have related. The executioner who divides them knows by examination whether each spectre consists of one soul or more, and never suffers a double one to pass. I was scrutinised with the rest, and being found single escaped the laceration of which I was much in dread.

I observed that when a soul had been divided, each single part was very different in appearance and character from the compound soul before separation. Thus Sappho, after being examined, was torn into two parts, when one half of her appeared a soul of elevated and solemn genius, the other half had in a previous existence been a woman of lascivious and disorderly life, who having obtained entrance into the body chosen by the woman of genius had filled her disposition and her poetry with vice. As soon as they were separate, the sublime Sappho began with great indignation to reproach her late associate with the disgraceful pleasures in which she had involved her. The other was not at all disconcerted, but received the censure with a laugh.

I heard many other souls, after separation, inveighing against their confederates, and declaring what great things they could have done had they been single. Some of the souls thus reproved denied their guilt, and affirmed that they had first been misled by the accuser, so that there were many disputes amongst the cloven spectres. We were now turned into the place where the bodies we had last lived in awaited us, and amongst these we had each to choose a habitation for another life. The bodies here presented a very singular spectacle, having no minds to animate them, but standing upright without motion, and without thought or life in the countenance. Some strange adventures now ensued amongst the souls, in haste to take possession of the bodies that pleased them. A soul enters the body by opening the mouth and crawling in, being able by a little effort and struggling to compress itself so as to be admitted. On every side, therefore, bodies were seen in the act of swallowing their souls; and it frequently happened, that when a soul had only his legs projecting from the mouth another seized him by the feet, and dragged him back again, having a desire for the same body.

I immediately saw the frame which I had last inhabited, but had no wish to return into it, for it had neither strength nor beauty. Why I had chosen it before I know not, for the draught of the Egyptian had not restored things so remote to my memory. I resolved, therefore, to provide myself with a better figure, and wandered about in search of a body to my taste.

I found that when a spectre had taken possession of a body, he was not immediately united with it so as to form one being, nor could he command it, as we living men rule our bodies; he was at first a separate creature from the body, though not at liberty to leave it when once settled within. The uniting of mind and body takes place afterwards.

Many souls were extremely desirous of being the only occupiers of a body, which gave rise to innumerable contests; for when a spectre of this solitary temper had established himself in a body that he liked, he vigorously defended it against all assailants. In many places a soul was seen on the outside of a body eagerly endeavouring to force open the mouth, which another soul within was striving to keep shut. Sometimes the possessor remonstrated loudly against the invasion, and insisted on his right to live alone. Other souls formed willing confederacies, and chose a body by agreement, in which they might live together. Sometimes he who was conscious of a deficiency in any particular quality associated himself with one who had it in an eminent degree. I saw five or six merry spectres, who purposely formed themselves into a composition of the most incongruous characters, and seemed to be much diverted with the expectation of being a very singular man. I remarked, that the souls which had been united in a former existence always took care not to become confederates again. Any spectre might enter either a male or female body, and several therefore took the opportunity of changing their sex. But in this case the former disposition still continues, which explains the effeminate nature of some men, and the masculine temper of certain women. In some instances a man and a woman settled themselves in the same body, and it is easy to discover the mixed characters which result from such a composition.

I saw a male and a female spectre, who in their last existence had been husband and wife, and still retained their love for each other. Thinking it probable that if they took different bodies they should be separated for ever, they agreed to become associates in the same. They hesitated at first whether to be a man or a woman, but decided in favour of the male sex; and having found an empty body they crawled into it, but a mischievous spectre, observing this union, crept in after them, not being discovered until he was quite established and immovable. When the husband perceived how his privacy was interrupted, he loudly reproached the intruder, who laughed heartily at finding himself so troublesome.

I shall now, Socrates, relate what I saw take place in the composition of you. I observed a thoughtful spectre wandering about, and appearing in no haste to enter a body. Another soul, which was that of a poet, proposed to him that they should become associates, saying, that the reasoning power of one and the poetical fancy of the other could not fail by combination to produce a splendid genius. The other spectre declined this offer, saying, that he was conscious of a superior intellect, which in his last existence had been rendered quite useless by a bad confederate, and he was therefore determined to be alone. He added, that he cared not what kind of body he should live in, provided he was the sole master of it. This was overheard by another spectre, who in his former life had been a public buffoon, and supported himself by wandering through Greece, telling fables to the crowd, and exhibiting the accomplishments of a monkey. He had been renowned for his satirical humour, and his success in putting some of his hearers out of countenance. This buffoon hearing the words of the philosophical spectre, said to him, "If you wish to have no companion, I advise you to enter the body now before you, for you cannot possibly have any competitors for such a dwelling." The body he recommended was that, Socrates, which you now walk about in; and as I have often heard you ridicule the shape of it, I need not fear to offend you by telling how it came to be your covering. The solemn spectre having considered this body, said, "I really think your advice is good, for I certainly shall not be disturbed by invaders as long as there is another body to be found; besides which, a philosopher has many advantages in being ugly." After a little consideration he opened the mouth, and crawled in, when the buffoon, not able to refuse the opportunity of a jest, crept after him, and had irrevocably entered the body before the philosopher perceived his unwelcome colleague. He then inveighed bitterly against the intruder, and lamented that a second time his intellect would be useless from the levity associated with it. The buffoon contradicted this, and affirmed that his vivacity would much assist the philosopher in his design of instructing the world. Thus, Socrates, were you compounded; and since to the buffoon we owe the satire and irony by which we grow wiser, I think we may rejoice that the philosophical half of you was so cheated.

After this I saw a very beautiful male form disputed by a crowd of spectres. The body was that of Alcibiades, and when I tell him how many opposite characters were finally lodged in it, he will cease to wonder at the variety of inclinations, which he finds within himself. It had first been taken possession of by the spectre of a philosopher, who thought that so noble a figure would give eloquence to his doctrines; and when I first saw it, this philosopher within was guarding the mouth against a multitude of assailants, all eager to inhabit the most beautiful of bodies. I heard him arguing against the justice of the attack, in a smothered voice from within the body, and endeavouring to prove his own sole title. But in spite of his reasoning, the mouth was forced open, and a whole crowd rushed in. The first to enter was the spectre of a debauched reveller, who was followed by an orator, a musician, a pirate, a soldier, a poet, and two courtesans, besides some other spectres, of whose genius and vocation I was ignorant. More wished to enter; but those within, thinking they had a sufficient diversity of character for one man, combined together to close the mouth against all future assailants. Since, therefore, Alcibiades, you find that in your person so many people must agree to act together, you cannot wonder that there is a frequent conflict, and that the philosopher has some difficulty in ruling his associates.