Socrates - Glaucon (continued)

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But we hivnae brocht up the worst pairt o' oor accusation yet: the pouer that poetry haes o' harmin' even the guid fowk (an' there's no that many that arenae harmed), that maun surely be an awfu' thing?

Aye, certainly, if the effect is whit ye say.

Listen an' judge: The best o' us, as I see it, whan we listen tae a passage o' Homer, or yin o' the tragedy writers, wha represents some sorry hero wha's draggin' oot his sorrows in a lang speech, or greetin', an' thumpin' his chest - the best o' us, ye ken, enjoy giein' wey tae sympathy, an' are in raptures at the excellence o' the poet wha stirs oor feelins maist.

Aye, o course I ken.

But whan ony sorrow o' oor ain happens tae us, then ye can see that we pride oorsels on the opposite quality - we wid fain be quiet an' patient; this is the manly part, an' the ither that pleased us in the recitation is noo considered tae be the pairt o' a wumman.

Very true, he said.

Noo can we be richt in praisin' an' admirin' anither fellae wha's doin' that which ony yin o' us wid despise an' be ashamed o' in oor ain body?

Na, he said, that's certainly no reasonable.

Nae, I said, it's actually quite reasonable frae yin point o' view.

Whit point o' view?

If ye consider, I said, that whan we're in misfortune we feel a natural hunger an' desire tae relieve oor sorrow bi greetin' an' lamentin', an' that this feelin' that's kept unner control in oor ain troubles is satisfied an' delighted bi the poets; - the better nature in each o' us, no haein' been trained enough bi reason or habit, alloues the sympathetic element tae break loose because the sorrow is somebody else's; an' the spectator thinks that there can be nae disgrace tae himsel in praisin' an' pityin' onybody wha comes tellin' him whit a guid man he is, an' makin' a fuss aboot his troubles; he thinks that the pleasure is a gain, an' why should he be snooty an' lose this an' the poem an aa? Few fowk ever reflect, as I imagine, that frae the evil o' ither fowk something o' evil is passed on tae themsels. An' sae the feelin' o' sorrow that has gotten stronger at the sicht o' the misfortunes o' ithers is hard tae haud back whan it comes tae oor ain.

How very true!

An' disnae the same thing haud true an aa for the ridiculous? There's jokes that ye wid be ashamed tae mak yersel, an' yet on the comic stage, or even in private, whan ye hear them, ye are greatly entertained bi them, an' arenae disgusted ava at their inappropriateness; - the same thing as wi' pity happens; - there's a principle in human nature that wants tae gie a laugh, an' this that ye ance restrained bi reason, because ye were feart o' bein' thocht a buffoon, is noo let oot again; an' havin' stimulated the lauchin' faculty at the theatre, ye are betrayed withoot realizin' it intae playin' the comic poet at hame.

Aye, very true, he said.

The same can be said for lust an' anger an' aw the ither emotions, o' desire an' pain an' pleasure, that are haudit tae be inseparable frae every action - in aw o' them poetry feeds an' waters the passions instead o' dryin' them up; she lets them rule, though they should be controlled, if mankind are ever tae grow in happiness an' virtue.

I cannae deny it.

Therefore, Glaucon, I said, whenever ye meet ony o' the fowk wha praise Homer tae the skies, sayin' he's been the teacher o' Greece, an' that he's beneficial for learnin' an' for orderin' human affairs, an' that ye should tak him up again an' again an' get tae ken him an' sort oot yer whole life accordin' tae him, we micht luve an' honour those wha say thir things - they're excellent fowk, as far as they ken; an' we are willin' tae acknowledge that Homer is the greatest o' poets an' the first o' tragedy writers; but we maun bide firm in oor belief that hymns tae the gods an' praises o' famous fowk are the only poetry that should be allooed intae oor State. For if ye gang past this an' let the honeyed muse enter, either in epic or lyric verse, no law an' the reason o' mankind, that by common consent hae ever been deemed best, but pleasure an' pain will be the rulers in oor State.

That's maist true, he said.

An' noo since we've come back roon tae the subject o' poetry, let this defence o' ours serve tae show the reasonableness o' oor previous judgement in sendin' awa' oot o' oor State an airt haein' the tendencies that we've described; for reason forced us tae. But that it mightnae blame us for ony harshness or want o' politeness, let us tell it that there's an auncient quarrel atween philosophy an' poetry; o' whilk there's mony pruifs, sic as the sayin' o' "the yelpin' hound howlin' at her lord," or o' yin "muckle in the vain talk o' fools," an' "the mob o' sages cheatin' Zeus," an' the "cunning thinkers wha are beggars efter aw"; an' there's countless ither signs o' auncient enmity atween them. But whit wey o' that, let us assure oor sweet friend an' the sister airts o' imitation that if she'll only prove her richt tae exist in a weel-ordered State we'll be delighted tae receive her - we are verra conscious o' her charms; but we may nae dae that at the cost o' betrayin' the truth. I wid say, Glaucon, that ye are as much charmed bi her as I am, especially whan she appears in Homer?

Aye, indeed, I am greatly charmed.

Shoud I propose, then, that she be allowed tae return frae exile, but upon this condition only - that she mak a defence o' hersel in lyrical or some ither metre?

Certainly.

An' we may further grant tae those o' her defenders wha are lovers o' poetry an' yet no poets the permission tae speak in prose on her behalf: let them show no only that she is pleasant but also useful tae States an' tae human life, an' we will listen in a kindly spirit; for if this can be proven we shall surely be the gainers - I mean, if there's a use in poetry as well as a delight?

Certainly, he said, we shall be the gainers.

Aye, if her defence fails, then, my dear friend, like ither fowk wha are enamoured o' something, but pit a restriction on themsels whan they think their desires are opposed tae their ain guid, sae an aa maun we in the same wey as lovers gie her up, though no without a fecht. We too are inspired bi that luve o' poetry that the teachin' o' noble states has plantit in us, an' therefore we wid like her tae appear at her best an' truest; but as lang as she cannae defend hersel, this argument o' ours will be a charm tae us, that we will repeat tae oorsels while we listen tae her sangs; sae that we michtnae fa intae the bairnly luve o' her that tricks the mony. In any case we are weel aware that poetry bein' as we've described it disnae deserve tae be considered seriously as reachin' the truth; an' he who listens tae her, feart for the safety o' the city that is within him, should be on his guard against her temptations an' mak oor words his law.

Aye, he said, I fair agree wi' ye.

Aye, I said, my dear Glaucon, for great is the thing at stake, greater than it appears, whether a man is tae be guid or bad. An' what will onybody hae gained if unner the influence o' honour or siller or pouer, aye, or unner the excitement o' poetry, he neglects jestice an' virtue?

Aye, he said; I hae been convinced bi the argument, as I believe that onybody else wid hae been.

An' yet nae mention has been made o' the biggest prizes an' rewards that await virtue.

Whit, are there ony greater still? If there are, they maun be o' an unimaginably great importance.

Weel, I said, whit wis ever great in a short time? The hale period o' threescore years an' ten is surely but a wee thing compared tae eternity?

Say mair like 'naething,' he replied.

An' should an immortal bein' seriously think o' this wee space rather than o' the hale?

O' the hale, certainly. But why dae ye ask?

Are ye no aware, I said, that the soul o' man is immortal an' imperishable?

He lookit at me in astonishment, an' said: Na, bi heaven! An' are ye really prepared tae maintain this?

Aye, I said, I sud be, an' you too - there's nae difficulty in provin' it.

I see a great difficulty; but I wid like tae hear ye state this argument o' whilk ye mak so licht o'.

Listen then.

I am listenin'.

There's a thing that ye call guid an' anither that ye call evil?

Aye, he replied.

Wid ye agree wi' me that the corruptin' an' destroyin' element is the evil, an' the savin' an' improvin' element is the guid?

Aye.

An' ye admit that everythin' has a guid an' aa an evil; like how blindness is the evil o' the een an' sickness o' the hale body; as mildew is tae corn, an' rot is tae timber, or rust tae copper an' iron: in everythin', or maist everythin', there's an inbuilt evil an' sickness?

Aye, he said.

An' onything that is infected by ony o' thir evils is made evil, an' at last completely dissolves an' dies?

True.

The vice an' evil that is inbuilt in each thing is the destruction o' each thing; an' if this disnae destroy them there's naething else that will; for guid certainly winna destroy them, nor again, that which is neither guid nor evil.

Certainly not.

If, then, we find ony nature that havin' this inbuilt corruption canna be dissolved or destroyed, we can be sure that o' sic a nature there's nae destruction?

That can be assumed.

Weel, I said, an' is there nae evil that corrupts the soul?

Aye, he said, there's aw the evils that we were juist noo gaun ower: injustice, intemperance, cowardice, ignorance.

But dis ony o' thir dissolve or destroy her? - an' here dinna let's fa intae the error o' thinkin' that the unjust an' fule man, whan he's caught oot, perishes throu' his ain injustice, that being an evil o' the soul. Tak the analogy o' the body: The evil o' the body is a disease that wastes an' reduces an' annihilates the body; an' aw the things o' whilk we were juist noo speakin' come tae annihilation throu' their ain corruption stickin' tae them an' bein' in them an' sae destroyin' them. Isna this true?

Aye.

Consider the soul in the same wey. Dis the injustice or ither evil that exists in the soul waste an' consume her? Dis it, bi stickin' tae the soul an' bein' in her, at last bring her tae death, an' sae separate her frae the body?

Certainly not.

An' yet, I said, it's unreasonable tae suppose that onything can perish frae withoot throu' some external evil affectin' it that couldnae be destroyed frae within bi a corruption o' its ain?

It is, he replied.

Consider, I said, Glaucon, that even the badness o' food, whether it's gaun stale, rotten, or ony ither bad quality, whan it's confined tae the actual food itsel, isnae supposed tae destroy the body; although, if the badness o' food communicates corruption tae the body, then we should say that the body has been destroyed bi a corruption o' itsel, that being a sickness brocht on bi this; but that the body, bein' yin thing, can be destroyed bi the badness o' food, which is anither, an' that disnae cause ony natural infection -- this we should absolutely deny?

Very true.

An' on the same principle, unless some bodily evil can produce an evil o' the soul, we maunna suppose that the soul, that is yin thing, can be dissolved by ony juist external evil that belongs tae something else?

Aye, he said, there's sense in that.

Aithir then, let's disprove this conclusion, or, while it bide un-disproven, let's never say that fevir, or ony ither disease, or a knife held tae the throat, or even the choppin' up o' the hail body intae the tiniest wee bits, can destroy the soul, until it's proven that she hersel becomes mair unholy or unrighteous as a result o' thir things bein' done tae the body; but that the soul, or onything else if no destroyed bi an internal evil, can be destroyed bi an external yin, isnae something that onybody should claim.

An' surely, he replied, nae yin will ever prove that the souls o' fowk become mair unjust as a consequence o' death.

But if some yin wha wid rather no admit the immortality o' the soul boldly denies this, an' says that the dyin' dae really become mair evil an' unrighteous, then, if the speaker is richt, I suppose that injustice, like disease, maun be assumed tae be fatal tae the unjust, an' that those wha tak this disorder dee bi the natural inbuilt pouer o' destruction that evil has, an' that kills them sooner or later, but in a completely different wey frae that in whilk, the noo, the wicked receive death at the hands o' ithers as the punishment for their deeds?

Naw, he said, in that case injustice, if fatal tae the unjust, will no be that terrible tae him, for he will be delivered frae evil. But I raither suspect the opposite tae be the truth, an' that injustice, which, if it has the pouer, will murder ithers, keeps the murderer alive - aye, an' wide awake an aw; sae far awa' is her dwellin'-place frae bein' a hoose o' death.

True, I said; if the inbuilt natural vice or evil o' the soul is unable tae kill or destroy her, hardly will that which is set tae be the destruction o' some ither body, destroy a soul or onything else except that o' which it wis set tae be the destruction.

Aye, that can hardly be.

But the soul that cannae be destroyed by an evil, whether inbuilt or external, maun exist for ever, an' if existin' for ever, maun be immortal?

Certainly.

That's the conclusion, I said; an' if a true conclusion, then the souls maun always be the same, for if nane be destroyed they winna decrease in nummer. Nae mair will they increase, for the increase o' the immortal natures maun come frae something mortal, an' aw things wid thus end in immortality.

Very true.

But we cannae believe this - reason winna alloo it - any mair nor can we believe the soul, in her truest nature, tae be fu' o' variety an' difference an' dissimilarities.

What dae ye mean? he said.

The soul, I said, bein', as is noo proven, immortal, maun be the fairest o' creations an' cannae be put thegither oot o' mony elements?

Certainly not.

Her immortality is demonstrated by the previous argument, an' there's mony ither pruifs; but tae see her as she really is, no as we noo behold her, marred by bein' in the body an' ither miseries, ye maun contemplate her wi' the ee o' reason, in her original purity; an' then her beauty will be revealed, an' jestice an' injustice an' aw the things that we've described will be shown mair clearly. Sae far, we've spoken the truth regardin' her as she appears the noo, but we maun mind aa that we've only seen her in a condition that can be compared tae that o' the sea-god Glaucus, wha's original image can hardly be discerned because his natural limbs are broken aff an' crushed an' damaged by the waves in aa sorts o' ways, an' incrustations hae grown ower them o' seaweed an' shells an' stanes, sae that he's mair like some monster than he is tae his ain natural form. An' the soul that we behold is in a similar condition, disfigured by ten thoosand ills. But no there, Glaucon, no there maun we look.

Where then?

At her love o' wisdom. Let's see wha she affects, an' what company an' conversation she seeks inivin o' her near kinship wi' the immortal an' eternal an' divine; an' aa how different she wid become if completely follooin' this superior principle, an' borne bi a divine push oot o' the ocean in whilk she noo is, an' freed o' the stanes an' shells an' things o' earth an' rock that in wild variety spring up aroon her because she feeds upon earth, an' is overgrown bi the guid things o' this life as they're named: then ye wid see her as she is, an' ken whether she has only yin shape or mony, or what her nature is. O' her affections an' o' the forms that she taks in this present life I think that we've noo said enough.

True, he replied.

An' thus, I said, we've fulfilled the conditions o' the argument; we've no introduced the rewards an' glories o' jestice, that, as ye were sayin', are tae be foond in Homer an' Hesiod; but jestice in her ain nature has been shown tae be best for the soul in her ain nature. Let a man dae what is just, whether he has the ring o' Gyges or no, an' even if on top o' the ring o' Gyges he pit on the helmet o' Hades.

Very true.

An' noo, Glaucon, there'll be nae harm in further enumeratin' hoo mony an' hoo great are the rewards that jestice an' the ither virtues gie tae the soul frae gods an' men, baith in life an' efter death.

Certainly not, he said.

Will ye pay me back then, what ye borrowed in the argument?

Whit did I borrow?

The assumption that the just man should appear unjust an' the unjust just: for ye were o' the opinion that even if the true state o' the case couldnae possibly escape the een o' gods an' men, still this admission should be made for the sake o' the argument, in order that pure jestice micht be weighed against pure injustice. Dae ye mind?

I wid be much tae blame if I had forgotten.

Then, as the cause is decided, I demand on behalf o' jestice that the regard in whilk she is held by gods an' men an' that we acknowledge tae be her due should noo be restored tae her bi us; since she has been shown tae confer reality, an' no tae deceive those wha truly possess her, lat what has been takin' awa frae her be gien back, that sae she may win that palm o' appearance that is hers an aa, an' that she gies tae her ain folk.

The demand, he said, is fair.

In the first place, I said - an' this is the first thing that ye'll huv tae gie back - the nature o' baith the just an' unjust man is truly kent tae the gods.

Granted.

An' if they are baith kent tae them, then ane maun be the friend an' the ither the enemy o' the gods, as we acceptit frae the beginnin'?

True.

An' the friend o' the gods can be supposed tae receive frae them aw things at their best, exceptin' only sic evil as is the necessary consequence o' former sins?

Certainly.

Then this maun be oor notion o' the just man, that even when he is in poverty or sickness, or ony ither seemin' misfortune, aw things will in the end work thegither for guid tae him in life an' death: for the gods hae a care o' onybody wha's desire is tae become just an' tae be like God, as far as man can attain the divine likeness, bi the pursuit o' virtue?

Aye, he said; if he is like God he will surely not be neglected bi him.

An' o' the unjust may not the opposite be supposed?

Certainly.

Sic, then, are the palms o' victory that the gods gie the just?

That's my conviction.

An' what dae they receive frae men? Look at things as they really are, an' ye will see that the clever unjust are in the case o' runners, wha rin well frae the startin'-place tae the goal but not back again frae the goal: they go aff at a great pace, but in the end only look foolish, slinkin' awa wi' their lugs draiglin' on their shoulders, an' withoot a crown; but the true runner comes tae the finish an' receives the prize an' is crooned. An' this is the wey wi' the just; he who endures tae the end o' every action an' occasion o' his entire life has a guid report an' carries aff the prize that men hae tae bestow.

True.

An' noo ye maun alloo me tae repeat o' the just the blessins that ye were giein' tae the lucky unjust. I'll say o' them, whit ye were sayin' o' the ithers, that as they grow aulder, they become rulers in their ain city if they want tae be; they marry wha they like an' gie in marriage tae wha they will; aw that ye said o' the ithers I noo say o' thir fowk. An' on the ither haund, o' the unjust I say that the maist o' them, even though they escape in their youth, are foond oot at last an' look fule at the end o' their course, an' whan they come tae be auld an' miserable are lichtit at bi baith stranger an' citizen; they are beat up an' then come thae things unfit for polite ears, as ye truly cried them; they'll be tortured an' hae their een burnt oot, as ye were sayin'. An' ye can assume that I've repeated the rest o' yer tale o' horrors. But will ye lat me assume, withoot recitin' them, that thir things are true?

Certainly, he said, what ye say is true.

Thir, then, are the prizes an' rewards an' gifts that are gien upon the just bi gods an' men in this present life, in addition tae the ither guid things that jestice hersel provides.

Aye, he said; an' they are fair an' lastin'.

An' yet, I said, aw thir are as nothin', either in nummer or greatness compared tae thae ither rewards that await baith just an' unjust efter death. An' ye ocht tae hear them, an' then baith just an' unjust will hae received frae us a full payment o' the debt that the argument owes tae them.

Speak, he said; there are few things that I wid mair gladly hear.

Socrates

Well, I said, I'll tell ye a tale; no ane o' the tales that Odysseus tells tae the hero Alcinous, yet this an aw is a tale o' a hero, Er the son o' Armenius, a Pamphylian bi birth. He wis slain in battle, an' ten days efterhaund, whan the bodies o' the deid were pikked up already gaun rotten, his body wis foond untouched bi decay, an' carried hame tae be buried. An' on the twalt day, as he wis lyin' on the funeral pyre, he came back tae life an' tellt them whit he had seen in the ither world. He said that whan his soul left the body he went on a journey wi' a great company, an' that they came tae a mysterious place at whilk there were twa openins in the earth; they were near thegither, an' opposite them were twa ither openins in the heaven abune. In the space atween there were judges sittin', wha ordered the just, efter they had gien judgement oan them an' had bund their sentences in front o' them, tae gang up bi the heavenly wey on the richt haund; an' in the same wey the unjust were bidden bi them tae gang doun bi the lawer wey on the left haund; thir anes an aw bore the symbols o' their deeds, but fastened on their backs.

He drew near, an' they tellt him that he wis tae be the messenger wha would carry the report o' the ither world tae men, an' they bade him hear an' see aw that wis tae be heard an' seen in that place. Then he beheld an' saw on yin side the souls leavin' at either openin' o' heaven an' earth whan judgement had been gien on them; an' at the twa ither openins ither souls, some comin' up oot o' the earth dusty an' worn wi' travel, some comin' doun oot o' heaven clean an' bricht. An' arrivin' every noo an' then they seemed tae hae come fae a lang journey, an' they gaed oot wi' gladness intae the meadow, whaur they camped as at a festival; an' those wha kent yin anither embraced an' conversed, the souls that came fae earth curiously askin' aboot the things abune, an' the souls that came fae heaven aboot the things beneath. An' they tellt yin anither o' whit had happened bi the wey, those fae below greetin' an' sorrówfu' at the mindin' o' the things that they had endured an' seen in their journey unner the earth (noo the journey lasted a thoosand years), while those fae abune were describin' heavenly delights an' visions o' unimaginable beauty.

The Story, Glaucon, wid tak ower lang tae tell; but the jist wis this: He said that for every wrang that they had done tae onybody they suffered ten times ower; or yince in a hunder year --sic bein' reckoned tae be the length o' a man's life, an' the penalty bein' thus paid ten times in a thoosand years. If, for example, there were ony wha had been the cause o' mony deaths, or had betrayed or enslaved cities or airmies, or been guilty o' ony ither evil behaviour, for each an' aw o' their offences they received punishment ten times ower, an' the rewards o' kindness an' jestice an' holiness were in the same proportion. I need hardly repeat whit he said regardin' young weans dyin' maist as sune as they were born. O' piety an' impiety tae gods an' parents, an' o' murderers, there were retributions ither an' greater far that he described. He mentioned that he wis present whan yin o' the spirits asked anither, 'Whaur is Ardiaeus the Great?' (Now this Ardiaeus lived a thoosand years afore the time o' Er: he had been the tyrant o' some city o' Pamphylia, an' had murdered his auld faither an' his elder brither, an' wis said tae hae committed mony ither awfu' crimes.) The answer o' the ither spirit wis: 'He comes no hither an' will never come. An' this,' said he, 'wis yin o' the dreadful sights that we oorsels witnessed. We were right at the mouth o' the cave, havin' seen an' heard it aw, and jist about to climb back up when whack! Al o' a sudden, Ardiaeus shows up alang wi' a hale wheen ithers, maist o' them bein' tyrants. But there were mair nor just tyrants there; some were regular folk who'd been awful criminals. They a' thocht they were about to be let back up tae the warld o' the livin', but the cave refused them entry. Instead, whenever any o' these incurable sinners or someone who hadn't been punished enough tried to climb oot, the mouth o' the cave would roar. Then, fearsome lookin' men made o' fire wha were standin' nearby and heard the noise would grab them and haul them awa. Ardiaeus and the rest, they got tied up hand and foot, flung down on the ground, lashed wi' whips, dragged alang the road like sheep bein' carded through thorns, aw the while hearin' these fiery fellas shoutin' oot their crimes tae everyone passin' by, sayin' they were bein' taken awa' tae be thrown intae hell. And oot o' aw the frights they had faced, Er said there was nothin' like the terror each o' them felt at that moment, dreading they might hear the roarin' again. But then, silence. And yin by yin, they were allowed back up, filled with incredible joy. These, Er declared, were the punishments and rewards, and there were blessings just as great waitin' for them as well.

Now, whan the spirits that were in the meadow hid for seiven days, on the eicht day they were yokit tae move on wi' their journey. Er said that efter fower days on the road, they cam tae a place whaur they could see a line o' licht fae abune, straucht as a colum, strenchin' richt throu the hale sky an' doun throu the yird. The colour wis like a rainbow, only brichter an' mair pure. Anither day's travel brocht them tae the very spot, an' there, richt in the middle o' the licht, they saw the ends o' the chaines o' the heavens hingin' doun fae abune. Because this licht is the belt that hauds the hale universe thegither, like the beems that haud the bottom o' a muckle warship thegither. Fae thir ends sticks oot the spinnle o' Necessity, that everything in the cosmos spings aboot. The shauch an' heuk o' this spinnle are steel, an' the whorl, the bit that spins, is pairtly steel an' pairtly ither stuff. Now, the whorl itsel looks like the yins we use for spinnin' threed here on yird. The description Er gae wis that there's a muckle housie whorl, kind o' scootit oot, an' inside that fits anither wee yin, an' anither, an' anither, an' fower mair, makin' aicht in total, aw fittin' neatly inside ilk ither. The edges o' the whorls are sichty on the tap side, but on the bottom, they aw jine thegither tae mak yin muckle continuous whorl. A spinnle rins richt throu the middle o' aw eicht o' them. The first an' ootmaist whorl has the widist rim, an' the seiven inner yins are aw narerer, folleyin' a specific order. The saxth is the neist biggest tae the first, then the fowert is neist biggest tae the saxth, then comes the aicht. The seiventh is the fift biggest, the fift is the saxth biggest, the thrid is the seiventh biggest, an' finally, the seicont whorl is the smawest.

Aye, the biggest ane (o' thir fixed starnies) is a braw spanglit sicht, an' the seiventh (the sun, nae less) is the brichtest by far. The aicht (the moon, see?) juist reflects the licht o' the seiventh. The seicont an' the fift (Saturn and Mercury, ken?) are baith a wee bit yellower nor the yins afore them, an' seem like ilk ither in colour. But Venus, the thrid yin, that's the whitest licht ye'll ever see. Mars, the fowerth, is a reidish hue, an' Jupiter, the saxth, is the neist whitest.

Noo, this hale contraption, it a' spins the same wey. But while the hale thing gangs yin wey, the seven wee circles inside it gang chyack-bumf in the ither wey. O' thir wee yinners, the fastet is the aicht; niest come the seventh, saxth, and fift, gaun alang thegither. The fowerth wis seeminly movin' a wee bit thrieger nor the lave, gaun backwards like. The third wis like the fowerth, and the second like the fift.

The hale thing sits on the heuchs o' Necessity, and on the top o' each wee circle is a siren, gaun roon and roon singin' her ain wee tune. The aicht o' them thegither mak a braw harmony. And roon aboot them, at equal spacings, are three mair lasses, each sittin' on her ain throne. Thir are the Fates, Necessity's dochters, aye in white claes wi' chaplets on their heids. Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos, they sing alang wi' the sirens - Lachesis tellin' o' the past, Clotho o' the present, and Atropos o' whit's tae come. Clotho, every noo and then, gies a wee chirt wi' her richt haund tae speed up the ooter circle o' the hale thing, and Atropos chirts the inner anes wi' her left haund, keepin' them richt. Lachesis juist hauds on tae anither, first wi' the yin haund, then wi' the ither.

Aye, when Er and the spirits arrived, their first duty wis tae get themsels tae Lachesis straucht awa. But afore that, there wis a prophet chippin' in, gettin' them a' intae a braw line. Then he gaed ower tae Lachesis' knees and got a hale wheen lots and glimpses o' different lives. Climbin' up onto a heich pulpit, he let oot a speech: "Heare ye, heare ye! The words o' Lachesis, Necessity's dochter! Wee souls, tak a look at this new cycle o' life and death. Ye dinna get yer genius assigned tae ye, this time it's yer choice. Whaever picks the first lot gets first dib, and the life they choose is their fate. Virtue is free as the air, and it's up tae ye tae gie it respect or no. Mair respect ye gie it, the mair ye get back. But the choice is yours - God cannae be blamed for it."

Efter the Interpreter wis done wi' his speech, he fair chucked the lots oot amang them a', nae bother wha got which. They a' picked up the nearest yin, all except Er himsel (they wouldnae let him hae a go), and each o' them, as they grabbed their lot, saw the number they'd got. Then the Interpreter stuck a haill heap o' life choices doon on the ground in front o' them. There were far mair lives than there were souls, and they were a' sorts. Ye could be ony beast ye liked, or a human o' any walk o' life. There were even choices tae be tyrants, some wha lasted their hale reign, and others wha got toppled halfway through and ended up puir, exiled, and beggin'. Famous lives were there too, some famed for their looks and beauty, or their strength and winnin' at games, or maybe even just their birth and fancy bloodline. But there were plenty o' unfamous choices an aw, for folk wi' the opposite qualities.

Aye, and the same goes for the wimmen! They dinnae hae a set wey o' bein', see, acause the soul, whin it picks a new life, it has tae become something different, nae choice. But it can be onything else ye can imagine, a mix o' rich and puir, healthy and sick, or somethin' in-between. And here, Glaucus ma man, is the biggest danger we humans face. That's why we need tae be so careful. We should chuck oot all this other knowledge and jist focus on learnin' one thing, if we can find someone tae teach us the difference between good and bad. That way, we can always pick the better life, no matter what. We need tae think hoo all these things we spoke about, on their own and together, affect whit makes a good life. How beauty affects someone wha's rich or puir, whit the upsides and downsides are o' bein' highborn or nae name, o' bein' a leader or juist yer average Joe, o' bein' strong or weak, clever or dull - it's a' aboot the soul, see, and hoo these things work together. Then ye can look at the soul itself, and seein' a' these qualities, ye can decide which life is better and which is worse. The life that makes yer soul more unjust is the bad yin, and the yin that makes it mair just is the good yin. Forget all the rest. We've seen and we ken this is the best choice, for life and for after death. Ye need tae tak a true and richt belief down wi' ye, so that even in the next world ye dinnae get tempted by riches or other evil tricks. If ye dae, and ye end up a tyrant or somethin', ye'll not only hurt others somethin' awful, but ye'll suffer even worse yersel. So learn how tae pick the middle ground, stay away from the extremes on both sides, as much as ye can, not just in this life but in the next an aw. That's the road tae happiness.

Aye, and here's whit the messenger fae the ither world said the prophet spoke at the time: "Even the last yin tae pick can hae a happy and braw life, if they choose wisely and live a guid life. But let the first yin tae pick no be careless, and let the last yin no despair." Weel, efter he'd said his piece, the first yin tae choose went barging up and picked the biggest, meanest tyranny ye ever did see! His heid wis fuddled wi' daftness and a liking for the pleasures o' the flesh, so he didnae think it through proper afore he made his choice. And he didnae see at first glance that he wis fated tae eat his ain bairns, amang other horrible things. But whan he had time tae think it through, and saw whit wis in his lot, he started wailin' and thumpin' his chest, forgettin' what the prophet had said. Because instead o' blamin' himsel for his bad luck, he ranted aboot fate and the gods, and everything else except himsel. Noo, this wis yin o' those folk who came fae heaven, and in his previous life he'd lived in a well-ordered state, but his goodness wis jist a habit, he didnae hae any real wisdom. And it wis the same wi' a wheen ithers wha made a similar puckle o' themselves. Maist o' them came fae heaven, so they'd never had tae learn things the hard wey. But the pilgrims comin' up fae earth, havin' suffered themsels and seen ithers suffer, were in nae hurry tae pick. And because o' this lack o' experience, and an aw acause the lot wis pure chance, a lot o' souls swapped a good fate for a bad yin, or a bad yin for a good yin. See, if a body, richt fae the start o' their time in this world, aye stuck tae proper wisdom, and had a wee bit o' luck wi' the nummer they picked, then they could hae a happy life here, as the messenger said. And their journey tae the next world and back again would be smooth and like bein' in heaven, instead o' rough and underground.

Aye, the maist interestin' sight wis a curious mix o' sad, funny, and downright strange. Maist o' the souls chose their new lives based on what happened tae them in their last yin. He saw the soul that used to be Orpheus choosin' the life o' a swan. Seems he wisnae ower fond o' lassies efter they murdered him in a past life! Thamyras' soul wis another yin keen on bein' a bird, a nightingale this time. On the flip side, some birds, like swans and other musical types, wanted to be human.

The soul wi' the twentieth pick went for a lion's life. Turns out it wis Ajax, Telamon's son. He widnae be a man again, mindin' hoo unfair they were aboot the whole weapons thing. Agamemnon wis next, choosin' tae be an eagle. Just like Ajax, he wisnae a fan o' bein' human after all the grief he'd had. Atalanta's pick wis somewhere in the middle. Seein' the fame a braw athlete gets wis too much for her tae resist. Efter her wis Epeus, Panopeus' son, choosin' tae be a crafty woman. And richt near the end, far back in the queue, wis the soul o' the jester Thersites, turnin' himsel into a monkey.

Odysseus' soul wis still waitin' tae pick, his lot bein' the very last. Remembrin' how things went before put him right off wantin' any grand, fancy life. He spent a good while lookin' for the life o' a regular bloke with no bother. It wis kinda tricky tae find, seein' as no one else seemed to fancy it! But when he spotted it, he wis chuffed tae bits and said he'd have picked it first if he could have. He wisnae the only one swappin' between human and animal. There were tame and wild beasts changin' into each other, and even into humans that matched their temperament - good creatures turnin' into gentle folk and nasty ones turnin' into savages. It was a right mix o' everythin'!

Aye, all the souls had picked their lives, and then they gaed in the order they chose tae see Lachesis. She gied each o' them the spirit they'd picked, tae be their guardian and see their life through. This spirit first took them tae Clotho and spun them roon' on the spindle she powered, makin' their fate official. Then, once they were stuck tae it, they were carted off tae Atropos, wha spun the threads and made them final. There wis nae turnin' back efter that. They passed unner the throne o' Necessity, and when they were a' through, they trekked on through scorchin' heat tae the Plain o' Forgetfulness. It wis a barren wasteland, nae trees or greenery in sight. Come evenin', they camped by the River o' Unmindfulness, filled wi' water that nae cup could hold. They a' had tae drink some o' it, and the ones wha wisnae sharp enough drank mair than they needed. Each sip made them forget more and more. Then, efter they settled down for the night, there wis a right racket in the middle o' the night - thunder, earthquakes, the hale shebang. And then, in a blink o' an eye, they were a' shot up like stars, flyin' every which way back tae where they were born.

Himself, he wisnae allowed tae drink the water. But how exactly he got back tae his body, he couldnae mind. He just woke up in the mornin', lyin' on the funeral pyre!

And so, Glaucon, the story has been saved and willnae be forgotten. It'll save us an aw if we just listen tae the words spoken. We'll cross the River o' Forgetfulness safely, and our souls will stay pure. That's why I say we should always stick on the right path, followin' justice and bein' good folk. Remember, the soul never dies and can handle anythin', good or bad. If we do that, we'll live a life that pleases both each other and the gods, here in this life and even after. It'll be like winnin' a competition and gettin' showered wi' prizes! We'll be alright, both here and on that thousand-year journey we've been talkin' about.

THE END

Published as an e-book by Off-Topic Scotland, March 2024.

Visit our website at www.offtopicscotland.com

To contact us:  offtopicscotland@protonmail.com

Editors/Illustrators: Les Bertrand, Frances Watt, Jo Teque, Rab Clark

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