Phaed. Often, Echecrates, as I have admired Socrates, I never
admired him more than at that moment. That he should be able to answer
was nothing, but what astonished me was, first, the gentle and
pleasant and approving manner in which he regarded the words of the
young men, and then his quick sense of the wound which had been
inflicted by the argument, and his ready application of the healing
art. He might be compared to a general rallying his defeated and
broken army, urging them to follow him and return to the field of
argument.
Ech. How was that?
Phaed. You shall hear, for I was close to him on his right hand,
seated on a sort of stool, and he on a couch which was a good deal
higher. Now he had a way of playing with my hair, and then he smoothed
my head, and pressed the hair upon my neck, and said: To-morrow,
Phaedo, I suppose that these fair locks of yours will be severed.
Yes, Socrates, I suppose that they will, I replied.
Not so if you will take my advice.
What shall I do with them? I said.
To-day, he replied, and not to-morrow, if this argument dies and
cannot be brought to life again by us, you and I will both shave our
locks; and if I were you, and could not maintain my ground against
Simmias and Cebes, I would myself take an oath, like the Argives,
not to wear hair any more until I had renewed the conflict and
defeated them.
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