I just finished reading The Phaedo written by Plato.  The Phaedo, is a story that receives its title from the name of a friend of Socrates who is observer and auditor of the last hours of Socrates’ life.  The last hours are spent in philosophical exchange with a circle of friends.  Plato, a playwright by profession, was a student of Socrates.  According to the written account, Plato was captivated by Socrates informal approach to philosophy, the practice of face to face exchange, public argument in the market place of Athens.  Plato withdrew from writing scripts for theatrical performance and became a follower of Socrates, and later founded The Academy.

Centuries have passed and no one can dispute Plato’s influence upon the West, upon the culture within which we now live.

The skill of Plato as playwright comes to the fore in this tale of Socrates engaging a philosophical defense of life-after-life, deftly responding to the objections and doubts advanced those present.  The scene is laden with high stakes.   Hours pass, at dusk Socrates must drink the deadly hemlock, in accordance with the sentence passed by the Athenian court.  The drama could not be more intense, especially the final death-scene of the last few paragraphs.

Why this close reading of The Phaedo, taking notes in the margins?  I “know” in a manner not possible in my younger years, there is a final scene that inevitably comes to everyone.  I also recognize the stories that capture our imagination, shared by our closest friends, family too, are perhaps what matter most, as vectors to a life well lived, and brought to satisfactory completion.  By any standard, Socrates dies “a good death.”  That is enough.  Plato suggests a prototype of a self-possessed departure.

The rest?  Arguments as to the immortality of the soul, a detailed metaphysical description of reality entailing this life as well as the soul’s peregrination in the after life… Twenty four centuries have passed.  If they are unpersuasive,  irrelevant, – the arguments are wide of the point.

A dread aspect of dying is the accrued grief felt by friends who feel the severed link of relationship with the one who must depart. Plato through the mouth of Socrates speaks to the matter, — Crito asks Socrates about his wishes as to his burial.  Socrates answers, “any way you like, but you must get hold of me, and take care that I do not run away from you.”

Or as we would put it, “catch me if you can!”

Is there an “art of dying?”

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Here is another good story.  This is a contemporary story, rising from the 21st century, from our time and place.  The tune by The Killers, features lyric lines of upbringing in an ordinary small town America.  Plato would have affirmed the pathos of this story.  Plato would have approved the love, the solicitude of the last verse or two of this story.

Quiet Town by The Killers released on 13 August 2021 .

Quiet Town

By The Killers

A couple of kids got hit by a Union Pacific train
Carrying sheet metal and household appliances through the pouring rain
They were planning on getting married after graduation
Had a little baby girl, trouble came and shut it down
Things like that ain’t supposed to happen

In this quiet town, families are tight
Good people, they still don’t deadbolt their doors at night
In this quiet town

When we first heard opioid stories, they were always in whispering tones
Now banners of sorrow mark the front steps of childhood homes
Parents wept through daddy’s girl eulogies
And merit badge milestones with their daughters and sons
Laying there lifeless in their suits and gowns
Somebody’s been keepin’ secrets

In this quiet town, they know how to live
Good people who lean on Jesus, they’re quick to forgive
In this quiet town

Now whenever I’m near the town I’ll find some reason to give
And I will walk with the dead and the living where I used to live
And every time I see my parents in the prime of their lives
Offering their son the kind of love he could never put down
Well, part of me is still that stainless kid, lucky

In this quiet town, salt of the land
Hard-working people, if you’re in trouble, they’ll lend you a hand
Here in this quiet town

The first crop of hay is up
School let out and the sun beats down
Smoke billows from a Sunday train
That cries away from a quiet town

Writers: Brandon Flowers, Jonathan Rado