lectures, but in free conversations, rendered interesting by question
and answer. He did not reason _before_, but _with_ his disciples, and
thus exercised an irresistible power over their minds. He obliged
them to think for themselves, and if there was any capacity in a man,
it could not fail to be excited by his conversation. This method of
question and answer is called the _Socratic method_. The fragments of
his conversations, preserved by Xenophon, often leave us unsatisfied;
Plato alone has transmitted to us the genuine spirit of this method;
and he was therefore viewed by the ancients as the only fountain of the
Socratic philosophy,—a fact which has been too much disregarded by
modern writers.
Socrates fell a victim to the spirit of bigotry, which has sacrificed
so many persons, who were in advance of the age. The document
containing the accusation against him was lodged in the Temple of
Cybele, as late as the second century of the Christian era. The
following is a translation:—“Melitus, son of Melitus, accuses
Socrates, son of Sophroniscus, of being guilty of denying the existence
of the gods of the republic, making innovations in the religion of the
Greeks, and of corrupting the Athenian youth. Penalty,—death.”
Melitus, who was a tragic writer of a low order, was engaged as an
accuser in this affair, by the wealthy and more powerful enemies of
Socrates. Amongst them were Anytus and Lycon, the former a rich artisan
and zealous democrat, who had rendered very important services to
the republic, by aiding Thrasybulus in the expulsion of the thirty
tyrants, and in establishing the liberty of his country. The latter was
an orator, and therefore a political magistrate, to which office the
Athenian orators were entitled, by virtue of the laws of Solon.
Socrates was seventy years of age when summoned to appear at the
Areopagus. The news of this event did not excite much surprise, as the
people had long expected it. Aristophanes, the celebrated comic poet of
Athens, had previously undertaken, at the instigation of Melitus, to
ridicule the venerable character of the philosopher; and when once he
was calumniated and defamed, the fickle populace ceased to revere the
man whom they had before looked upon as a being of a superior order.
The enemies of Socrates were of two classes,—the one consisted of
citizens who could not help admiring his genius and virtue, but who
regarded him as a dangerous innovator and subverter of public order.
They were ready, with him, to acknowledge that some reformation might
be made in the tenets of Paganism; that the gods and goddesses were
not patterns of virtue; and that the conduct of the sovereign of the
skies, himself, was far from exemplary; but, said they, the thunders
of Jupiter exercise a salutary influence over the minds of some, and
the pains of Tartarus still operate as a bridle upon the passions of
others. To bring in question the ancient faith, was at once to attack
the institutions of the republic at their base, and excite revolution.
The philosophy of Socrates, even though true, must be suppressed; for
the life of one man is not to be put in the balance with the repose
of a whole people,—with the safety of the country. It is better that
Socrates should die, than Athens perish. Such was the reasoning of one
portion.
The other class was composed of the superstitious and bigoted,—of
the vicious and imbecile,—who were daily exposed to the censures
and sarcasms of the philosopher; in fine, of that set of narrow,
jealous-minded men, who looked upon the welfare and fame of their
neighbors with envy and with malice. The race that had exiled
Aristides, because he was great, was ready to condemn Socrates, because
he was wise. The friends and disciples of the great philosopher saw
the danger that menaced him, and with anxiety and fear they crowded
around their master, supplicating him to fly, or to adopt some means of
defence; but he would do neither. Lysias, one of the most celebrated
orators of the day, composed a pathetic oration, which he wished his
friend to pronounce, as his defence, in the presence of his judges.
Socrates read it, praised its animated and eloquent style, but rejected
it, as being neither manly nor expressive of fortitude. The anxiety
and trouble of avoiding condemnation appeared to him of little moment,
when compared to the performance of his duty in upholding to the last
moment, the truth of his principles and the dignity of his character.
Socrates, though both eloquent and persuasive in conversation, was not
capable of addressing a large assembly; therefore, on the day of his
trial, he asked permission of his judges to use the means of defence to
which he had been accustomed; namely, to speak familiarly with, and ask
questions of, his adversaries.
“Athenians,” he said, in commencing, “I hope I shall succeed in my
defence, if, by succeeding, good may result from it; but I look upon my
success as very doubtful, and, therefore, do not deceive myself in that
respect. But let the will of the gods be obeyed.”
The two chief accusations against Socrates, were firstly, that he
did not believe in the religion of the state; secondly, that he was
guilty of corrupting the minds of young men, and of disseminating the
disbelief of the established religion.
Socrates did not reply, in a direct manner, to either of these charges.
Instead of declaring that he believed in the religion of his country,
he proved that he was not an atheist; instead of refuting the charge of
instructing youth to doubt the sacred tenets of the law, he declared
and demonstrated that it was morality which he taught; and instead of
appealing to the compassion of his judges, he did not disguise the
contempt in which he held the means practised by parties accused, who,
in order to excite sympathy and compassion, brought their children and
relations to supplicate, with tears in their eyes, the mercy of the
judges. “I, also, have friends and relations!” he said, “and, as to
children, I have three,—one a stripling, the other two in childhood;
yet I will not allow them to come here to excite your sympathy.
Why will I not do so? It is not caused by stubbornness, nor by any
disdain I have for you. For my honor, for your honor, for that of the
republic, it is not meet that, with the reputation, whether true or
false that I have acquired, I should make use of such means to procure
your acquittal. Indeed, I should be ashamed if those that distinguish
themselves for wisdom, courage, or any other virtue, should, like many
people that I have seen, although they have passed for great men,
commit actions the most grovelling—as if death were the greatest
misfortune that could befall them, and that,—if their lives were
spared,—they would become immortal!”
When Socrates had ceased speaking, the judges of the Areopagus found
him guilty, by a majority of three. On being demanded, according to
the spirit of the Athenian laws, to pass sentence on himself, and
to mention the death he preferred, Socrates, conscious of his own
innocence, replied,—“Far from deeming myself guilty, I believe that
I have rendered my country important services, and, therefore, think
that I ought to be maintained in the Prytaneum at the public expense,
during the remainder of my life,—an honor, O Athenians, that I merit
more than the victors of the Olympic games. They make you happy in
appearance; I have made you so in reality.”
This reply in the highest degree exasperated his judges, who condemned
him to die by poison. When the sentence was passed, Socrates remained,
for a few minutes, calm and undisturbed, and then asked permission to
speak a few words.
“Athenians,” he said, “your want of patience will be used as a pretext
by those who desire to defame the republic. They will tell you that
you have put to death the wise Socrates; yes, they will call me wise,
to add, to your shame—though I am not so. If you had but waited a
short time, death would have come of itself, and thus saved you from
disgracing yourselves. You see I am already advanced in years and must
shortly die. All know that in times of war, nothing is more easy than
saving our lives by throwing down our weapons, and demanding quarter of
the enemy. It is the same in all dangers; a thousand pretexts can be
found by those who are not scrupulous about what they say and do. It is
difficult, O Athenians, to avoid death; but it is much more so to avoid
crime, which is swifter than death. It is for this reason that, old and
feeble as I am, I await the latter, whilst my accusers, who are more
vigorous and volatile, embrace the former. I am now about to suffer the
punishment to which you have sentenced me; my accusers, the odium and
infamy to which virtue condemns them.”
“What is going to happen to me,” he added, “will be rather an advantage
than an evil; for it is apparent, that to die at present, and to be
delivered of the cares of this life, is what will best suit me. I have
no resentment towards my accusers, neither have I any ill-will against
those who condemn me, although their intention was to injure me, to do
all in their power to do me harm. I will make but one request; when
my children are grown up, if they are seen to covet riches, or prefer
wealth to virtue, punish and torment them as I have tormented you; and
if they look upon themselves as beings of importance, make them blush
for their presumption. This is what I have done to you. If you do that,
you will secure the gratitude of a father, and my children will ever
praise you. But it is time that we should separate; I go to die, and
you to live. Which of us has the best portion? No one knows except God.”
When he had finished, he was taken to prison and loaded with chains.
His execution was to have taken place in twenty-four hours, but it
was postponed for thirty days, on account of the celebration of the
Delian festivals. Socrates, with his usual cheerfulness and serenity,
passed this time in conversing with his friends upon some of the most
important subjects that could engage the mind of man. Plato relates,
in the dialogue entitled The Phedon, the conversation which took place
on the day preceding his death. That dialogue, without exception, is
the most beautiful that the Greeks have left us. We can give only those
passages which are more immediately connected with his death.
“After the condemnation of Socrates,” says Phedon, “we did not allow a
day to escape without seeing him, and on the day previous to his death,
we assembled earlier than usual. When we arrived at the prison door,
the jailor told us to wait a little, as the Eleven were then giving
orders for the death of Socrates.”
Speaking of the fear of death, Socrates said, “Assuredly, my dear
friends, if I did not think I was going to find, in the other world,
gods good and wise, and even infinitely better than we are, it would be
wrong in me not to be troubled at death; but you must know that I hope
soon to be introduced to virtuous men,—soon to arrive at the assembly
of the just. Therefore it is that I fear not death, hoping, as I do,
according to the ancient faith of the human race, that something better
is in store for the just, than what there is for the wicked.”
The slave who was to give Socrates the poison, warned him to speak as
little as possible, because sometimes it was necessary to administer
the drug three or four times to those who allowed themselves to be
overheated by conversation.
“Let the poison be prepared,” said Socrates, “as if it were necessary
to give it two or three times;” then continued to discourse upon the
immortality of the soul, mixing in his arguments the inspiration of
sentiment and of poetry.
“Let that man,” said he, “have confidence in his destiny, who, during
lifetime, has renounced the pleasures of the body as productive of
evil. He who has sought the pleasures of science, who has beautified
his soul, not with useless ornaments, but with what is suitable to his
nature, such as temperance, justice, fortitude, liberty, and truth,
ought to wait peaceably the hour of his departure, and to be always
ready for the voyage, whenever fate calls him.”
“Alas! my dear friend,” said Crito; “have you any orders for me, or for
those present, with regard to your children or your affairs?” “What I
have always recommended to you, Crito,”—replied Socrates, “to take
care of yourselves,—nothing more. By doing so, you will render me a
service, my family, and all who know you.”
After Socrates had bathed, his children and his female relations were
brought into his presence. He spoke to them for some time, gave them
his orders, then caused them to retire. After he returned, he sat down
upon his bed, and had scarcely spoken, when the officer of the Eleven
came in and said, “Socrates, I hope I shall not have the same occasion
to reproach you as I have had in respect to others. As soon as I come
to acquaint them that they must drink the poison, they are incensed
against me; but you have, ever since you came here, been patient, calm,
and even-tempered, and I am confident that you are not angry with
me. Now, you know what I have told you. Farewell! Try to bear with
resignation what cannot be avoided.” Saying these words, he turned
away, while the tears were streaming from his eyes.
“I will follow your counsel,” said Socrates. Then turning to his
disciples, he continued, “Observe the honesty of that poor man.
During my imprisonment, he has visited me daily, and now, see with
what sincerity he weeps for me!” When the slave brought the poison to
Socrates, the latter looked at him, and said, “Very well, my friend,
what must I do? for you know best, and it is your business to direct
me.”
“Nothing else but drink the poison; then walk, and when you find
your limbs grow stiff, lie down upon your bed.” At the same time, he
handed the cup to Socrates, who took it without emotion or change of
countenance; then looking at the man with a steady eye, he said,—“Tell
me, is it allowable to make a drink-offering of this mixture?”
“Socrates,” the man replied, “we never prepare more than what is
sufficient for one dose.”
“I understand you,” said Socrates; “but nevertheless, it is lawful for
me to pray to God that he may bless my voyage, and render it a happy
one.” Having said so, he raised the cup to his lips, and drank the
poison with astonishing tranquillity and meekness. When Socrates looked
around and saw his friends vainly endeavoring to stifle their tears,
he said, “What are you doing, my companions? Was it not to avoid this,
that I sent away the women? and you have fallen into their weakness. Be
quiet, I pray you, and show more fortitude.”
In the mean time, he continued to walk, and when he felt his legs grow
stiff, he lay down upon his back, as had been recommended. The person
who gave Socrates the poison, then came forward, and, after examining
his legs and feet, he bound them, and asked if he felt the cord. The
dying philosopher answered, “No;” and feeling himself with his hand,
he told his disciples, that “when the cold reached his heart, he should
leave them.”
A few minutes afterwards, he exclaimed, “Crito, we owe a cock to
Esculapius; do not forget to pay the debt.” These were the last words
of Socrates. Such was the end of the great philosopher; and it may be
truly said that he was one of the wisest, best, and most upright of all
the Athenians.
In personal appearance Socrates was disagreeable: he had a sunken
nose, and his eyes protruded so as to give him a strange appearance.
It is supposed that he knew the shrewish temper of Xantippe, before he
married her, and sought the alliance that she might give exercise to
his patience. She tried every means to irritate him, and finding it
impossible to rouse his anger, she poured some dirty water upon him
from a window. “After thunder, we generally have rain,” was the only
remark the philosopher deigned to make. Many other anecdotes are handed
down, which show the wonderful command Socrates had acquired over
himself.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ALCIBIADES.
This eminent Athenian general and statesman, was born about 450 B.
C. Descended on both sides from the most illustrious families of his
country,—born to the inheritance of great wealth,—endued with great
personal beauty and the most brilliant mental qualities,—it seemed
evident, from his early youth, that he would exert no slight influence
over the counsels and fortunes of Athens. His father, Cleinias, was
killed at the battle of Cheronæa, and being thus an orphan, he was
placed under the wardship of his uncle, Pericles. The latter was too
much engaged in affairs of state to bestow that care upon Alcibiades,
which the impetuosity of his disposition required. In his childhood
he showed the germ of his future character. One day, when he was
playing at dice with some companions in the street, a wagon came up;
he requested the driver to stop, and, the latter refusing, Alcibiades
threw himself before the wheel, exclaiming, “Drive on, if thou darest!”
He excelled alike in mental and bodily exercises. His beauty and birth,
and the high station of Pericles, procured him a multitude of friends
and admirers, and his reputation was soon injured by the dissipation in
which he became involved. He was fortunate in acquiring the friendship
of Socrates, who endeavored to lead him to virtue, and undoubtedly
obtained a great ascendency over him, so that Alcibiades often quitted
his gay associates for the company of the philosopher.
He bore arms, for the first time, in the expedition against Potidæa and
was wounded. Socrates, who fought at his side, defended him, and led
him out of danger. In the battle of Delium, he was among the cavalry
who were victorious, but, the infantry being beaten, he was obliged to
flee, as well as the rest. He overtook Socrates, who was retreating on
foot. Alcibiades accompanied him, and protected him.
[Illustration: _Socrates saving Alcibiades._]
For a considerable time he took no part in public affairs, but on the
death of Cleon, 422 B. C., Nicias succeeded in making a peace for fifty
years, between the Athenians and Lacedæmonians. Alcibiades, jealous of
the influence of Nicias, and offended because the Lacedæmonians, with
whom he was connected by the ties of hospitality, had not applied to
him, sought to bring about some disagreement between the two nations.
The Lacedæmonians sent ambassadors to Athens. Alcibiades received them
with apparent good-will, and advised them to conceal their credentials,
lest the Athenians should prescribe conditions to them. They suffered
themselves to be duped, and, when called into the assembly, declared
that they were without credentials. Alcibiades rose immediately, stated
that they had credentials, accused them of ill-faith, and induced the
Athenians to form an alliance with the Argives. A breach with the
Lacedæmonians was the immediate consequence. Alcibiades commanded
the Athenian fleet several times during the war, and devastated the
Peloponnesus.
He did not, however, refrain from luxury and dissipation, to which he
abandoned himself after his return from the wars. On one occasion,
after having a nocturnal revel, in the company of some friends, he laid
a wager that he would give Hipponicus a box on the ear; which he did.
This act made a great noise in the city, but Alcibiades went to the
injured party, threw off his garments, and called upon him to revenge
himself by whipping him with rods. This open repentance reconciled
Hipponicus, who not only pardoned him, but gave him afterwards his
daughter, Hipparete, in marriage, with a portion of ten talents—about
ten thousand dollars. Alcibiades, however, still continued his levity
and prodigality. His extravagance was conspicuous at the Olympic
games, where he entered the stadium, not like other rich men, with one
chariot, but with seven at a time—and gained the three first prizes.
He seems also to have been victor in the Pythian and Nemæan games. By
these courses he drew upon himself the hatred of his fellow citizens,
and he would have fallen a sacrifice to the ostracism, if he had
not, in connection with Nicias and Phæax, who feared a similar fate,
artfully contrived to procure the banishment of his most formidable
enemy.
Soon afterwards, the Athenians, at the instance of Alcibiades, resolved
on an expedition against Sicily, and elected him commander-in-chief,
together with Nicias and Lamachus. But, during the preparations, it
happened one night that all the statues of Mercury were broken. The
enemies of Alcibiades charged him with the act, but postponed a public
accusation till he had set sail, when they stirred up the people
against him to such a degree, that he was recalled in order to be
tried. Alcibiades had been very successful in Sicily, when he received
the order to return. He prepared to obey, and embarked, but on reaching
Thurium, he landed, and, instead of proceeding to Athens, concealed
himself. Some one asking him, “How is this, Alcibiades? Have you no
confidence in your country?”—he replied, “I would not trust my mother
when my life is concerned, for she might, by mistake, take a black
stone instead of a white one.” He was condemned to death in Athens.
When the news reached him, he remarked—“I shall show the Athenians
that I am yet alive.”
He now went to Argos; thence to Sparta, where he made himself a
favorite by conforming closely to the prevailing strictness of manners.
Here he succeeded in inducing the Lacedæmonians to form an alliance
with the Persian king, and, after the unfortunate issue of the Athenian
expedition against Sicily, he prevailed on the Spartans to assist
the inhabitants of Chios in throwing off the yoke of Athens. He went
himself thither, and on his arrival in Asia Minor, roused the whole of
Ionia to insurrection against the Athenians, and did them considerable
injury. But Agis and the principal leaders of the Spartans became
jealous of him, on account of his success, and ordered their commanders
in Asia to cause him to be assassinated.
Alcibiades suspected their plan, and went to Tissaphernes, a Persian
satrap, who was ordered to act in concert with the Lacedæmonians. Here
he changed his manners once more, adopted the luxurious habits of
Asia, and soon contrived to make himself indispensable to the satrap.
As he could no longer trust the Lacedæmonians, he undertook to serve
his country, and showed Tissaphernes that it was against the interest
of the Persian king to weaken the Athenians; on the contrary, Sparta
and Athens ought to be preserved for their mutual injury. Tissaphernes
followed this advice, and afforded the Athenians some relief. The
latter had, at that time, considerable forces at Samos. Alcibiades sent
word to their commanders, that, if the licentiousness of the people
was suppressed and the government put into the hands of the nobles, he
would procure for them the friendship of Tissaphernes, and prevent the
junction of the Phoenician and Lacedæmonian fleets.
This demand was acceded to, and Pisander was sent to Athens; by whose
means the government of the city was put into the hands of a council,
consisting of four hundred persons. As, however, the council showed no
intention of recalling Alcibiades, the army of Samos chose him their
commander, and exhorted him to go directly to Athens and overthrow the
power of the tyrants. He wished, however, not to return to his country
before he had rendered it some services; and therefore attacked and
totally defeated the Lacedæmonians. When he returned to Tissaphernes,
the latter, in order not to appear a participator in the act, caused
him to be arrested in Sardis. But Alcibiades found means to escape;
placed himself at the head of the Athenian army; conquered the
Lacedæmonians and Persians, at Cyzicus, by sea and land; took Cyzicus,
Chalcedon, and Byzantium; restored the sovereignty of the sea to the
Athenians, and returned to his country, whither he had been recalled,
on the motion of Critias.