THE STORY OF THE TRIAL.
It is not too much to say that the young man was prostrated by the news
which he had just heard, for the blow fell upon him with a suddenness
that seemed to increase the pain tenfold. He had not been indeed on the
same intimate terms of friendship with the great philosopher as the
older disciples, Crito, Simmias, Cebes, Phaedo and others had been. But
he had regarded him with an affection and admiration that was nothing
less than enthusiastic; and he had looked forward to getting his advice
about the future conduct of his life with a hopeful eagerness that made
disappointment very bitter. To find himself in Athens after all the
vicissitudes of fortune through which he had passed, and to learn that
the man without whom Athens scarcely seemed itself, was lost to him
forever, was a terrible shock. Xenophon’s sorrow had not been less keen,
but he had been prepared for his loss by at least a few days’ previous
knowledge. The news had reached him while he was on his way, and the
first shock was over when he landed. But there had been nothing to break
the news to Callias. He felt as a son might feel who returns home after
a long absence in full expectation of a father’s greeting, and finds
himself an orphan.
So overpowered was the young man that he felt solitude to be absolutely
necessary for a time.
“Let me talk to you about it another day,” he said to Xenophon, “at
present I am not master of myself.”
Xenophon clasped his friend’s hand with a warm and sympathetic pressure.
“I understand,” he said. “Yet, I think it will comfort you when you hear
how he bore himself at the last and what he said. Come to me to-morrow;
Hippocles will tell you where I live.”
Early the next morning, Callias presented himself at Xenophon’s house, a
modest little dwelling, not far from the garden of Academus. He found
him in the company of some friends, most of whom were more or less known
to the young man as having been members of the circle which had been
accustomed to listen to the teaching of the great master. Crito,
Menexenus and Æschines, and the two Thebans, Cebes and Simmias, were
among the number; and there were others whom he did not recognize. He
was greeted with kindness and even distinction. His host had evidently
been giving a favorable account of him to the company.
“I thought it best,” Xenophon went on to explain, “to ask some of those
who were actually present when these things happened, to meet you. I
myself, as you know, was not here; and it is well that you should hear a
story so important from eye-witnesses, men who saw his demeanor with
their own eyes, and heard his words with their own ears.”
“I thank you,” said Callias. “But tell me first how it was that such
things came to pass. It seems incredible to me. I have heard that here
and there a man has been found so monstrously wicked that he could kill
his own father, though Solon thought it so impossible a crime that he
would impose no penalty on it. But that a whole people should be
stricken with such madness of wickedness seems to pass all imagination
or belief.”
“Ah! you do not understand,” said Simmias; “I am a foreigner you know;
and those who look at things from outside often see more of them than
they who are within. I had long thought that Socrates was making many
enemies in Athens. And verily if he had said such things in my own city,
as he said here, I doubt whether he had been suffered to live so long.”
“But he always spoke true things,” said the young man, “and things that
were to the real profit of his hearers.”
“Just so,” replied Simmias, “but that they were true and profitable did
not make them pleasant, or the speaker of them welcome. What think you
would happen to a school-master if his pupils whom he daily corrects and
disciplines, sometimes with hard tasks and sometimes with blows, were
permitted to judge him, or to a physician if the children whom he seeks
to cure of their ailments with nauseous drugs, or, it may be, with the
knife or cautery, had him in their power?”
“Truly, it might fare ill with him,” Callias confessed, thinking to
himself of certain angry thoughts that in his own boyhood he had
cherished against his own teacher and doctor.
“Yes,” said Crito, “Simmias is right, nor did this matter escape the
notice of us Athenians, though we did not perceive it so plainly. You,
I know, have been much absent from Athens since you grew to manhood, yet
you must have seen something of this. You were here, for example, when
the admirals were condemned after the battle at Arginusæ. Is it not so?”
“I was here,” said Callias.
“And you know how Socrates set himself against the will of the people,
refusing to put to the vote a proposal which he believed to be
unconstitutional. Well, he suffered nothing at that time, because their
will prevailed in spite of him. Yet we saw that there were many who
remembered this against him, and only waited for the opportunity of
avenging themselves upon him. Nor was he less constant in opposing the
few, when he believed them to be acting wrongfully, than in opposing the
many. Listen now, to what he did and said in the days of the Thirty.
Were you in Athens at that time?”
“No,” replied Callias, “I left the city, or rather was carried away from
it--” at this there was a general laugh, most of the company having
heard of the curious story of his abduction--“after the murder of the
Generals, and did not set foot in it till the other day.”
“But you know what manner of men these Thirty were.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, among other vile things that they did was this, that they put to
death many excellent men whom they conceived to be enemies to
themselves. Then Socrates, in that free way of his, said, ‘If a herdsman
were so to manage his herd that the cattle became fewer and not more,
men would consider him a bad herdsman. Still more would they consider
him to be a bad ruler of a city who should so manage it that the
citizens became not more but less numerous.’ This being reported to
Critias, who was a chief among the Thirty, he sent for Socrates, and
said to him, ‘There is a law that no man shall teach or use the art of
words.’ Socrates said, ‘Mean you by this, the art of words rightly
spoken or the art of words wrongly spoken?’ On this, one Charicles, who
was a colleague of Critias, and was standing by him, broke in violently:
‘Since, Socrates, you find it so hard to understand an altogether easy
thing, take this as a plain rule, that you are not to talk with young
men at all.’ ‘Truly I desire to obey the law,’ said Socrates; ‘tell me
then what you mean by young men. How young? Up to what age?’ Charicles
said, ‘Up to thirty, at which age men are able to take part in affairs
of the State.’ ‘But,’ said Socrates, ‘if I desire to buy a thing of a
man who is under thirty, is it permitted me to ask what it costs?’
‘Yes,’ said Charicles, ‘you may say so much.’ ‘And if a man under thirty
asks me where Critias lives or Charicles lives, may I answer him?’ ‘Yes,
you may answer such questions,’ said Charicles. Then Critias broke in,
‘But you must not talk about blacksmiths and coppersmiths and tanners;
and indeed you have worn these themes pretty well threadbare by this
time.’ ‘Nor about righteousness and wickedness and such things, I
suppose,’ said Socrates. ‘No, indeed, nor about herdsmen. If you speak
of herdsmen and of the herd being diminished, take care that it be not
diminished by one more, even by you.’”
Callias listened with delight. “Oh, how like him!” he cried.
“Yes,” replied Crito, “like him indeed, and truly admirable. But such
things do not please those to whom they are spoken, especially do not
please men in power. Then consider the number of empty-headed, ignorant
fellows whose vanity and conceit he exposed every day by his pitiless
questioning. There was not a pretentious fool in Athens whom he had not
at some time or other held up to ridicule.”
“And they deserved it richly,” said Callias.
“Yes,” replied the other, “but I have never found that a man liked
punishment more because he knew that he deserved it. So you see that the
city was full of his enemies. And there were some honest men who really
believed that he did harm by his teaching. What with knaves whom he
opposed with all his might, and fools whom he exposed, and right-minded,
wrong-headed men whom he could not help offending, there was a very
formidable host arrayed against him.”
“I see,” said Callias. “But they must have had some pretext, they could
not put any of the things you have been speaking about into a formal
charge. Tell me, what did they accuse him of?”
“Oh, it was the old story, treason and blasphemy. Men who would have
sold their country for a quarter of a talent, men who believe in no
other gods than their own lusts, were loud in proclaiming that Socrates
had ruined the State, and was teaching the young not to worship the
gods.”
“Good heavens!” cried Callias, “how dared they utter such lies? A better
patriot, a truer worshipper of the gods never lived.”
“You are right; yet, these were the charges against him, these and
other things equally absurd, as that he taught the young to despise
their fathers and to think meanly of all their relatives and friends, as
if he himself were the only friend that was worth having; that he
perverted words from Homer and the old poets to a bad sense, making them
mean that no work was disgraceful so that it brought in gain, and that
it was lawful for kings and nobles to beat the common people[85]--these
were the charges that they brought against him. And then they added the
accusation that Critias and Alcibiades who had done great harm to Athens
had both been disciples of his.”
“But tell me,” said Callias, “how did these liars and villains proceed?
And first, who were they? Who took the lead?”
“One Meletus was the chief.”
“What! The foolish poet whom every one laughs at?”
“Yes, the very same. He represented the poets. There was one Lycon, of
whom, I suppose, you never heard, who represented the public speakers,
and Anytus, one of those who came back with Thrasybulus. He had been
badly treated, it is true, banished without any good reason, but only a
madman could have supposed that Socrates had had anything to do with it.
These three brought the indictment. It was in these words:--
“‘Socrates is guilty of a crime. He does not acknowledge the gods whom
the State acknowledges, and he introduces other and new gods. He is also
guilty of corrupting the youth. The penalty--death.’”
“But such charges hardly needed a defence. Is it possible that a number
of Athenian judges found a verdict of guilty?”
“It was so indeed,” said Crito, “and I am not sure that you will be
altogether surprised when you hear what the accused said in his own
defence. I am an old man now, and have watched the courts now for many
years; and I have seen not a few men who might have escaped but for what
they said in their own behalf. Now I can’t tell you all that Socrates
said, or even the greater part of it. Our friend Plato is going to set
it forth regularly in a book that he is writing. But I can tell you
enough to make you see what I mean.
“After he had dealt with various other matters--those calumnies for
instance, that Aristophanes set afloat about him now more than thirty
years ago--he went on: ‘Some years ago, men of Athens, a certain
Chaerephon--you know him; some of you went into exile along with
him--having been my companion from my youth up, ventured to go to
Delphi, and to propose this question to the god: “Is there any man wiser
than Socrates?” The Pythia[86] made reply, “There is none wiser than
he.” When I heard this I said to myself, what can the god mean? He
cannot tell a lie, yet I am not conscious to myself of possessing any
kind of wisdom. So at last I devised this plan. I went to one of the men
who are reckoned wise, thinking thus to test the oracle, so that I
might say, here at least is one that is wiser than I. Now when I came to
examine this man--he was one of our statesmen, men of Athens,--I found
that though he was accounted wise by many and especially by himself, he
was not wise in reality. But in vain I tried to convince him, and I even
became odious to him and to many others who were present and admired
him. Then I thought to myself, I am at least wiser than this man, for he
not knowing, thinks that he knows, while I at least know that I do not
know. After this, I went to the poets, tragic, lyrical, and others, and
taking to them poems which they had written, asked of them what they
meant thereby. And I found that almost always those that had not written
these things knew better what they meant than the authors. So I
concluded that these also were not wise. And at last I went to the
artisans, knowing that they were acquainted with many things of which I
knew nothing. And this, indeed, I found to be the case. But I also found
that, because they had mastered their own art, each thought himself very
wise in other things, things, too, of the greatest importance, and that
this self-conceit spoilt their wisdom. These also seemed to be less wise
than myself. But all the time that I was doing this I knew that I was
making myself hateful to many, yet, because I was bound to obey the god
as best I could, I did not desist.
“‘It is true also that many young men hearing me thus questioning others
have found delight in this employment and have learnt to imitate me. And
they have obtained this result: they have found many persons who think
that they know much but in reality know nothing. But they who are thus
discovered are irritated, not so much against their questioners, but
against me whom they suppose to have taught them this habit. Hence comes
this fable of a certain wicked Socrates who is said to corrupt the young
men.
“‘Nevertheless, O men of Athens, if you this day release me, I shall not
therefore cease to do that which, as I conceive, the god commands. I
shall go about the city seeking wisdom; nor shall I cease to say to such
as come in my way, My friend, can you, being a citizen of Athens, the
most famous city of Greece, help being ashamed if you make riches or
rank your highest aim, and care not for that which is indeed the
greatest good? This shall I still do to young or old, for it is this
that the god orders me to do!’”
Crito paused in his story.
“Magnificent!” cried Callias, “but how did the judges take it? It was a
downright defiance of them.”
“Certainly it was, and so they thought it. There was a tremendous
uproar. When the noise had ceased, he began again:--‘Do not clamor
against me, men of Athens, but hear me patiently; ’tis indeed for your
own good that you should. For be assured that putting me to death, you
will harm yourselves rather than me. For, having rid yourselves of me,
you will not easily find any one who will do for you the office that I
have done, which has been, I take it, that of a rider upon a horse of
good breed, indeed, and strong, but needing the spur. Such a rider have
I been to the city, sitting close and exciting you continually by
persuasion and reproach. You will not easily find another like me; and
if you are angry with me, yet remember that persons awakened out of
sleep are angry with the man who rouses them, though it may be to the
saving of their lives. And remember this too: what I have done, I have
done without pay; no one can bring up this against me that I have done
anything for gain. If you ask a proof, look at my poverty--that is proof
enough.
“‘And if any one ask me why I go about meddling with every body and
giving them advice, and yet never come forward and give any advice about
matters of state, I make him this answer: There is a voice within me, of
which Meletus idly speaks as if it were another god, which never indeed
urges me to do anything, but often warns me against doing this or that.
This same voice has often warned me against taking part in public
affairs, and rightly so indeed, for be assured that if I had so taken
part, I should long ago have perished. And do not be offended if I tell
you the truth. No man can be safe who opposes things wrong and illegal
that are done by the people. If he would live, even but for a short
time, he must keep to a private station.
“‘Do you not remember, men of Athens, how when you had to judge the
admirals that did not save the shipwrecked men at Arginusæ, I would not
put the motion to the vote? For though I had never held any public
office I was in the Senate, and it so chanced that my tribe that day had
the presidency. You chose to judge all the men together, acting
wrongfully, as you afterward acknowledged. And I alone of all the
presidents opposed this thing, and would not yield, no not when the
orators denounced me, and would have joined me with the accused. This
was in the time of the democracy.
“‘And afterwards when the democracy was overthrown, and the oligarchy
was in power, what happened? Did not the Thirty send for me along with
four others to their council-chamber, and bid us fetch Leon of Salamis,
that he might be put to death. This they did, after their habit, seeking
to involve as many as possible in their wicked deeds. Then also I showed
not in words only, but in deeds that I cared not one jot for death. For
in the chamber I declared that I would not do this thing, and when we
had gone out, the other four indeed went to Salamis, and fetched Leon,
but I went to my own home. Doubtless I should have died for this act,
but that the Thirty were overthrown soon afterward.
“‘And what I have done publicly that I have privately also. Never have I
conceded anything that was wrong to any man. But if any man would hear
what I said I never grudged him the opportunity. I have offered myself
to rich and poor, whether they would question me themselves or answer my
questions, nor have I spoken for pay, nor been silent because I was not
paid, nor have I ever said aught to any man that I have not said to all.
“‘So much, men of Athens, might suffice for my defence, but if any of
you, remembering that other men when accused have brought their children
before you seeking to rouse compassion, are angry with me because I have
not so done, let him listen to me. I, too, have family ties.
“‘From no gnarled oak I sprang, or flinty rock, as Homer has it, but am
born of man. Three sons I have; two of them are children, one an infant.
Should I then bring them before you, and seek to move your pity by the
sight of them? Not so. I have seen many thus demeaning themselves, as
if, forsooth, you acquitting them, they would escape death altogether;
but such behavior would ill befit those who seek to follow after virtue
and honor. Nor is such behavior only unseemly; it is wrong. For we are
bound to convince a judge, not to persuade him, and he is set in his
place not to give justice as a favor, but because it is justice. Verily,
if I should have to persuade you to act against your oaths I should be
condemning myself of the very charge that Meletus has brought against
me, for I should act as if I did not believe that the gods by whom ye
have sworn to do right are gods at all. Far be it from me so to act. I
believe in the gods more than my accusers believe; and I leave it to
these gods and to you to judge concerning me as it may be best for you
and for me.’”
“No man,” said Cebes, “could have spoken better; but it was not the
speech that would please or conciliate.”
“And what was the result?” asked Callias.
“After all there was only a majority of _six_ against him; two hundred
and eighty-one against two hundred and seventy-five were the numbers.
Then came the question of the sentence. The prosecutor had demanded the
penalty of death. ‘Socrates,’ said the president of the court, ‘what
penalty do you yourself propose?’[87] ‘You ask me,’ said Socrates, ‘what
penalty I myself propose. What then do I deserve, I who have not sought
to make money, or to hold office in the state, or to command soldiers
and ships, who have not even attended to my own affairs, but have sought
to do to others what I thought to be their highest good? What should be
done to me for being such a man? Surely something good, something
suitable to one who is your benefactor, and who requires leisure that he
may spend it in giving you good advice. There is nothing, I conceive,
more suitable than that I should be maintained at the public expense in
the Town Hall, with those who have done great services to the State.
Surely I deserve such a reward far more than he who has won a chariot
race at the Olympic games; for he only makes you think yourselves
fortunate, whereas I teach you to be happy.’
“Of course there was a loud murmur of disapprobation at this. Even some
of those who had voted for acquittal were vexed at language so bold.
“Socrates began again: ‘You think that I show too much pride when I talk
in this fashion. But it is not so. Let me show you what I mean. As to
the penalty which the accuser demands, I cannot say whether it be good
or evil; but the other things which I might propose in its stead I know
to be evils--imprisonment, or a fine with imprisonment till it be paid,
or exile, which last, indeed, you might accept. But if you cannot endure
my ways, O men of Athens, think you that others would endure them? And
what a life for a man of my age to lead, this wandering from city to
city! But if anyone should say, Why, O Socrates, will you not depart to
some other city, and there live quietly, and hold your tongue? I answer,
To do this would be to disobey the god, and I cannot do it. And indeed
to live without talking and questioning about such matters is not to
live at all. But I have not yet named the penalty. If I had money I
should propose some fine which I could pay; but I have none, except
indeed you are willing to impose upon me some small fine, for I think
that I could raise a pound of silver.’ At this there was another growl
from the judges; and some of us who were standing by Socrates caught him
by the robe, and whispered to him. After a pause, he said, ‘Some of my
friends, Crito and Plato and Apollodorus, advise me to propose a fine of
thirty minas[88] and offer to be security. So I propose that sum.’
“Of course the result was certain. A majority much larger than before
voted for the death penalty. Then the condemned man spoke for the last
time. You will be able to read for yourself the very words that he said.
I can now give you only an idea of the end of his speech. He had told
the judges, speaking especially to those who had voted for his
acquittal, that the voice that was wont to warn him had never hindered
him in the course of his speech, though it was not the speech that he
should have made if he had wanted to save his life. From this he argued
that he and they had reason to believe that death was a good thing.
‘Either,’ he said, ‘the dead are nothing and feel nothing, or they
remove hence to some other place. What can be better than to feel
nothing? What days or nights in all our lives are better than those
nights in which we sleep soundly without even a dream? But if the common
belief is true, and we pass in death to that place wherein are all who
have ever died, what greater good can there be than this? If one passes
from those who are called judges here to those who really judge and
administer true justice, to Æacus and Minos and Rhadamanthus, is this a
change to be lamented? What would not any one of you give to join the
company of Homer and Orpheus and Hesiod? or talk with those who led that
great army of Greeks to Troy, or with any of the many thousands of good
men and women that have lived upon the earth? Verily, I would die many
times if I could only hope to do this. And now it is time’--for these
were his very last words of all--‘that we should separate. I go to die,
you remain to live; but which of us is going the better way, only the
gods know.’”
There was a deep silence in the room after Crito had finished speaking.
It was broken at last by Callias, who asked, “How long since was that?”
“Nearly two months,” said Simmias, “but by a strange chance Socrates was
not put to death for nearly a month after his condemnation. It so
happened that the Sacred Ship started for Delos just at the time, and
during its voyage--in fact from the moment that the priest fastens the
chaplet on the stern--no man can be put to death. For thirty days then
he was kept in prison. There we were permitted to visit him, and there
we heard many things that are well worth being remembered.”
“I want to hear everything,” cried Callias.
“You shall in good time,” said Crito. “Come to my house to-morrow and I
will put you in the way of your getting what you want.”
“But you ought to hear,” cried Apollodorus, who had hitherto taken no
part in the conversation, “what the teacher said to me, though, indeed,
it shows no great wisdom in me that he had occasion to say it. ‘O
Socrates,’ I said, when I saw him turning away from the place where he
had stood before his judges--and nothing could be more cheerful than his
look--‘O Socrates, this indeed is the hardest thing to bear that you
should have been condemned unjustly.’ ‘Nay, not so, my friend,’ he
answered, ‘would the matter have been more tolerable if I had been
condemned justly?’”
There was a general laugh. “That is true,” said Crito, “but certainly as
far as Athens is concerned, it was a more shameful thing.”
FOOTNOTES:
[85] The lines from Hesiod:
“No labor mars an honest name;
’Tis only Idleness is shame,”
was one instance (quoted by Xenophon in the Recollections of Socrates).
Another (from the same source) is the story of how Ulysses stayed the
Greeks from hurrying to their ships and leaving the siege of Troy. The
common men he struck, but if he found a chief in the crowd he only
remonstrated with him,
“But if he saw perchance, some common man
Blinded with panic, clamorous of tongue,
With staff he smote him, adding blow to blame.”
[86] The priestess of Apollo at Delphi.
[87] It was the curious custom in the Athenian courts of criminal
justice that the accused, if found guilty, was required to name a
counter penalty to that proposed by the prosecutor. The prosecutor, as
has been seen, had proposed death. Socrates, under the circumstances,
could hardly have proposed anything less than banishment, if he had any
wish that it should be accepted by the court.
[88] Rather more than $600.