SOCRATES THE PHILOSOPHER
Socrates was born in 469 B.C. He was not a noble like Alcibiades, but
a man of humble birth. Nor was he handsome as was his disciple, but
plain, even ugly, the people said. He was small, too, and dressed with
little care.
If anyone wished to find the philosopher, he knew that he had only to
go to the market-place or into the streets. Here, from early morning
until late at night, Socrates was to be seen, and always he was
talking, talking to all who were willing to listen. And there were ever
many who were not only willing but eager to hear what the teacher had
to say, for his words were so wise, his conversations so strange.
Socrates believed that the gods had sent him to teach the Athenians.
From his boyhood he had heard a voice within him, bidding him to do
this, not to do that. He often spoke of this voice to those who became
his disciples. It became known as the dæmon of Socrates.
The philosopher was a soldier as well as a teacher, and his philosophy
taught him how to endure hardship as well as or even better than could
the ordinary Athenian.
In heat or in cold he wore the same clothing, and in all weathers he
walked with bare feet. He ate little and drank less whether he was in
the camp or in the city.
Xanthippe, the wife of Socrates, had not a good temper, and she would
often scold the philosopher. That may have been because while he was
teaching wisdom in the market-place, Xanthippe was at home wondering
how to provide food for her husband and their children with the few
coins she possessed. Socrates was never paid by his disciples, and so
it often happened that Xanthippe found it difficult to get food and
clothing for her household.
The philosopher taught for many years, but at length, in 399 B.C., his
enemies accused him of speaking against the gods of Athens. He had
even dared, so they said, to speak of new gods whom the people should
worship, and that was a crime worthy of death.
Socrates took little trouble to defend himself against the accusations
of his enemies. His dæmon, he said, would not allow him to plead for
his life. So he was condemned to death, but only by a majority of five
or six votes out of six hundred.
For thirty days Socrates was in prison, and he spent the time
in talking to his friends just as he had been used to do in the
market-place.
One of his disciples, named Crito, bribed the jailer to allow his
prisoner to escape, but Socrates refused to flee. He did not fear
death, but faced it calmly as he had faced life.
On the day before the sentence was carried out, he talked quietly to
his disciples of the life to which he was going, for he believed that
his soul, which was his real self, would live after he had laid aside
his body as a garment.
When the cup of hemlock, a poisoned draught, was brought to him, his
friends wept, but he took the cup in his hand, and drank the contents
as though it were a draught of wine.
His last words to Crito were to remind him to pay a debt. ‘Crito, we
owe a cock to Asclepius,’ he said. ‘Discharge the debt and by no means
omit it.’ Asclepius was the god of medicine, and in this way Socrates
showed his reverence for the religious customs of his country.
[Illustration: He drank the contents as though it were a draught of
wine]
This was the man who found in Alcibiades, despite his wild ways, a
noble mind and a kind heart. These he determined to educate. And
his pupil was quick to see that Socrates spoke truth to him. He soon
learned to appreciate his kindness and to stand in awe of his virtue.
Sometimes, indeed, the words of his master ‘overcame him so much as to
draw tears from his eyes, and to disturb his very soul.’
So dear did the philosopher become to Alcibiades that he often lived
in the same tent with him and shared his simple meals. Yet sometimes
he was tempted by his flatterers when they begged him to come to spend
the days in pleasure and the nights in feasting. Then he would yield to
their entreaties and for a while desert and even avoid his master.
But the philosopher did not leave his pupil unchecked to do as he
wished. He ‘would pursue him as if he had been a fugitive slave.... He
reduced and corrected him by his addresses, and made him humble and
modest, by showing him in how many things he was deficient, and how
very far from perfection in virtue.’