No More Learning

Euthyphron — I don't know him, Socrates. But, tell me, what is he prosecuting you for ?
Socrates — What for ? Not on trivial grounds, I think. It is no small thing for so young a man to have formed an opinion on such an important matter. For he, he says, knows how the
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young are corrupted, and who are their corrupters. He must be a wise man, who, observing my ignorance, is going to accuse me to the city, as his mother, of corrupting his friends. I think that he is the only man who begins at the right point in his
I mean whose first care is to make the young men as perfect as possible, just as a good farmer will take care of his young plants first, and, after he has done that, of the
political reforms :
others. And so Meletus, I suppose, is first clearing us off, who, as he says, corrupt the young men as they grow up ; and then, when he has done that, of course he will turn his attention to the older men, and so become a very great public benefactor. Indeed, that is only what you would expect, when he goes to work in this way.
Euthyphron — I hope it may be so, Socrates, but I have very grave doubts about it. It seems to me that in trying to injure you, he is really setting to work by striking a blow at the heart of the state. But how, tell me, does he say that you corrupt the youth ? —
Socrates In a way which sounds strange at first, my friend. He says that I am a maker of gods ; and so he is prosecuting me, he says, for inventing new gods, and for not believing in
the old ones. — I understand, Socrates. It is because you Euthyphron
say that you always have a divine sign. So he is prosecuting you for introducing novelties into religion ; and he is going into court knowing that such matters are easily misrepresented to the multitude, and consequently meaning to slander you there. Why, they laugh even me to scorn, as if I were out of my mind, when I talk about divine things in the assembly, and tell them what is going to happen : and yet I have never fore told anything which has not come true. But they are jealous of all people like us. We must not think about them : we must meet them boldly.
Socrates — My dear Euthyphron, their ridicule is not a very serious matter. The Athenians, it seems to me, may think a man to be clever without paying him much attention, so long as they do not think that he teaches his wisdom to others. But as soon as they think that he makes other people clever, they get angry, whether it be from jealousy, as you say, or for some other
reason. — I am not very anxious to try their disposition Euthyphron
towards me in this matter.
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Socrates — No, perhaps they think that you seldom show yourself, and that you are not anxious to teach your wisdom to others ; but I fear that they may think that I am ; for my love of men makes me talk to every one whom I meet quite freely and unreservedly, and without payment : indeed, if I could, I would gladly pay people myself to listen to me. If then, as I said just now, they were only going to laugh at me, as you say they do at you, it would not be at all an unpleasant way of spending the day, to spend it in court, jesting and laughing. But if they are going to be in earnest, then only prophets like you can tell where the matter will end.
Euthyphron — Well, Socrates, I dare say that nothing will come of it. Very likely you will be successful in your trial, and I think that I shall be in mine.
Socrates — And what is this suit of yours, Euthyphron? Are you suing, or being sued?
Euthyphron — I am suing.
Socrates — Whom ?
Euthyphron — A man whom I am thought a maniac to be
suing. — Socrates
What ? Has he wings to fly away with ? Euthyphron — He is far enough from flying ; he is a very
old man. — Socrates
Who is he ? Euthyphron — He is my father.
[Then Euthyphron having stated that he was prosecuting his father for having murdered a slave, Socrates asks him to define holiness. Euthyphron becomes entangled, and Socrates points out that he has not answered his question. He does not want a particular example of holiness. He wants to know what that is which makes all holy actions holy. Euthyphron, at length, defines holiness as "that which is pleasing to the gods. " But Socrates, by a series of apparently innocent ques tions, compels Euthyphron to admit the absurdity of his defini tion. Euthyphron has no better fortune with a second and third definition, and he passes from a state of patronizing self- complacency to one of puzzled confusion and deeply offended pride. ]
—
I do not mean to give in until I have found out.
Then we must begin again, and inquire what is
Socrates holiness.
Do not deem me unworthy ; give your whole mind to the question, and this time tell me the truth. For if any one
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knows it, it is you ; and you are a Proteus whom I must not let go until you have told me. It cannot be that you would ever have undertaken to prosecute your aged father for the murder of a laboring man unless you had known exactly what is holiness and unholiness. You would have feared to risk the anger of the gods, in case you should be doing wrong, and you would have been afraid of what men would say. But now I am sure that you think that you know exactly what is holiness and what is not ; so tell me, my excellent Euthyphron, and do not conceal from me what you hold it to be.
Socrates — What are you doing, my friend ! Will you go away and destroy all my hopes of learning from you what is holy and what is not, and so of escaping Meletus ? I meant to explain to him that now Euthyphron has made me wise about divine things, and that I no longer in my ignorance speak rashly about them or introduce novelties in them ; and then I was going to promise him to live a better life for the future.
II.
Socrates defends himself before the Athenians.
Socrates — I cannot tell what impression my accusers have made upon you, Athenians : for my own part, I know that they nearly made me forget who I was, so plausible were they ; and yet they have scarcely uttered one single word of truth. But of all their many falsehoods, the one which astonished me most, was when they said that I was a clever speaker, and that you must be careful not to let me mislead you. I thought that it was most impudent of them not to be ashamed to talk in that way ; for as soon as I open my mouth the lie will be exposed, and I shall prove that I am not a clever speaker in any way at all : unless, indeed, by a clever speaker they mean a man who speaks the truth. If that is their meaning, I agree with them that I am a much greater orator than they. My accusers, then I repeat, have said little or nothing that is true ; but from me you shall hear the whole truth. Certainly you will not hear an elaborate speech, Athenians, drest up, like theirs, with
words and phrases. I will say to you what I have to say,
Euthyphron — Another time, then, Socrates. I am in a hurry now, and it is time for me to be off.
The Gospels of Kino, Canute. (Eleventh Century. )
The handsome MS. from which the plate is taken is nniong the more notable of the MSS. in the Royal collection in the British Museum. It consists of 150 leaves of vellum, measuring 13^ x io! ^ inches, and in a full page comprises twenty-six lines. The hand in which it is written is a firm set Saxon, strongly tinctured with the Caroline minuscule.
The Gospels of King Canute. (Eleventh Century. )
The handsome MS. from which the Plate is taken is preserved amongst the Royal MSS. in the British Museum. It consists of 150 leaves of vellum measuring 13J by 10J inches.
THE TRIAL OF SOCRATES. 89
without preparation, and in the words which come first, for I believe that my cause is just ; so let none of you expect anything else. Indeed, my friends, it would hardly be seemly for me, at my age, to come before you like a young man with his specious falsehoods. But there is one thing, Athenians, which I do most earnestly beg and entreat of you. Do not be surprised and do not interrupt, if in my defense I speak in the same way that I am accustomed to speak in the market place, at the tables of the money changers, where many of you have heard me, and elsewhere. The truth is this. I am more than seventy years old, and this is the first time that I have ever come before a Court of Law ; so your manner of speech here is quite strange to me. If I had been really a stranger, you would have forgiven me for speaking in the language and the fashion of my native country : and so now I ask you to grant me what I think I have a right to claim. Never mind the style of my speech — it may be better or it may be worse — give your whole attention to the question, Is what I say just, or is it not ? That is what makes a good judge, as speaking the truth makes a good advocate.
I have to defend myself, Athenians, first against the old false charges of my old accusers, and then against the later ones of my present accusers. For many men have been accus ing me to you, and for very many years, who have not uttered a word of truth : and I fear them more than I fear Anytus and his companions, formidable as they are. But, my friends, those others are still more formidable ; for they got hold of most of you when you were children, and they have been more persistent in accusing me with lies, and in trying to persuade you that there is one Socrates, a wise man, who speculates about the heavens, and who examines into all things that are beneath the earth, and who can " make the worse appear the better reason. "
These men, Athenians, who spread abroad this report, are the accusers whom I fear ; for their hearers think that persons who pursue such inquiries never believe in the gods. And then they are many, and their attacks have been going on for a long time : and they spoke to you when you were at the age most readily to believe them : for you were all young, and many of you were children : and there was no one to answer them when they attacked me. And the most unreasonable thing of all is that commonly I do not even know their names :
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I cannot tell you who they are, except in the case of the comic poets.
But all the rest who have been trying to prejudice you against me, from motives of spite and jealousy, and sometimes, it may be, from conviction, are the enemies whom it is hardest to meet. For I cannot call any one of them forward in Court,
I have, as it were, simply to fight with
to cross-examine him :
shadows in my defense, and to put questions which there is no one to answer. I ask you, therefore, to believe that, as I say, I have been attacked by two classes of accusers —first by Meletus and his friends, and then by those older ones of whom I have spoken. And, with your leave, I will defend myself first against my old enemies ; for you heard their accusations first, and they were much more persistent than my present accusers are.
Well, I must make my defense, Athenians, and try in the short time allowed me to remove the prejudice which you have had against me for a long time.
Let us begin again, then, and see what is the charge which has given rise to the prejudice against me, which was what Meletus relied on when he drew his indictment. What is the calumny which my enemies have been spreading about me? I must assume that they are formally accusing me, and read their indictment. It would run somewhat in this fashion : —
" Socrates is an evil doer, who meddles with inquiries into things beneath the earth, and in heaven, and who ' makes the worse appear the better reason,' and who teaches others these same things. "
That is what they say ; and in the Comedy of Aristophanes you yourselves saw a man called Socrates swinging round in a basket, and saying that he walked the air, and talking a great deal of nonsense about matters of which I understand nothing, either more or less. I do not mean to disparage that kind of knowledge, if there is any man who possesses it. I trust Meletus may never be able to prosecute me for that. But, the truth is, Athenians, I have nothing to do with these matters, and almost all of you are yourselves my witnesses of this. I beg all of you who have ever heard me converse, and they are many, to inform your neighbors and tell them if any of you have ever heard me conversing about such matters, either more or less. That will show you that the other common stories about me are as false as this one.
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[He is accused of being at once a wicked sophist who exacts money for teaching and a natural philosopher. He distin guishes these characters, and shows that he is neither. He is unpopular because he has taken on himself the duty of examin ing men, in consequence of a certain answer given by the Delphic oracle, "that he was the wisest of men. " He describes the examination of men which he undertook to test the truth of the oracle. This has gained him much hatred : men do not like to be proved ignorant when they think themselves wise,
What I have said must suffice as my defense against the charges of my first accusers. " I will try next to defend myself against that " good patriot Meletus, as he calls himself, and my later accusers. Let us assume that they are a new set of accusers, and read their indictment, as we did in the case of the others. It runs thus. He says that Socrates is an evil doer who corrupts the youth, and who does not believe in the gods whom the city believes in, but in other new divinities. Such is the charge.
Let us examine each point in it separately. Meletus says that I do wrong by corrupting the youth : but I say, Athenians, that he is doing wrong ; for he is playing off a solemn jest by bringing men lightly to trial, and pretending to have a great zeal and interest in matters to which he has never given a moment's thought. And now I will try to prove to you that it is so.
Come here, Meletus. Is it not a fact that you think it very important that the younger men should be as excellent as possible ?
Meletus — It is.
Socrates — Come then : tell the judges, who is it who im proves them ? You take so much interest in the matter that of course you know that. You are accusing me, and bringing me to trial, because, as you say, you have discovered that I am the corrupter of the youth. Come now, reveal to the judges who improves them. You see, Meletus, you have noth ing to say ; you are silent. But don't you think that this is a scandalous thing? Is not your silence a conclusive proof of what I say, that you have never given a moment's thought to the matter? Come, tell us, my good sir, who makes the young men better citizens?
and so they call him a sophist and every kind of bad name besides, because he exposes their pretense of knowledge. ]
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Socrates — My excellent sir, that is not my question. What man improves the young, who starts with a knowledge of the laws?
Meletus — The judges here, Socrates.
Socrates — What do you mean, Meletus ? Can they educate the young and improve them ?
Meletus — Certainly.
Socrates — All of them? or only some of them?
Meletus — All of them.
Socrates — By H6r§ that is good news ? There is a great
abundance of benefactors. And do the listeners here improve them, or not ?
Meletus — They do.
Socrates — And do the senators?
Meletus — Yes.
Socrates — Well then, Meletus, do the members of the
Assembly corrupt the younger men ? or do they again all im prove them?
Socrates — Then all the Athenians, apparently, make the young into fine fellows except me, and I alone corrupt them. Is that your meaning ?
Socrates — You have discovered me to be a most unfortunate man. Now tell me : do you think that the same holds good in the case of horses ? Does one man do them harm and every one else improve them ? On the contrary, is it not one man only, or a very few — namely, those who are skilled in horses — who can improve them ; while the majority of men harm them, if they use them, and have to do with them ? Is it not so, Mele tus, both with horses and with every other animal ? Of course it is, whether you and Anytus say yes or no. And young men would certainly be very fortunate persons if only one man cor rupted them, and every one else did them good. The truth is, Meletus, you prove conclusively that you have never thought about the youth in your life. It is quite clear, on your own showing, that you take no interest at all in the matters about which you are prosecuting me.
[He proves that it is absurd to say that he corrupts the
young intentionally, and if he corrupts them unintentionally, the law does not call upon Meletus to prosecute him for an
Meletus — The laws.
Meletus — They too improve them.
Meletus — Most certainly ; that is my meaning.
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involuntary fault. With regard to the charge of teaching young men not to believe in the gods of the city, he cross- examines Meletus and involves him in several contradictions. ]
But in truth, Athenians, I do not think that I need say very much to prove that I have not committed the crime for which Meletus is prosecuting me. What I have said is enough to prove that. But, I repeat, it is certainly true, as I have al ready told you, that I have incurred much unpopularity and made many enemies. And that is what will cause my condem nation, if I am condemned ; not Meletus, nor Anytus either, but the prejudice and suspicion of the multitude. They have been the destruction of many good men before me, and I think that they will be so again. There is no fear that I shall be their last victim.
Perhaps some one will say : "Are you not ashamed, Socrates, of following pursuits which are very likely now to cause your death? " I should answer him with justice, and say: "My friend, if you think that a man of any worth at all ought to reckon the chances of life and death when he acts, or that he ought to think of anything but whether he is acting rightly or wrongly, and as a good or a bad man would act, you are griev ously mistaken. " According to you, the demigods who died at Troy would be men of no great worth, and among them the son of Thetis, who thought nothing of danger when the alter native was disgrace. For when his mother, a goddess, ad dressed him, as he was burning to slay Hector, I suppose in this fashion, " My son, if thou avengest the death of thy com rade Patroclus, and slayest Hector, thou wilt die thyself, for ' Fate awaits thee straightway after Hector's death ; ' " he heard what she said, but he scorned danger and death; he feared much more to live a coward, and not to avenge his friend. " Let me punish the evil doer and straightway die," he said, " that I may not remain here by the beaked ships, a scorn of men, en cumbering the earth. " Do you suppose that he thought of danger or of death? For this, Athenians, I believe to be the truth. Wherever a man's post is, whether he has chosen it of his own will, or whether he has been placed at it by his com mander, there it is his duty to remain and face the danger, without thinking of death, or of any other thing, except dis honor.
When the generals whom you chose to command me, Athe nians, placed me at my post at Potidaea, and at Amphipolis, and
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at Delium, I remained where they placed me, and ran the risk of death, like other men : and it would be very strange conduct on my part if I were to desert my post now from fear of death or of any other thing, when God has commanded me, as I am persuaded that he has done, to spend my life in searching for wisdom, and in examining myself and others. That would in deed be a very strange thing : and then certainly I might with justice be brought to trial for not believing in the gods : for I should be disobeying the oracle, and fearing death, and thinking myself wise, when I was not wise. For to fear death, my friends, is only to think ourselves wise, without being wise : for it is to think that we know what we do not know. For anything that men can tell, death may be the greatest good that can happen to them : but they fear it as if they knew quite well that it was the greatest of evils. And what is this but that shameful ignorance of thinking that we know what we do not know ? In this matter too, my friends, perhaps I am different from the mass of mankind : and if I were to claim to be at all wiser than others, it would be because I do not think that I have any clear knowledge about the other world, when, in fact, I have none. But I do know very well that it is evil and base to do wrong, and to disobey my superior, whether he be man or god. And I will never do what I know to be evil, and shrink in fear from what, for all that I can tell, may be a good.
And so, even if you acquit me now, and do not listen to Anytus' argument that, if I am to be acquitted, I ought never to have been brought to trial at all ; and that, as it is, you are bound to put me to death, because, as he said, if I escape, all your children will forthwith be utterly corrupted by practicing what Socrates teaches ; if you were therefore to say to me, " Socrates, this time we will not listen to Anytus : we will let you go ; but on this condition, that you cease from carrying on this search of yours, and from philosophy ; " if you are found following those pursuits again, you shall die : I say, if you offered to let me go on these terms, I should reply: "Athenians, I hold you in the highest regard and love ; but I will obey God rather than you : and as long as I have breath and strength I will not cease from philosophy, and from exhorting you, and declaring the truth to every one of you whom I meet, saying, as I am wont, ' My excellent friend, you are a citizen of Athens, a city which is very great and very famous for wisdom and power of mind ; are you not ashamed of caring so much for the making of money,
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and for reputation, and for honor ? Will you not think or care about wisdom, and truth, and the perfection of your soul ? ' "
And if he disputes my words, and says that he does care about these things, I shall not forthwith release him and go away: I shall question him and cross-examine him and test him : and if I think that he has not virtue, though he says that he has, I shall reproach him for setting the lower value on the most important things, and a higher value on those that are of less account. This I shall do to every one whom I meet, young or old, citizen or stranger : but more especially to the citizens, for they are more nearly akin to me.
For, know well, God has commanded me to do so. And I think that no better piece of fortune has ever befallen you in Athens than my service to God. For I spend my whole life in going about and persuading you all to give your first and chiefest care to the perfection of your souls, and not till you have done that to think of your bodies, or your wealth ; and telling you that virtue does not come from wealth, but that wealth, and every other good thing which men have, whether in public, or in private, comes from virtue. If then I corrupt the youth by this teaching, the mischief is great : but if any man says that I teach anything else, he speaks falsely. And therefore, Athe nians, I say, either listen to Anytus, or do not listen to him : either acquit me, or do not acquit me : but be sure that I shall notaltermywayoflife; no,notifIhavetodieforitmany times.
[If the Athenians put him to death, they will harm them selves more than him. The city is like a great and noble horse rendered sluggish by its size and needing to be roused. He was the gadfly sent by God to attack it. He explains why he has not taken part in public life. If he had done so, he would have perished without benefiting the city, because no one could make him do wrong through fear of death. His con duct on two occasions shows this. ]
Well, my friends, this, together it may be with other things of the same nature, is pretty much what I have to say in my defense. There may be some one among you who will be vexed when he remembers how, even in a less important trial than this, he prayed and entreated the judges to acquit him with many tears, and brought forward his children and many of his friends and relatives in Court, in order to appeal to your feelings ; and then finds that I shall do none of these things,
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though I am in what he would think the supreme danger. Perhaps he will harden himself against me when he notices this : it may make him angry, and he may give his vote in anger. If it is so with any of you — I do not suppose that it is, but in case it should be so — I think that I should answer him reasonably if I said : —
"My friend, I have kinsmen too, for, in the words of Homer, ' I am not born of stocks and stones,' but of woman ; " and so, Athenians, I have kinsmen, and I have three sons, one of them a lad, and the other two still children. Yet I will not bring any of them forward before you, and implore you to acquit me.
And why will I do none of these things? It is not from arrogance, Athenians, nor because I hold you cheap : whether or no I can face death bravely is another question : but for my own credit, and for your credit, and for the credit of our city, I do not think it well, at my age, and with my name, to do any thing of that kind. Rightly or wrongly, men have made up their minds that in some way Socrates is different from the mass of mankind. And it will be a shameful thing if those of you who are thought to excel in wisdom, or in bravery, or in any other virtue, are going to act in this fashion. I have often seen men with a reputation behaving in a strange way at their trial, as if they thought it a terrible fate to be killed, and as if they expected to live forever, if you did not put them to death. Such men seem to me to bring discredit on the city : for any stranger would suppose that the best and most eminent Athe nians, who are selected by their fellow-citizens to hold office, and for other honors, are no better than women. Those of you, Athenians, who have any reputation at all, ought not to do these things : and you ought not to allow us to do them : you should show that you will be much more merciless to men who make the city ridiculous by these pitiful pieces of acting, than
to men who remain quiet.
But apart from the question of credit, my friends, I do not
think that it is right to entreat the judge to acquit us, or to escape condemnation in that way. It is our duty to convince his mind by reason. He does not sit to give away justice to his friends, but to pronounce judgment : and he has sworn not to favor any man whom he would like to favor, but to decide questions according to law. And therefore we ought not to teach you to forswear yourselves ; and you ought not to allow
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yourselves to be taught, for then neither you nor we would be acting righteously. Therefore, Athenians, do not require me to do these things, for I believe them to be neither good nor just nor holy ; and, more especially, do not ask me to do them to-day, when Meletus is prosecuting me for impiety. For were I to be successful, and to prevail on you by my prayers to break your oaths, I should be clearly teaching you to believe that there are no gods ; and I should be simply accusing my self by my defense of not believing in them. But, Athenians, that is very far from the truth. I do believe in the gods as no one of my accusers believes in them : and to you and to God I commit my cause to be decided as is best for you and for me.
(He is found guilty by 281 votes to 220. )
I am not vexed at the verdict which you have given, Athe nians, for many reasons. I expected that you would find me guilty ; and I am not so much surprised at that, as at the numbers of the votes. I, certainly, never thought that the majority against me would have been so narrow. But now it seems that if only thirty votes had changed sides, I should have escaped.
[Meletus proposes the penalty of death. The law allows a convicted criminal to propose an alternative penalty instead. As he is a public benefactor, Socrates thinks that he ought to have a public maintenance in the Prytaneum, like an Olympic victor. Seriously, why should he propose a penalty? He is sure that he has done no wrong. He does not know whether death is a good or an evil. Why should he propose something that he knows to be an evil? Indeed, payment of a fine would be no evil, but then he has no money to pay a fine with ; perhaps he can make up one mina (about twenty dollars) : that is his proposal. Or, if his friends wish it, he offers thirty minae, and his friends will be sureties for payment. ]
(He is condemned to death. )
You have not gained very much time, Athenians, and, as the price of it, you will have an evil name from all who wish to revile the city, and they will cast in your teeth that you put Socrates, a wise man, to death. For they will certainly call me wise, whether I am wise or not, when they want to reproach you. If you would have waited for a little while, your wishes
would have been fulfilled in the course of nature ; for you see TOL. IT. —7
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that I am an old man, far advanced in years, and near to death. I am speaking not to all of you, only to those who have voted for my death. And now I am speaking to them still. Perhaps, my friends, you think that I have been defeated because I was wanting in the arguments by which I could have persuaded you to acquit me, that is, had thought right to do or to say anything to escape punishment.
It not so. have been defeated because was wanting, not in arguments, but in overboldness and effrontery because would not plead before you as you would have liked to hear me plead, or appeal to you with weeping and wailing, or say
and do many other things, which maintain are unworthy of me, but which you have been accustomed to from other men. But when was defending myself, thought that ought not to do anything unmanly because of the danger which ran, and
have not changed my mind now. would very much rather defend myself as did, and die, than as you would have had me do, and live. Both in lawsuit, and in war, there are some things which neither nor any other man may do in order to escape from death. In battle man often sees that he may at least escape from death by throwing down his arms and falling on his knees before the pursuer to beg for his life. And there are many other ways of avoiding death in every danger, man will not scruple to say and to do anything.
But, my friends, think that much harder thing to escape from wickedness than from death for wickedness swifter than death. And now who am old and slow, have been overtaken by the slower pursuer and my accusers, who are clever and swift, have been overtaken by the swifter pur suer, which wickedness. And now shall go hence, sen tenced by you to death and they will go hence, sentenced by truth to receive the penalty of wickedness and evil. And abide by this award as well as they. Perhaps was right for these things to be so: and think that they are fairly measured.
And now wish to prophesy to you, Athenians who have condemned me. For am going to die, and that the time when men have most prophetic power. And prophesy to you who have sentenced me to death, that far severer punishment than you have inflicted on me, will surely overtake you as soon as am dead. You have done this thing, thinking that you will be relieved from having to give an account of your lives. But
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say that the result will be very different from that. There will be more men who will call you to account, whom I have held back, and whom you did not see. And they will be harder masters to you than I have been, for they will be younger, and you will be more angry with them. For if you think that you will restrain men from reproaching you for your evil lives by putting them to death, you are very much mistaken. That way of escape is hardly possible, and it is not a good one. It is much better, and much easier, not to silence reproaches, but to make yourselves as perfect as you can. This is my parting prophecy to you who have condemned me.
[Having sternly rebuked those who have condemned him, he bids those who have acquitted him to be of good cheer. No harm can come to a good man in life or in death. Death is either an eternal and dreamless sleep, wherein there is no sen sation at all ; or it is a journey to another and better world, where are the famous men of old. In either case it is not an evil, but a good. ]
And you too, judges, must face death with a good courage, and believe this as a truth, that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life, or after death. His fortunes are not neg lected by the gods ; and what has come to me to-day has not come by chance. I am persuaded that it was better for me to die now, and to be released from trouble : and that was the reason why the sign never turned me back. And so I am hardly angry with my accusers, or with those who have con demned me to die. Yet it was not with this mind that they accused me and condemned me, but meaning to do me an injury. So far I may find fault with them.
Yet I have one request to make of them. When my sons grow up, visit them with punishment, my friends, and vex them in the same way that I have vexed you, if they seem to you to care for riches, or for any other thing, before virtue : and if they think that they are something, when they are nothing at all, reproach them, as I have reproached you, for not caring for what they should, and for thinking that they are great men when in fact they are worthless. And if you will do this, I myself and my sons will have received our deserts at your hands. Ito die,
But now the time has come, and we must go hence ;
and you to live. Whether life or death is better is known to God, and to God only.
A GRECIAN SUNSET.
A GRECIAN SUNSET. By LORD BYRON.
[1788-1824. ]
Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun ;
Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light :
O'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws, Gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows. On old jEgina's rock and Hydra's isle
The god of gladness sheds his parting smile :
O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine, Though there his altars are no more divine. Descending fast, the mountain shadows kiss
Thy glorious gulf, unconquered Salamis !
Their azure arches through the long expanse,
More deeply purpled, meet his mellowing glance, And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven; Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep.
On such an eve his palest beam he cast,
When, Athens ! here thy wisest breathed his last. How watched thy better sons his farewell ray, That closed their murdered sage's latest day !
Not yet — not yet — Sol pauses on the hill,
The precious hour of parting lingers still :
But sad his light to agonizing eyes,
And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes ; Gloom o'er the lovely land he seems to pour — The land where Phoebus never frowned before : But ere he sunk below Cithaeron's head,
The cup of woe was quaffed — the spirit fled : The soul of him who scorned to fear or fly,
Who lived and died as none can live or die.
But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain,
The queen of night asserts her silent reign ;
No murky vapor, herald of the storm,
Hides her fair face, or girds her glowing form. With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams play, Where the white column greets her grateful ray,
THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES. 101
And bright around, with quivering beams beset, Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret :
The groves of olive scattered dark and wide, Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide, The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque, The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk,
And sad and somber 'mid the holy calm,
Near Theseus' fane, one solitary palm :
All, tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye,
And dull were his who passed them heedless by.
Again the Mgea. n, heard no more from far,
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war : Again his waves in milder tints unfold
Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold, Mixed with the shades of many a distant isle, That frown, where gentler ocean deigns to smile.
THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES. By CICERO.
[Mabcub Tullius Cicbbo, the greatest of Roman orators and perhaps the second of all time, was born b. c. 106, of the nobility. Trained for the bar, his first important case obliged him to go into exile for fear of the dictator Sulla. Returning after Sulla's death, he became the leader of the bar and high in polit ical life ; rose to be consul, b. c. 63, and gained great credit for suppressing Catiline's conspiracy. Later, he was again exiled for taking sides against the tribune Clodius, and again recalled in a storm of popular enthusiasm. He sided with Pompey against Caesar, but made peace with the latter after Fharsalia. After the murder of Caesar, Cicero sided with Octavius, and thundered against Antony, who on his coalition with Octavius demanded Cicero's life as the price of the junction ; Octavius consented, and Cicero was assassinated by an officer whose life he had once saved at the bar. His orations, his letters saved and published by his freedman Tiro, and his varied disquisitions, keep his fame unfailingly bright. ]
This tyrant [Dionysius] showed himself how happy he really was ; for once, when Damocles, one of his flatterers, was dilating in conversation on his forces, his wealth, the greatness of his power, the plenty he enjoyed, the grandeur of his royal palaces, and maintaining that no one was ever happier,— " Have you an inclination," said he, " Damocles, as this kind of life pleases you, to have a taste of it yourself and to make a trial of the good fortune that attends me ? " And when he said that he should like it extremely, Dionysius ordered him to be laid on a bed of gold with the most beautiful covering,
102 THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES.
embroidered and wrought with the most exquisite work, and he dressed out a great many sideboards with silver and em bossed gold. He then ordered some youths, distinguished for their handsome persons, to wait at his table, and to observe his nod in order to serve him with what he wanted. There were ointments and garlands ; perfumes were burned ; tables pro vided with the most exquisite meats, — Damocles thought him self very happy. In the midst of this apparatus Dionysius ordered a bright sword to be let down from the ceiling, sus pended by a single horsehair, so as to hang over the head of that happy man. After which he neither cast his eye on those handsome waiters, nor on the well- wrought plate ; nor touched any of the provisions; presently the garlands fell to pieces. At last, he entreated the tyrant to give him leave to go, for that now he had no desire to be happy. Does not Dionysius, then, seem to have declared there can be no happiness for one who is under constant apprehensions ? But it was not now in his power to return to justice, and restore his citizens their rights and privileges ; for, by the indiscretion of his youth, he had engaged in so many wrong steps, and committed such extravagances, that had he attempted to have returned to a right way of thinking he must have endangered his life.
Yet, how desirous he was of friendship, though at the same time he dreaded the treachery of friends, appears from the story of those two Pythagoreans : one of these had been security for his friend, who was condemned to die ; the other, to release his security, presented himself at the time appointed
I wish," said Dionysius,
me as the third in your friendship. " What misery was it for
for his dying : " "
you would admit
him to be deprived of acquaintance, of company at his table, and of the freedom of conversation, especially for one who was a man of learning, and from his childhood acquainted with liberal arts, very fond of music, and himself a tragic poet, — how good a one is not to the purpose, for I know not how it is, but in this way, more than any other, every one thinks his own performances excellent, I never as yet knew any poet (and I was very intimate with Aquinius), who did not appear to
himself to be very admirable. The case is this : you are pleased with your own works, I like mine. But to return to Dionysius : he debarred himself from all civil and polite conversation, and spent his life among fugitives, bondmen, and barbarians, for he was persuaded that no one could be his friend who was worthy of liberty or had the least desire of being free.
DAMON AND PYTHIAS.
DAMON AND PYTHIAS. By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE.
103
[Charlotte M. Yonge, English novelist, was born in 1823. Her first cele brated novel, " The Heir of Redely ffe," was published in 1853 ; the equally well known "Daisy Chain" in 1856; she has written many other and popular his torical sketches. Her " Book of Golden Deeds " appeared in 1864. ]
Most of the best and noblest of the Greeks held what was called the Pythagorean philosophy. This was one of the many systems framed by the great men of heathenism, when by the feeble light of nature they were, as St. Paul says, "seeking after God, if haply they might feel after Him," like men groping in the darkness. Pythagoras lived before the time of history, and almost nothing is known about him, though his teaching and his name were never lost. There is a belief that he had traveled in the East, and in Egypt, and as he lived about the time of the dispersion of the Israelites, it is possible that some of his purest and best teaching might have been crumbs gathered from their fuller instruction through the Law and the Prophets. One thing is plain, that even in deal ing with heathenism the Divine rule holds good, " By their fruits ye shall know them. " Golden deeds are only to be found among men whose belief is earnest and sincere, and in something really high and noble. Where there was nothing worshiped but savage or impure power, and the very form of adoration was cruel and unclean, as among the Canaanites and Carthaginians, there we find no true self-devotion. The great deeds of the heathen world were all done by early Greeks and Romans before yet the last gleams of purer light had faded out of their belief, and while their moral sense still nerved them to energy ; or else by such later Greeks as had embraced the deeper and more earnest yearnings of the minds that had become a " law unto themselves. "
The Pythagoreans were bound together in a brotherhood, the members of which had rules that are now not understood, but which linked them so as to form a sort of club, with com mon religious observances and pursuits of science, especially mathematics and music. And they were taught to restrain their passions, especially that of anger, and to endure with patience all kinds of suffering ; believing that such self
104 DAMON AND PYTHIAS.
restraint brought them nearer to the gods, and that death would set them free from the prison of the body. The souls of evil doers would, they thought, pass into the lower and more degraded animals, while those of good men would be gradually purified, and rise to a higher existence. This, though lamentably deficient, and false in some points, was a real religion, inasmuch as it gave a rule of life, with a motive for striving for wisdom and virtue. Two friends of this Pythagorean sect lived at Syracuse, in the end of the fourth century before the Christian era. Syracuse was a great Greek city, built in Sicily, and full of all kinds of Greek art and learning ; but it was a place of danger in their time, for it had fallen under the tyranny of a man of strange and capricious temper, though of great abilities, namely, Dionysius. He is said to have been originally only a clerk in a public office, but his talents raised him to continually higher situations, and at length, in a great war with the Carthaginians, who had many settlements in Sicily, he became general of the army, and then found it easy to establish his power over the city.
This power was not according to the laws, for Syracuse, like most other cities, ought to have been governed by a coun cil of magistrates ; but Dionysius was an exceedingly able man, and made the city much more rich and powerful ; he defeated the Carthaginians, and rendered Syracuse by far the chief city in the island, and he contrived to make every one so much afraid of him that no one durst attempt to overthrow his power. He was a good scholar, and very fond of phi losophy and poetry, and he delighted to have learned men around him, and he had naturally a generous spirit ; but the sense that he was in a position that did not belong to him, and that every one hated him for assuming it, made him very harsh and suspicious. It is of him that the story is told, that he had a chamber hollowed in the rock near his state prison, and constructed with galleries to conduct sounds like an ear, so that he might overhear the conversation of his captives ; and of him, too, is told that famous anecdote which has become a proverb, that on hearing a friend, named Damocles, express a wish to be in his situation for a single day, he took him at his word, and Damocles found himself at a banquet with every thing that could delight his senses, delicious food, costly wine, flowers, perfumes, music ; but with a sword with the point
almost touching his head, and hanging by a single horse
DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 105
hair ! This was to show the condition in which a usurper lived !
Thus Dionysius was in constant dread. He had a wide trench round his bedroom, with a drawbridge that he drew up and put down with his own hands ; and he put one barber to death for boasting that he held a razor to the tyrant's throat every morning. After this he made his young daughters shave him ; but by and by he would not trust them with a razor, and caused them to singe off his beard with hot nut shells ! He was said to have put a man named Antiphon to death for answering him, when he asked what was the best kind of brass, " That of which the statues of Harmodius and Aristogiton were made. " These were the two Athenians who had killed the sons of Pisistratus the tyrant, so that the jest was most offensive ; but its boldness might have gained forgiveness for it. One philosopher, named Philoxenus, he sent to a dungeon for finding fault with his poetry, but he afterwards composed another piece, which he thought so supe rior, that he could not be content without sending for this adverse critic to hear it. When he had finished reading it, he looked to Philoxenus for a compliment ; but the philoso pher only turned round to the guards, and said dryly, "Carry me back to prison. " This time Dionysius had the sense to laugh, and forgive his honesty.
All these stories may not be true ; but that they should have been current in the ancient world shows what was the character of the man of whom they were told, how stern and terrible was his anger, and how easily it was incurred. Among those who came under it was a Pythagorean called Pythias, who was sentenced to death, according to the usual fate of those who fell under his suspicion.
Pythias had lands and relations in Greece, and he entreated as a favor to be allowed to return thither and arrange his affairs, engaging to return within a specified time to suffer death. The tyrant laughed his request to scorn. Once safe out of Sicily, who would answer for his return ? Pythias made reply that he had a friend, who would become security for his return ; and while Dionysius, the miserable man who trusted nobody, was ready to scoff at his simplicity, another Pythago rean, by name Damon, came forward, and offered to become surety for his friend, engaging, if Pythias did not return according to promise, to suffer death in his stead.
106 DAMON AND PYTHIAS.
Dionysius, much astonished, consented to let Pythias go, marveling what would be the issue of the affair. Time went on, and Pythias did not appear. The Syracusans watched Damon, but he showed no uneasiness. He said he was secure of his friend's truth and honor, and that if any accident had caused the delay of his return, he should rejoice in dying to save the life of one so dear to him.
Even to the last day Damon continued serene and content, however it might fall out ; nay, even when the very hour drew nigh and still no Pythias. His trust was so perfect, that he did not even grieve at having to die for a faithless friend who had left him to the fate to which he had unwarily pledged him self. It was not Pythias' own will, but the winds and waves, so he still declared, when the decree was brought and the instru ments of death made ready. The hour had come, and a few moments more would have ended Damon's life, when Pythias duly presented himself, embraced his friend, and stood forward himself to receive his sentence, calm, resolute, and rejoiced that he had come in time.
Even the dim hope they owned of a future state was enough to make these two brave men keep their word, and confront death for one another without quailing. Dionysius looked on more struck than ever.