Callias: A Tale of the Fall of Athens

by Alfred John Church

  CHAPTER XXIX.

  THE LAST CONVERSATION.

  Callias, as may be supposed, did not fail to keep his appointment withthe utmost punctuality. He found at Crito's house very nearly the samecompany that had been assembled the day before at Xenophon's. After theusual greetings had been interchanged, the host said, "I propose, if itis agreeable to you all, to hold the conversation which we are to haveto-day at the house of our friend Plato. He has written to invite us,not because he can himself see us, for he is not sufficiently recoveredfrom his late illness, but because we shall thus be able to talk withhis friend Phaedo; for as all know there is no more fitting person thanPhaedo to tell our young friend Callias the things that he desires tohear. For though we were all present, Xenophon only excepted, on thatday when the Master left us, having given us his last instructions, yetthere is no one who so well remembers and is so well able to describeall that was then said or done. I propose, therefore, that we transferourselves to his house."

  The proposition met with general assent and the party set out.

  Crito naturally took charge of Callias as being his special guest. Asthe two were walking, the young man said, "Tell me, Crito, if it is notunpleasing to you, whether in the thirty days during which the Masterwas held in prison, any efforts were made to save his life?"

  "I am glad," said Crito, "that you have asked me that question privatelyand not before others, for, indeed, this is a matter which has caused meno little amount of trouble and shame. Some people blame me because,they say, though a rich man I did not bribe the jailer of the prison inwhich Socrates was confined, and thus enable him to escape. I amblameable, indeed, but for an exactly opposite reason. I did bribe theman--this of course is in absolute confidence between you and me--and inthis, as the Master showed me, I was wrong. Indeed I never received fromhim so severe a rebuke as I did concerning this matter. But let me tellyou what happened. I had arranged everything. The jailer was to let himescape. There were people ready to carry him out of the country. I wentto him early in the morning of the day when the ship was expected toreturn. I told him what I had done. I made light of the money that theaffair was to cost. I could well afford it, I said, and if I could notthere were others ready to contribute. And then I attacked him, it wasan impudent thing to do, but I felt as if I could do anything that weshould not lose him. I told him that it was wrong of him to do his bestto let his enemies get their way. I said to him, 'Thus acting you desertyour children, whom you might bring up and educate. But if you die youwill leave them orphans and friendless. Either you ought not to havechildren or you ought to take some trouble about them. Surely this doesnot become one who has made virtue his study throughout his life. Andremember what a disgrace will fall upon us, for it will certainly besaid that we did not do our best to save your life.'

  "Well, I cannot tell you now a tenth part of what he said. I have it allwritten down at home, but I may say what you will easily believe that Iwas as helpless in his hands as the veriest pretender whom he has evercross-examined. I know that he ended by making me thoroughly ashamed ofmyself. One of his chief arguments was this:

  "'Suppose, Crito, that as I was in the act of escaping, the State itselfwere to say to me: Are you not seeking to destroy by so acting the lawsof the State itself? Is not that State already dissolved wherein publicsentences are set aside by private persons? What should I answer to suchquestions? And if the laws were to say, What complaint have you got tomake against us that you seek to destroy us? Do you not owe your beingto us, seeing that your father and mother married according to ourordering? Have we not given you nurture, education, all the good thingsthat you possess as being an Athenian? Have you not acknowledged us byliving in the city, by having children in it? And if they were furtherto say, Verily, he who acts in this way in which you are about to act isa corrupter of youth--what could I answer?

  "'And tell me, Crito,' he went on, 'whither would you have me betakemyself? Not surely to any well-ordered city seeing that I had shownmyself the enemy of such order, but rather to some abode of riot, whichwould indeed ill become one who had professed to be a lover of virtueand righteousness. And as for my children, how shall I benefit them? Bytaking them elsewhere and bringing them up not as citizens of Athens,but as citizens of some other State which I myself here have judgedinferior, seeing that all my life long I have deliberately preferredAthens to it?' Verily, Callias, when he said this, I had no answer. Buthere we are at Phaedo's house."

  Callias was not a little surprised when he was introduced to the manwhom he had been brought to see. Phaedo was a man much younger thanhimself; indeed he had scarcely completed his eighteenth year. Hisappearance was singularly attractive, and his manners had all the graceand ease of a well-born and well-bred man. That he was not an Athenianwas evident from his speech, which was somewhat tinged with a Doricaccent. Altogether Callias was at a loss to think who or what he couldbe, and how he came to be regarded as the best interpreter of theMaster's last words. An opportunity, however, arrived for enlighteninghim. After a few minutes' conversation, a slave appeared with a messagefor the master of the house. Plato who had been compelled to absenthimself from the last interview with Socrates, as has been said, wasstill so unwell that his physician forbade the excitement of seeingvisitors. He now sent for Phaedo to entrust him with a message ofapology for his fellow disciples whom he was unable to entertain, andpartly to set him free to act the part of host in his stead.

  Crito seized the opportunity of his temporary absence from the room togive some particulars about him. "He comes of a very good family inElis, and was taken prisoner about this time last year when Athens andSparta were allies and acting against that country. He was sold in theslave market here, and I cannot tell the cruelties that he endured fromthe wretch who bought him. Somehow he heard of Socrates, ran away fromhis owner and begged for the Master's protection. Of course, the onlything was to buy him, and equally of course, Socrates was wholly unableto do this. But the Master, if he had no wealth of his own, happily hadwealthy friends. He went to Plato and, by great good luck, Plato had avery powerful hold over the poor fellow's owner; the man owed him alarge sum of money, the interest of which was overdue. He was purchased,and at once set free. Plato found that he had been remarkably welleducated and that he showed an extraordinary aptitude for philosophy.The lad's devotion to Socrates was unbounded. He never lost a chance ofbeing near him; he was present of course at the last day, and he watchedand listened with an intense earnestness that seemed to engraveeverything on his mind as one engraves letters upon marble or bronze.But, see, he is coming back. Now you will understand why I have broughtyou to see him."

  The young man, at this moment, returned to the room.

  "Tell me, Phaedo," said Crito, "what you saw and heard on the last dayof the Master's life. My friend Callias here, who has just come backfrom campaigning against the Great King, desires to hear it from you,and, indeed, though we all were present on that day, you seem toremember it more accurately than any."

  "I will do my best," said the youth modestly. "I do not know," he wenton, addressing himself especially to Callias, "whether you will whollyunderstand me when I say that I did not feel compassion as one mightfeel for one who was dying--he was so calm and so happy. Neither, on theother hand, did I feel the pleasure that commonly followed from hisdiscourses, for I knew that he would soon cease to be."

  "It was just so with all of us," said Crito, "but go on."

  "We had been to visit Socrates daily through the time of hisimprisonment, assembling very early in the morning, and waiting till thedoors of the prison were opened, and so we did on this day, only earlierthan usual, because we knew that the Sacred Ship had arrived the eveningbefore. The jailer came out. 'You must wait, gentlemen,' he said, 'theEleven[89] are with him. They are taking off his chains, and are tellinghim that he must die to-day.' After a little while the man came outagain, and said that we might go in. When we went in, we found Socratessitting on the side of his bed, and his wife, Xanthippe, ne
ar him,holding one of his children in her arms. As soon as she saw us, shebegan to lament and say, 'O Socrates, here are your friends come to seeyou for the last time.' Then Socrates, looking at her, said to Crito,'Let some one take her home.' So one of Crito's servants led her away.After a while, for of course I must leave out many things, the Mastersaid, 'I have a message for Evenus, who seeks to know, I am told, why Ihave taken to writing verses in prison. Tell him that a god appeared tome in a dream and told me to cultivate the muses. Tell him also that ifhe is wise he will follow me as speedily as possible, for it seems thatthe Athenians command that I depart to-day.'

  "'But, Socrates,' said Simmias, 'this is a strange piece of advice, andone which Evenus is not likely to take.'

  "'Why so,' said Socrates, 'is he not a philosopher? Surely he should beready to go the road which I am going. Only he must not kill himself.''Why do you say this?' said Cebes.

  "You will correct me," said Phaedo, turning to the company, "if Imisrepresent anything that you said."

  "Speak on without fear," said Simmias, "you seem to have the memory ofall the muses."

  Phaedo resumed, "Socrates said, 'You ask me why a man may not killhimself? Well, there is first this reason that we are as sentinels setat a post, which we must not leave until we are bidden; then again ifmen be servants of the gods, as seems likely, how can they withdraw fromthis service without leave? Would you not be angry if one of yourservants were to do it?'

  "'True,' said Cebes, "'but if we are the servants of the gods, andtherefore in the best guardianship, should we not be sorry to quit it?If so, is it not for the foolish to desire death and for the wise toregret it?' 'You are right,' replied the Master, 'and if I did notexpect when I depart hence to go to the realms of the wise and good godsand to the company of righteous men, I should indeed grieve at death.And that I am right in so expecting let me now seek to prove to you, forwhat better could I do on this the last day of my life? But stay; Critowishes to say something. What is it?' Crito said, 'He who has to givethe poison says that you must talk as little as possible, for that if aman so excites himself he has to drink sometimes two potions or eventhree.' 'Let him take his course,' said the master, 'and prepare what hethinks needful. And now to the matter in hand. Death, then, is nothingbut a separation of the soul from the body. That you concede. And youconcede further that a philosopher should care little for the things ofthe body, and that when he is most free from the body, then he sees mostclearly the highest and best things, perceiving, for instance, right andjustice and honor and goodness, veritable things all of them, but suchas cannot be discerned with the eyes or handled with the hands. For thebody with its desires and wants hinders us, and makes us waste our timeon the things that it covets, so that we have neither time nor temperfor wisdom. If then we are ever to reach absolute Truth we must get ridof the hindrance. While we live we do this to the best of our ability,and he is the wisest man and best philosopher who does it mostcompletely; but wholly we cannot do it, till the god shall liberate usfrom the control of this companion--And this is done by Death, which isthe complete separation of soul and body. Shall then the philosopher,who has all his life been striving for such partial separation as may bepossible, complain when the gods send him this separation that iscomplete? And this is my defence, my friends, for holding it to be agood thing to die.' 'Yes,' replied Cebes, 'but many fear that when thesoul is thus parted from the body, it may be nowhere, being dissipatedlike a breath or a puff of smoke when the body with which it has beenunited dies.' 'You desire, then,' said Socrates, 'that I should prove toyou that the soul does not perish when it is thus separated from thebody?' 'Yes,' we all said, 'that is what we all wish.' 'First then,' hewent on, 'is it not true that every thing implies that which is oppositeto it, as Right implies Wrong, and Fair implies Foul, and _to sleep_ isthe opposite of _to wake_? If so does not _to die_ imply its opposite_to live again_?

  "'Secondly, is it not true that the highest part of our knowledge is aremembering again? For there are things which we know not through oursenses. How then do we know them? Surely because we had this knowledgeof them at some previous time.'

  "'But,' said Cebes, 'may it not be true that the soul has been madebeforehand to enter the body; and having entered it lives therein, andyet perishes when its dwelling is dissolved?'

  "'Being of a frail nature, I suppose,' said the Master, 'it's all to beblown away by the wind, so that a man should be especially afraid to dieon a stormy day.'

  "At this we all laughed, for we did laugh many times and heartily thatday, though now this may seem to others and indeed to ourselves almostincredible, seeing what we were about to lose.

  "'Well,' the Master went on, 'I will seek to relieve you of this fear.Is it not true that things that are made up of parts are liable to beseparated? And is it not also true that the soul is not made up ofparts, but is simple and not compounded? Also it is visible things thatperish; but the soul is not visible. Again the soul is the ruler, andthe body the servant. Is it not true that the divine and immortal rulethe human and mortal senses?'

  "To this we all agreed.

  "The Master began again, for he now, as I may say, had to put before usthe conclusion of the whole matter. 'We may think thus, then, may wenot? If the soul depart from the body in a state of purity, not takingwith it any of the uncleannesses of the body, from which indeed it haskept itself free during life as far as was possible--for this is truephilosophy--then it departs into that invisible region which is of itsown nature, and being freed from all fears and desires and other evilsof mortality, spends the rest of its existence with the gods and thespirits of the good that are like unto itself. But if it depart,polluted and impure, having served the body, and suffered itself to bebewitched by its pleasures and desires, then it cannot attain to thispure and heavenly region, but must abide in some place that is morefitted for it.'

  "Much else he said on this point to which we listened as though it wereanother Orpheus that was singing to us. And when he had ended and satwrapt in thought, we were silent, fearing to disturb him. And so weremained for no little space of time in silence, he sitting on the bed,as if he neither saw nor heeded any of the things that were about him,and we regarded him most earnestly.

  "After a while he woke up, as it were, from his reverie and said, 'Youhave agreed with me so far; yet it may be that you have yet fears anddoubts in your minds which I have not yet dispersed. If so let me hearthem, that I may, if it be possible, rid you of them, for indeed Icannot, as I conceive, leave behind me a greater gift for you than sucha riddance. Speak then, if there is anything that you would say.'

  "Simmias said--I put, you will perceive, his argument in a few words:'May it not be that the soul is in the body as a harmony is in a harp?For the harmony is invisible and beautiful and divine, and the harp isvisible and material and mortal. Yet when the harp perishes, then theharmony also, of necessity, ceases to be.'

  "When Simmias had ended, Cebes began: 'I do indeed believe that the soulis more durable than the body. Just so; the wearer is more durable thanthe thing which he wears. Yet at the last, one thing that he weavesproves to be more durable than he. So may the soul outlast many bodies,and yet perish finally, worn out, so to speak, by having gone through somany births.'

  "Have I put these things rightly, O Simmias and Cebes?" said the youngphilosopher, addressing them, "though indeed I have made them verybrief."

  "You have put them rightly," the two agreed.

  "When we heard these things," Phaedo went on, "we were also greatlydisturbed; for we desired to believe that which the Master was seekingto prove, and seemed to have attained certainly, and now we were thrownback again into confusion and doubt."

  "And how did the Master take it, O Phaedo?" said Callias; "for indeed Ifeel much as you describe yourselves as having felt. Having reached acertain hope, not to say conviction, I am now disturbed by fears."

  "Nothing could be more admirable than his behavior. That he should beable to answer, was to be expected; but th
at he should receive theseobjections so sweetly, so gently, and perceiving our dismay, quicklyencourage us, and, so to speak, reform our broken ranks--this indeed wasbeyond all praise.

  "I myself was sitting on a low seat by the side of his bed. He droppedhis hand, and stroked my head and the hair which lay upon my neck, Iwore it long in those days,[90] for he was often wont to play with myhair. Then he said, 'I suppose, Phaedo, that you intend to cut off thesebeautiful locks to-morrow, as mourners are wont to do.'

  "'I suppose so,' I said.

  "'But you must cut them off to-day and not to-morrow if our doctrine bestricken to death, and we cannot bring it to life again.' Then he turnedto Simmias and Cebes, and said, 'Hear now what I have to say, but whileyou hear, think much of the truth but little of Socrates; and be on yourguard lest in my eagerness I deceive not myself only but you also, andleave my sting behind me when I die even as does a bee. You, Simmias,think that the soul may be but as a harmony in the body. But do you notremember what we said about all knowledge being a remembering, and thatwhat the soul knows it has before learnt? It existed then before thebody; but a harmony cannot exist before the things are put together ofwhich it proceeds. Then again harmony may be more or less; but one soulcannot be more a soul than another. And if, as the wise men say, virtueis harmony and vice discord, we have a harmony of a discord, whichcannot be; finally one part of the soul often opposes another, asreason opposes appetite; how then is the soul a harmony? You, Cebes,hold, indeed, that the soul is durable, but may not be immortal. Hearthen my answer. You believe that there are ideas or principles ofthings, and that these ideas, being invisible, are the real causes ofthings that are visible.' Cebes acknowledged that he did so believe. 'Isnot now the soul the principle of life, and is not this principle theopposite of death? In its essence, therefore, it is immortal; but thatwhich is immortal cannot be destroyed, no, even though there are thingswhich seem to threaten its existence.'

  "In this we all agreed. After this Socrates discoursed in many wordsabout the abodes and dwelling-places of the dead both good and bad, andof the manner in which they are dealt with by the powers thereuntoappointed. But of this I will speak on some other occasion, if you will.At present time is short, for I must not leave the sick man any longer,only I will relate the very end of the Master's discourse and the thingsthat happened after.

  "'To affirm positively about such matters,' he said, 'is not the part ofa wise man. Yet what I have said seems reasonable. And anyhow he who hasscorned the body and its pleasures during life, and has adorned the soulwith her proper virtues, justice and courage and truth, may surely awaithis passage to the other world with a good hope. But now destiny callsme, and I must obey. But I will bathe before I take the poison, that thewomen may not have the trouble of washing my body.'

  "Then Crito asked: 'Have you any directions to give us?'

  "'Nothing now; if you rightly order your own lives, you will do thebest for me and my children; but if you do not, then whatever you maypromise, you will fail.'

  "'But,' Crito asked, 'how shall we bury you?'

  "'As you will,' said he, 'provided only you can catch me and that I donot slip out of your hands.' Then he smiled, and said, 'Crito here willnot be persuaded that I am saying the truth. He thinks that _I_ am thedead body that he will soon see here, and asks how he shall bury me.Assure him then that when this dead body is laid in the grave or putupon the pyre to be burnt it is not Socrates that he sees. For to speakin this way, O Crito, is not only absurd but harmful.'

  "After this he bathed, remaining in the bath-chamber for some time. Thisbeing ended, his children were brought to him, and the women of hisfamily also. With these he talked awhile in the presence of Crito, andafterward commanded that some one should take the women and childrenaway. And it was now near sunset. Hereupon the servant of the Elevencame in, and said, 'O Socrates, you will not be angry with me and curseme when I tell you, as the magistrates constrained me to do, that youmust drink the poison. I have always found you most gentle and generous,the best by far of all that have come into this place. You will beangry, not with me, for you know that I am blameless, but with thosewhom you know to be in fault. And now, for you know what I am come totell you, bear what must be borne as cheerfully as may be.' And sayingthis the man turned away his face and wept.

  "'Farewell!' said Socrates, 'I will do as you bid,' and looking to us hesaid, 'How courteous he is! All the time he has been so, sometimestalking to me, and showing himself the best of fellows. And now see howgenerously he weeps for me! But we must do what he says. Let some onebring the poison, if it has been pounded; if not, let the man pound it.'

  "'But,' said Crito, 'the sun is still upon the mountains. I have knownsome who would prolong the day eating and drinking till it was quitelate before they drank. Anyhow do not be in a hurry. There is stillplenty of time.'

  "'Ah!' said Socrates, 'these men were quite consistent. They thoughtthat they were gaining so much time. But I too must be consistent. Ibelieve that I shall gain nothing by dying an hour or two later, exceptindeed the making of myself a laughing stock by clinging to life whenthere is really nothing left of it to cling to.'

  "Then Crito made a sign to the slave that was standing by; he went out,and after some time had passed brought in the man whose duty it was togive the poison, and who brought it in ready mixed in a cup. WhenSocrates caught sight of him, he said:

  "'Well, my friend, you know all about these matters. What must I do?'

  "'You will only have to walkabout after you have drunk the poison, tillyou feel a sort of weight in your legs. Then you should lie down, andthe poison will do the rest.'

  "So saying, he reached the cup to the Master, who took it. His hand didnot shake; there was not the least change in his color or his look. Onlyhe put his head forward in the way he had, and said to the man:

  "'How about making a libation from the cup? May we do it?'

  "'Socrates,' said the man, 'we pound just so much as we thinksufficient.'

  "'I understand,' said the Master. 'Still we may, nay we must, pray tothe gods that my removal hence to that place may be fortunate. The godsgrant this! Amen!' And as he said this he put the cup to his lips anddrank it off in the easiest, quietest way possible.

  "Up to that time we had all been fairly well able to keep from tears.But when we saw him drinking the poison, when we knew that he hadfinished it, we could restrain them no longer. As for myself I coveredmy face with my mantle, and wept to myself. Not for him did I weep, butfor myself, thinking what a friend I had lost. And others were stillmore overcome than I was. Only Socrates was quite unmoved.

  "'Why all this,' he said, 'my dear friends? I sent the women away forthis very reason, that they might not vex us in this fashion. I haveheard it said that a man ought to die with good words in his ears. Bequiet, I beseech, and bear yourselves like men.'

  "When we heard this we were not a little ashamed of ourselves, and keptback our tears. He walked about till he felt the weight in his legs, andthen lay down on his back--this was what the man bade him do. Then theman who administered the poison squeezed his foot pretty strongly, andasked him whether he felt anything. He said no. Then the man showed ushow the numbness was going higher and higher.

  "'When it reaches his heart,' he said, 'he will die.'

  "When the groin was cold the Master uncovered his face--for he hadcovered it before--and said, 'Crito, we owe a cock to AEsculapius; payit, do not forget.'

  "These were the last words he said.

  "'I will,' said Crito, 'is there anything more?'

  "But he made no answer. A little time after, we saw him move. Then theman uncovered the face, and we saw that his eyes were set. Then Critoclosed his mouth and his eyes."

  Phaedo left the room hastily when he had finished his narrative. Forsome time there was silence. Then Apollodorus spoke.

  "You know, my friends," he said, "that I am not very wise nor at alllearned; but he bore with me and my foolishness, and you will alsobecause you know I l
oved him. Let me say then one thing. Much thatSocrates said that day I did not understand, nor do I understand it nowwhen I hear it again. Yet no one could be more fully persuaded than Iwas that he spoke the truth. And what persuaded me was the sight of theman. So brave was he, so cheerful, so wholly convinced in his own mind,that no one could doubt that he was indeed about to depart to a betterplace."

  FOOTNOTES:

  [89] The Eleven were the executioners of the law rather taking the placeof the sheriff and the under-sheriff than that of the hangman. Thevagueness of its name is an interesting example of the Greek distastefor naming anything terrible.

  [90] A young Greek wore his hair long till he reached the age ofeighteen. This little detail is a proof of Phaedo's extreme youth atthis time.