Callias: A Tale of the Fall of Athens

by Alfred John Church

“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.”