Such was the political atmosphere of Syracuse during the period immediately succeeding the new accession, while the splendid obsequies in honor of the departed Dionysius were being solemnized; coupled with a funeral pile so elaborate as to confer celebrity on Timæus the constructor—and commemorated by architectural monuments, too grand to be permanent,[134] immediately outside of Ortygia, near the Regal Gates leading to that citadel. Among the popular measures, natural at the commencement of a new reign, the historian Philistus was recalled from exile.[135] He had been one of the oldest and most attached partisans of the elder Dionysius; by whom, however, he had at last been banished, and never afterwards forgiven. His recall now seemed to promise a new and valuable assistant to the younger, whom it also presented as softening the rigorous proceedings of his father. In this respect, it would harmonize with the views of Dion, though Philistus afterwards became his great opponent.
Dion was now both the prime minister, and the confidential monitor, of the young Dionysius. He upheld the march of the government with undiminished energy, and was of greater political importance than Dionysius himself. But success in this object was not the end for which Dion labored. He neither wished to serve a despot, nor to become a despot himself. The moment was favorable for resuming that project which he had formerly imbibed from Plato, and which, in spite of contemptuous disparagement by his former master, had ever since clung to him as the dream of his heart and life. To make Syracuse a free city, under a government, not of will, but of good laws, with himself as lawgiver in substance, if not in name—to enfranchise and replant the semi-barbarised Hellenic cities in Sicily—and to expel the Carthaginians—were schemes to which he now again devoted himself with unabated enthusiasm. But he did not look to any other means of achieving them than the consent and initiative of Dionysius himself. The man who had been sanguine enough to think of working upon the iron soul of the father, was not likely to despair of shaping anew the more malleable metal of which the son was composed. Accordingly, while lending to Dionysius his best service as minister, he also took up the Platonic profession, and tried to persuade him to reform both himself and his government. He endeavored to awaken in him a relish for a better and nobler private conduct than that which prevailed among the luxurious companions around him. He dwelt with enthusiasm on the scientific and soul-stirring conversation of Plato; specimens[136] of which he either read aloud or repeated, exalting the hearer not only to a higher intellectual range, but also to the full majesty of mind requisite for ruling others with honor and improvement. He pointed out the unrivalled glory which Dionysius would acquire in the eyes of Greece, by consenting to employ his vast power, not as a despot working on the fears of subjects, but as a king enforcing temperance and justice, by his own paternal example as well as by good laws. He tried to show that Dionysius, after having liberated Syracuse, and enrolled himself as a king limited and responsible amidst grateful citizens, would have far more real force against the barbarians than at present.[137]
Such were the new convictions which Dion tried to work into the mind of the young Dionysius, as a living faith and sentiment. Penetrated as he was with the Platonic idea—that nothing could be done for the improvement and happiness of mankind,[138] until philosophy and ruling power came together in the same hands; but everything, if the two did so come together—he thought that he saw before him a chance of realizing the conjunction, in the case of the greatest among all Hellenic potentates. He already beheld in fancy his native country and fellow citizens liberated, moralized, ennobled, and conducted to happiness, without murder or persecution,[139] simply by the well-meaning and instructed employment of power already organized. If accident had thrown the despotism into the hands of Dion himself, at this period of his life, the Grecian world would probably have seen an experiment tried, as memorable and generous as any event recorded in its history: what would have been its result, we cannot say. But it was enough to fire his inmost soul, to see himself separated from the experiment only by the necessity of persuading an impressible young man over whom he had much influence; and for himself he was quite satisfied with the humbler position of nominal minister, but real originator and chief, in so noble an enterprise.[140] His persuasive powers, strengthened as they were by intense earnestness as well as by his imposing station and practical capacity, actually wrought a great effect upon Dionysius. The young man appeared animated with a strong desire of self-improvement, and of qualifying himself for such a use of the powers of government as Dion depicted. He gave proof of the sincerity of his feeling by expressing eagerness to see and converse with Plato, to whom he sent several personal messages, warmly requesting him to visit Syracuse.[141]
This was precisely the first step which Dion had been laboring to bring about. He well knew, and had personally felt, the wonderful magic of Plato’s conversation when addressed to young men. To bring Plato to Syracuse, and to pour his eloquent language into the predisposed ears of Dionysius, appeared like realizing the conjunction of philosophy and power. Accordingly he sent to Athens, along with the invitation from Dionysius, the most pressing and emphatic entreaties from himself. He represented the immense prize to be won—nothing less than the means of directing the action of an organized power, extending over all the Greeks of Italy and Sicily—provided only the mind of Dionysius could be thoroughly gained over. This (he said) was already half done; not only Dionysius himself, but also his youthful half brothers of the other line, had been impressed with earnest mental aspirations, and longed to drink at the pure fountain of true philosophy. Everything presaged complete success, such as would render them hearty and active proselytes, if Plato would only come forthwith—before hostile influences could have time to corrupt them—and devote to the task his unrivalled art of penetrating the youthful mind. These hostile influences were indeed at work, and with great activity; if victorious, they would not only defeat the project of Dion, but might even provoke his expulsion, or threaten his life. Could Plato, by declining the invitation, leave his devoted champion and apostle to fight so great a battle, alone and unassisted? What could Plato say for himself afterwards, if by declining to come, he not only let slip the greatest prospective victory which had ever been opened to philosophy, but also permitted the corruption of Dionysius and the ruin of Dion?[142]
Such appeals, in themselves emphatic and touching, reached Athens reinforced by solicitations, hardly less strenuous, from Archytas of Tarentum and the other Pythagorean philosophers in the south of Italy; to whose personal well-being, over and above the interests of philosophy, the character of the future Syracusan government was of capital importance. Plato was deeply agitated and embarrassed. He was now sixty-one years of age. He enjoyed preëminent estimation, in the grove of Akadêmus near Athens, amidst admiring hearers from all parts of Greece. The Athenian democracy, if it accorded to him no influence on public affairs, neither molested him nor dimmed his intellectual glory. The proposed voyage to Syracuse carried him out of his enviable position into a new field of hazard and speculation; brilliant indeed and flattering, beyond anything which had ever been approached by philosophy, if it succeeded; but fraught with disgrace, and even with danger to all concerned, if it failed. Plato had already seen the elder Dionysius surrounded by his walls and mercenaries in Ortygia, and had learnt by cruel experience the painful consequences of propounding philosophy to an intractable hearer, whose displeasure passed so readily into act. The sight of contemporary despots nearer home, such as Euphron of Sikyon and Alexander of Pheræ, was by no means reassuring; nor could he reasonably stake his person and reputation on the chance, that the younger Dionysius might prove a glorious exception to the general rule. To outweigh such scruples, he had indeed the positive and respectful invitation of Dionysius himself; which however would have passed for a transitory, though vehement caprice on the part of a young prince, had it not been backed by the strong assurances of a mature man and valued friend like Dion. To these assurances, and to the shame which would be incurred by leaving Dion to fight the battle and incur the danger alone, Plato sacrificed his own grounds for hesitation. He went to Syracuse, less with the hope of succeeding in the intended conversion of Dionysius, than from the fear of hearing both himself and his philosophy taunted with confessed impotence—as fit only for the discussions of the school, shrinking from all application to practice, betraying the interest of his Pythagorean friends, and basely deserting that devoted champion who had half opened the door to him for triumphant admission.[143]
Such is the account which the philosopher gives of his own state of mind in going to Syracuse. At the same time, he intimates that his motives were differently interpreted by others.[144] And as the account which we possess was written fifteen years after the event—when Dion had perished, when the Syracusan enterprise had realized nothing like what was expected, and when Plato looked back upon it with the utmost grief and aversion,[145] which must have poisoned the last three or four years of his life—we may fairly suspect that he partially transfers back to 367 B. C. the feelings of 352 B. C.; and that at the earlier period, he went to Syracuse not merely because he was ashamed to decline, but because he really flattered himself with some hopes of success.
However desponding he may have been before, he could hardly fail to conceive hopes from the warmth of his first reception. One of the royal carriages met him at his landing, and conveyed him to his lodging. Dionysius offered a sacrifice of thanksgiving to the gods for his safe arrival. The banquets at the acropolis became distinguished for their plainness and sobriety. Never had Dionysius been seen so gentle in answering suitors or transacting public business. He began immediately to take lessons in geometry from Plato. Every one around him, of course, was suddenly smitten with a taste for geometry;[146] so that the floors were all spread with sand, and nothing was to be seen except triangles and other figures inscribed upon it, with expositors and a listening crowd around them. To those who had been inmates of the acropolis, under the reign of the former despot, this change was surprising enough. But their surprise was converted into alarm, when, at a periodical sacrifice just then offered, Dionysius himself arrested the herald in pronouncing the customary prayer to the gods—“That the despotism might long remain unshaken.” “Stop! (said Dionysius to the herald) imprecate no such curse upon us!”[147] To the ears of Philistus, and the old politicians, these words portended nothing less than revolution to the dynasty, and ruin to Syracusan power. A single Athenian sophist (they exclaimed), with no other force than his tongue and his reputation, had achieved the conquest of Syracuse; an attempt in which thousands of his countrymen had miserably perished half a century before.[148] Ineffably were they disgusted to see Dionysius abdicate in favor of Plato, and exchange the care of his vast force and dominion for geometrical problems and discussions on the summum bonum.
For a moment Plato seemed to be despot of Syracuse; so that the noble objects for which Dion had labored were apparently within his reach, either wholly or in part. And as far as we can judge, they really were to a great degree within his reach—had this situation, so interesting and so fraught with consequences to the people of Sicily, been properly turned to account. With all reverence for the greatest philosopher of antiquity, we are forced to confess that upon his own showing, he not only failed to turn the situation to account, but contributed even to spoil it by an unseasonable rigor. To admire philosophy in its distinguished teachers, is one thing; to learn and appropriate it, is another stage, rarer and more difficult, requiring assiduous labor, and no common endowments; while that which Plato calls “the philosophical life,”[149] or practical predominance of a well-trained intellect and well-chosen ethical purposes, combined with the minimum of personal appetite—is a third stage, higher and rarer still. Now Dionysius had reached the first stage only. He had contracted a warm and profound admiration for Plato. He had imbibed this feeling from the exhortations of Dion; and we shall see by his subsequent conduct that it was really a feeling both sincere and durable. But he admired Plato without having either inclination or talent to ascend higher, and to acquire what Plato called philosophy. Now it was an unexpected good fortune, and highly creditable to the persevering enthusiasm of Dion, that Dionysius should have been wound up so far as to admire Plato, to invoke his presence, and to instal him as a sort of spiritual power by the side of the temporal. Thus much was more than could have been expected; but to demand more, and to insist that Dionysius should go to school and work through a course of mental regeneration—was a purpose hardly possible to attain, and positively mischievous if it failed. Unfortunately, it was exactly this error which Plato, and Dion in deference to Plato, seem to have committed. Instead of taking advantage of the existing ardor of Dionysius to instigate him at once into active political measures beneficial to the people of Syracuse and Sicily, with the full force of an authority which, at that moment, would have been irresistible—instead of heartening him up against groundless fears or difficulties of execution, and seeing that full honor was done to him for all the good which he really accomplished, meditated, or adopted—Plato postponed all these as matters for which his royal pupil was not yet ripe. He and Dion began to deal with Dionysius as a confessor treats his penitent; to probe the interior man[150]—to expose him to his own unworthiness—to show that his life, his training, his companions, had all been vicious—to insist upon repentance and amendment upon these points, before he could receive absolution, and be permitted to enter upon active political life—to tell him that he must reform himself, and become a rational and temperate man, before he was fit to enter seriously on the task of governing others.
Such was the language which Plato and Dion held to Dionysius. They well knew indeed that they were treading on delicate ground—that while irritating a spirited horse in the sensitive part, they had no security against his kicks.[151] Accordingly, they resorted to many circumlocutory and equivocal expressions, so as to soften the offence given. But the effect was not the less produced, of disgusting Dionysius with his velleities towards political good. Not only did Plato decline entering upon political recommendations of his own, but he damped, instead of enforcing, the positive good resolutions which Dion had already succeeded in infusing. Dionysius announced freely, in the presence of Plato, his wish and intention to transform his despotism at Syracuse into a limited kingship, and to replant the dis-hellenised cities in Sicily. These were the two grand points to which Dion had been laboring so generously to bring him, and which he had invoked Plato for the express purpose of seconding. Yet what does Plato say when this momentous announcement is made? Instead of bestowing any praise or encouragement, he drily remarks to Dionysius,—“First go through your schooling, and then do all these things; otherwise leave them undone.”[152] Dionysius afterwards complained, and with good show of reason (when Dion was in exile, menacing attack upon Syracuse, under the favorable sympathies of Plato), that the great philosopher had actually deterred him (Dionysius) from executing the same capital improvements which he was now encouraging Dion to accomplish by an armed invasion. Plato was keenly sensitive to this reproach afterwards; but even his own exculpation proves it to have been in the main not undeserved.
Plutarch observes that Plato felt a proud consciousness of philosophical dignity in disdaining respect to persons, and in refusing to the defects of Dionysius any greater measure of indulgence than he would have shown to an ordinary pupil of the Academy.[153] If we allow him credit for a sentiment in itself honorable, it can only be at the expense of his fitness for dealing with practical life; by admitting (to quote a remarkable phrase from one of his own dialogues) that “he tried to deal with individual men without knowing those rules of art or practice which bear on human affairs.[154]” Dionysius was not a common pupil, nor could Plato reasonably expect the like unmeasured docility from one for whose ear so many hostile influences were competing. Nor were Plato and Dionysius the only parties concerned. There was, besides, in the first place, Dion, whose whole position was at stake—next, and of yet greater moment, the relief of the people of Syracuse and Sicily. For them, and on their behalf, Dion had been laboring with such zeal, that he had inspired Dionysius with readiness to execute the two best resolves which the situation admitted; resolves not only pregnant with benefit to the people, but also insuring the position of Dion—since if Dionysius had once entered upon this course of policy, Dion would have been essential to him as an auxiliary and man of execution.