SECTION VII. Socrates refuses to escape out of prison. He passes the last days of his life in discoursing with his friends upon the immortality of the soul. He drinks the poison. Punishment of his accusers. Honours paid to his memory. After the sentence had been passed upon him, Socrates,* with the same intrepid aspect with which he had held tyrants in awe, went forward towards the prison, which lost that name, says Seneca, when he entered it, and became the residence of virtue and probity. His friends followed him thither, and continued to visit him during thirty days, which passed between his condemnation and death. The cause of that long delay was, the Athenians sent every year a ship to the isle of Delos, to offer certain sacrifices; and it was prohibited to put any person to death in the city, from the time that the priest of Apollo had crowned the poop of this vessel, as a signal of its departure, till the same vessel should return. So that sentence having been passed upon Socrates the day after that ceremony began, it was necessary to defer the execution of it for thirty days, during the continuance of this voyage. In this long interval, death had sufficient opportunity to present itself before his eyes in all its terrors, and to put his constancy to the proof, not only by the severe rigour of a dungeon, and the irons upon his legs, but by the continual prospect and cruel expectation of an event which nature always abhors. In this sad condition he did not cease to enjoy that profound tranquillity of mind which his friends had always admired in him.† He conversed with them with the same temper he had always expressed; and Crito observes, that the evening before his death, he slept as peaceably as at any other time. He even at that time composed a hymn in honour of Apollo and Diana, and turned one of Æsop's fables into verse. The day before, or the same day that the ship was to arrive from Delos, the return of which was to be followed by the death of Socrates, Crito, his intimate friend, came to him early in the morning to let him know that mournful news, and at the same time to inform him that it depended only upon himself to quit the prison; that the jailor was gained; that he would find the doors open, and offered him a safe retreat in Thessaly. Socrates laughed at this proposal, and asked him, whether he knew of any place out of Attica where people did not die? Crito urged the thing very seriously, and-pressed him to take advantage of so precious an opportunity, adding arguments upon arguments to induce his consent, and to engage him to resolve upon his escape. Without mentioning the inconsolable grief he should suffer for the death of such a friend, how should *Socrates eodem illo vultu, quo aliquando solus triginta tyrannos in ordinem redegerat, carcerem intravit, ignominiam ipsi loco detracturus. Neque enim poterat carcer videri, in quo Socrates erat. Senec. in Consol. ad Helvet. c. xiii. Socrates carcerem intrando purgavit, omnique honestiorem curià reddidit. Id de vit beat. c. xxvii. † Plat. in Criton. ne support the reproaches of an infinity of people, who would believe that it was in his power to have saved him, but that he would not sacrifice a small part of his wealth for that purpose? Could the people ever be persuaded that so wise a man as Socrates would not quit his prison, when he might do it with all possible security? Perhaps he might fear to expose his friends, or to occasion the loss of their fortunes, or even of their lives or liberty. Ought there to be any thing more dear and precious to them than the preservation of Socrates? Even strangers themselves dispute that honour with them; many of whom have come expressly with considerable sums of money to purchase his escape; and declare, that they should think themselves highly honoured to receive him among them, and to supply him abundantly with all he should have occasion for. Ought he then to abandon himself to enemies, who have occasioned his being condemned unjustly; and can he think it allowable to betray his own cause? Is it not essential to his goodness and justice, to spare his fellow-citizens the guilt of innocent blood? But if all these motives cannot alter him, and he is not concerned with regard to himself, can he be insensible to the interests of his children? In what a condition does he leave them? And can he forget the father, only to remember the philosopher? Socrates, after having heard him with attention, praised his zeal, and expressed his gratitude; but before he could accede to his opinion, was for examining whether it was just for him to depart out of prison without the consent of the Athenians. The question therefore here is to know, whether a man condemned to die, though unjustly, can without a crime escape from justice and the laws? I do not know, whether, among us, there are many persons to be found who would believe that this could be made a question. Socrates begins with removing every thing foreign to the subject, and comes immediately to the bottom of the affair. I should certainly rejoice extremely, my dear Crito, if you could persuade me to quit this place, but cannot resolve to do so without being first persuaded. We ought not to concern ourselves for what the people may say, but for what the sole Judge of all that is just or unjust, shall say, and that alone is truth. All the considerations you have alleged, as money, reputation, family, prove nothing, unless you show me that what you propose is just and lawful. It is a received and constant principle with us, that all injustice is shameful, and fatal to him that commits it, whatever men may say, or whatever good or evil may ensue from it. We have always reasoned from this principle even to our latest days, and have never departed in the least from it. Would it be possible, dear Crito, that at our age our most serious discourses should resemble those of infants, who say Yes and No, almost in the same breath, and have no fixed and determinate notion? At each proposition he waited Crito's answer and assent. Let us, therefore, resume our principles, and endeavour to make use of them at this time. It has always been a maxim with us, that il is never allowable upon any pretence whatsoever to commit injustice, not even in regard to those who injure us, nor to return evil for evil, and that when we have once engaged our word, we are bound to keep it inviolably; no interest being capable to dispense with it. Now, if at the time I should be ready to make my escape, the laws and republic should present themselves in a body before me, what could I answer to the following question which they might put to me? 'What are you going to do Socrates? Is flying from justice in this manner aught else than ruining entirely the laws and the republic? Do you believe that a state can subsist, after justice is not only no longer in force in it, but is even corrupted, subverted, and trod under foot by individuals?' But, it may be said the republic has done me injustice, and has sentenced me wrongfully. 'Have you forgot, the laws would reply, that you are under an agreement with us to submil your private judgment to that of the republic? You were at liberty, if our government and regulations did not suit you, to retire and settle yourself elsewhere: but a residence of seventy years in our city sufficiently denotes that our regulations have not displeased you, and that you have complied with them from an entire knowledge and experience of them, and out of choice. In fact you owe all you are, and all you possess, to them; birth, nurture, education, and establishment: for all these proceed from the tuition and protection of the republic. Do you believe yourself free to break through engagements with her, which you have confirmed by more than one oath Though she should intend to destroy you, can you render her evil for evil, and injury for injury? Have you a right to act in that manner towards your father and mother; and do you not know that your country is more considerable, and more worthy of respect before God and man, than either father or mother, or all the relations in the world together; that your country is to be honoured and revered, to be complied with in her excesses, and to be treated with tenderness and kindness, even in her most violent proceedings? in a word, that she is either to be reclaimed by wise counsels and respectful remonstrances, or to be obeyed in her commands, and all she shall decree suffered without murmuring? As for your children, Socrates, your friends will render them all the services in their power; at least_the Divine Providence will not fail them. Resign yourself, therefore, to our reasons, and take the counsel of those who have given you birth, nurture, and education. Set not too high a value upon your children, your life, or any thing in the world, as upon justice; that when you appear before the tribunal of Pluto, you may not be at a loss to defend yourself in the presence of your judges. But if you demean yourself otherwise, we shall continue your enemies as long as you live, without ever affording you relaxation or repose; and when you are dead, our sisters, the laws in the regions below, will be as little favourable to you; knowing that you have been guilty of using your utmost endeavours to destroy us. Socrates observed to Crito, that he seemed actually to hear all he had said, and that the sound of these words echoed so continually in his ears, that they entirely engrossed him, and left him no other thoughts nor words. Crito, agreeing in fact that he had nothing to reply, continued silent, and withdrew from his friend. At length the fatal ship returned to Athens, which was in a nanner the signal for the death of Socrates.* The next day all .'s friends, except Plato, who was sick, repaired to the prison. early in the morning. The jailor desired them to wait a little, because the eleven magistrates (who had the direction of the prisons) were at that time signifying to the prisoner that he was to die the same day. Presently after they entered, and found Socrates, whose chains had been taken off, sitting by Xantippe, his wife, who held one of his children in her arms. As soon as she perceived them she uttered piercing cries, sobbing, and tearing her face and hair, and made the prison resound with her complaints. Oh, my dear Socrates, your friends are come to see you this day for the last time! He desired that she might be taken away, and she was immediately carried home. Socrates, passed the rest of the day with his friends, and conversed with them with his usual cheerfulness and tranquillity. The subject of conversation was most important, and well suited to his present condition; that is to say, the immortality of the soul. What gave occasion to this discourse, was a question introduced in a manner by chance, Whether a true philosopher ought not to desire and take pains to die? This proposition, taken too literally, implied an opinion that a philosopher might kill himself. Socrates shows that nothing is more unjust than this notion; and that man, appertaining to God, who formed and placed him with his own hand in the post he possesses, cannot abandon it without his permission, nor quit life without nis order. What is it then that can induce a philosopher to entertain this love for death? It can be only the hope of that happiness which he expects in another life, and that hope can be founded only upon the opinion of the soul's immortality. Socrates employed the last day of his life in entertaining his friends upon this great and important subject, from which conversation P's admirable dialogue, entitled Phædon, is wholly taken. He expians to his friends all the arguments for believing the soul immortal, and refutes all the objections against it, which are very near the same as are made at this day. This treatise is too long for me to attempt an abstract of it. Before he answers any of these objections, he deplores a mis fortune coinmon enough among men, who, in consequence of hear ing ignorant persons, that contradict and doubt every thing, dis pute, believe there is nothing certain. Is it not a great misfortune, Plat. in Phæd. p. 59, &c. At Athens, as soon as sentence was pronounced upon a criminal, he was unbound, and considered as the victim of death. whom.. was no longer lawful to keep in chains Piat. p. 90, 91. dear Phædon, that having reasons which are true, certain and very easy to be understood, there should, however, be persons in the world who are not at all affected with them, from their having heard those frivolous disputes wherein all things appear sometimes true and sometimes false. These unjust and unreasonable men, instead of blaming themselves for these doubts, or imputing them to the narrowness of their own capacities, by ascribing the defect to the reasons themselves, proceed at length to a detestation of them, and believe themselves more judicious and better informed than all others, because they imagine they are the only persons who comprehend that there is nothing true or certain in the nature of things. Socrates demonstrates the injustice of this proceeding. He observes, that of two things equally uncertain, wisdom enjoins us to choose that which is most advantageous with least hazard. If what I advance, says he, upon the immortality of the soul proves true, it is good to believe it; and if after my death it proves false, 1 shall still have drawn from it in this life this advantage,—of having been less sensible here of the evils which generally attend human life. This reasoning of Socrates* (which is real and true in the mouth of a Christian alone) is very remarkable. If what I say is true, I gain every thing, while I hazard very little; and if false, I lose nothing; on the contrary, I am still a great gainer. Socrates does not confine himself to the mere speculation of this great truth, that the soul is immortal; he draws from it useful and necessary conclusions for the conduct of life, in explaining what the hope of a happy eternity demands from man, that it be not frustrated, and that instead of attaining the rewards prepared for the good, they do not experience the punishment allotted for the wicked. The philosopher here sets forth these great truths, which a constant tradition, though very much obcured by fiction and le, had always preserved among the Pagans: the last judgment the righteous and wicked; the eternal punishments to which great criminals are condemned; a place of peace and joy without end for the souls that have retained their purity and innocence, or which during this life have expiated their offences by repentance and satisfaction: and an intermediate state, in which 'y purify themselves, for a certain time, from less considerable c.mes that have not been atoned for during this life. My friends, there is still one thing, which it is very just to believe; and this is, that if the soul be immortal, it requires to be cull voted with attention, not only for what we call the time of life, but for that which is to follow, I mean eternity; and the least neglect in this point may be allended with endless consequences. If death were the final aissolution of being, the wicked would be great gainers by it, as being delivered at once from their bodies, their souls, and their vices; but as the soul is immortal, it has no other means of being freed from * Monsieur Pascal has expatiated upon this reasoning in his seventh a ticle, and deduced from it a demonstration of infinite force. † Plat. p. 107. |