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the voice of conscience, or of reason, within his own soul. But we know from his own testimony, and from Xenophon, that he adopted the universal belief of his age concerning Spirits, who mediated between gods and men. Both Greeks and Romans believed in the Oriental doctrine, that every human being, as well as every other form of being, had an attendant Spirit, who introduced him into life, ac companied him through the whole course of it, and at death conducted him out of the world. The Genii of men were masculine, those of women were feminine. Some believed that each person had two; one bright and good, to whom he was indebted for the favourable events of life, the other black and evil, the cause of his misfortunes. Some supposed the same Genius was either white or black, friend or enemy, according to a person's behaviour. Hence it was a common caution: "Be careful not to incense thy Genius." "Be reconciled with thy Genius." The more perfect the friendship entertained by the Genius for the person under his protection, the greater was his happiness and good fortune. When a man died, this guardian returned to the Universal Source of Spirit, whence he had emanated. The Greeks, who always clothed abstract ideas in graceful forms, represented the Genius of Human Nature by statues of a beautiful youth, sometimes naked, with wings, sometimes wearing a wreath of flowers and a garment covered with stars. It seems very likely that "the demon" of the Athenian philosopher belonged to this class of beings. He himself never personified it, but always spoke of it as "a divine sign," or "supernatural voice."

Socrates was distinguished for cheerfulness, equability of temper, and the most inflexible integrity. He is reported to have had an extremely irritable wife, whose reproaches he bore with the utmost patience. He twice served in the councils of state, and several times in the army. He was so universally honoured, that the most distinguished citizens of Athens constituted themselves his stewards, and sent him provisions as they thought he needed, in order that he might devote himself entirely to

public instruction. He took what necessity required, and returned the remainder. Xenophon says of him: "He was so pious, that he undertook nothing without asking counsel of the gods; so just, that he never did the smallest injury to any one, but rendered essential services to many; so temperate, that he never preferred pleasure to virtue; and so wise, that he was able, even in the most difficult cases, to judge what was expedient and right." His manner of discoursing in public seems to have produced a powerful effect on his hearers. The wealthy and dashing Alcibiades said of him: "No mortal speech has ever excited in my mind such emotions as are kindled by this magician. My heart leaps like an inspired Corybant. My inmost soul is stung by his words, as by the bite of a serpent. It is indignant at its own rude and ignoble character. I often weep tears of regret to think how vain and inglorious is the life I lead. Nor am I the only one that weeps like a child and despairs of himself; many others are affected in the same way."

When Socrates was sixty-three years old, he was chosen member of the senate, and carried into political life the same firmness and honesty that had marked his character in all other relations with his fellow men. He incurred great unpopularity, and some personal hazard, by refusing to obey orders that he deemed unjust, or to put to vote an unconstitutional question. His diligence and directness in contending against all pretension and false appearances likewise made him many enemies among artful and conceited men. Notwithstanding his wisdom and his virtues, he was summoned before the tribunal of Five Hundred, to answer the charge of corrupting the youth of Athens, of despising the tutelary deities of the state, and teaching the worship of new divinities, not sanctioned by law. Lysias, one of the most celebrated orators of the age, composed an eloquent speech in his defence, but the philosopher declined his assistance, declaring to his judges that "the Divine Voice" had forbidden him to make any defence; and that not only once, but twice. In an address to them, VOL. I.-30

distinguished for simplicity and earnestness, he confessed that he knew nothing, but he said it had always been his wish to promote the welfare and happiness of his fellow citizens; that whatever he possessed had always been devoted to their service; that he fulfilled this duty by special command of the gods; he added, emphatically, "whose authority I regard more than I do yours." He was condemned by a majority of six votes. When requested, according to custom, to choose what death he would die, he would not consent to any greater punishment than a fine, on the security of Plato and other friends. Instead of acknowledging himself guilty, or seeking to excite compassion, he said: "For my efforts to teach the young men of Athens justice and moderation, I better deserve to be maintained at the public expense, than do the victors in the Olympic Games; for they make their countrymen more happy in appearance, while I have made them so in reality." This coolness and dignity of deportment offended the judges, and they condemned him to drink poison, by a majority of eighty. He received the sentence with perfect equanimity. After a short speech, in which he commended his children to the care of the senate, he concluded by saying: "In death we either lose all consciousness, or, as it is said, go into some other place. If so, it will be much better; for we shall then be out of the power of partial judges, and come before those who are impartial."

An embassy was annually sent to the sacred island of Delos, the birthplace of Apollo, and no one was allowed to be put to death till the vessel returned, and the solemnities of the Delian Festival were concluded. As the condemnation of Socrates occurred at that time, he remained thirty days chained in prison. His friends urged him to escape, and one of them bribed the jailer for that purpose. But he declined to avail himself of the opportunity thus offered, saying, with his usual pleasantry: "Where can I fly, to avoid the irrevocable doom passed on all mortals?" His friends and disciples were with him almost constantly. He talked calmly and cheerfully with them concerning the ex

istence and destiny of the soul. When one of them wept that he, being so innocent, should be condemned to die, he replied: "What then, would you have me die guilty?" A few hours before his death, he said to those around him: "I must die, while you continue in life. The gods alone can tell which is to be preferred, for in my opinion no man can know." To one who doubted the existence of Deity he said: "O Aristodemus, apply yourself sincerely to worship God. He will enlighten you, and then all your doubts will be removed." After drinking the poison, he said: "It would be inexcusable in me thus to despise death, if I were not persuaded that it will conduct me into the presence of the gods, who are most righteous governors, and into the society of just and good men; but I derive confidence from the hope that something of man remains after death, and that the condition of good men will then be much better than that of the bad." Again he said: "The soul, which cannot die, merits all the moral and intellectual improvement we can possibly give it. A spirit formed to live forever should be making continual advances in virtue and wisdom. To a well cultivated mind the body is merely a temporary prison. At death, such a soul is conducted by its invisible guardian to the heights of empyrean felicity, where it becomes a fellow commoner with the wise and good of all ages." When Crito asked in what manner he wished to be buried, he replied, with a smile: "Any way you please, provided I do not escape out of your hands." Then, turning to his other friends, he asked: "Is it not strange, after all I have said to convince you I am going to the society of the happy, that Crito still thinks this body to be Socrates? Let him dispose of my lifeless corpse as he pleases, but let him not mourn over it, as if that were Socrates." A few moments before he expired, he reminded Crito not to forget to sacrifice a cock, which he had vowed to Esculapius. He died in the seventieth year of his age. The tidings of his death occasioned such general indignation throughout the states of Greece, that the Athenians became

thoroughly ashamed, and manifested their repentance by a decree of public mourning and the erection of a statue to his memory.

Plato, born four hundred and twenty-nine years before Christ, was a pupil of Socrates. When his father first conducted him to the school, the teacher was just saying that he dreamed a young swan flew from the altar of Eros and alighted on his lap, whence he soared singing into the air, alluring all who heard his high sweet voice. Plato entered while he spoke, and he said: "Behold the swan!" This illustrious pupil was accused of preferring metaphysical speculations, and the mysteries of Egypt, to the plain practical wisdom of his master, for whom, however, he had great reverence. His own soul was of another mould. It was essentially poetic, and gave that tinge to everything it touched. After the death of Socrates, he went to Magna Grecia and staid some time with the followers of Pythagoras, of whom he is said to have purchased some of his recorded opinions at a high price. He afterward went to Egypt, where he spent thirteen years at the most celebrated priestly schools. He is supposed to have been more than forty years old when he returned to Athens, and opened a school of philosophy in the beautiful grove of Academus, shaded by lofty plane trees, intersected by a gentle stream, and adorned with temples and statues. In the midst of his fame, he evinced as much desire to learn of others, as to teach. One of his friends, observing this, asked him how long he intended to be a scholar. He replied: "As long as I am not ashamed to grow wiser and better." He adopted the Egyptian fashion of concealing his opinions on spiritual subjects; partly, perhaps, because he was warned by the fate of Socrates.

"It is a difficult thing," says he, "to apprehend the nature of the Creator of the universe; and it would be impossible, and even impious, to expose the discovery to common understandings." He did not shut his gates, or demand an oath of secresy from his disciples, like Pythagoras, but he purposely threw a veil of obscurity over his

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