Short Story / Socrates' Last Hour
Socrates’ Last Hour
Scholars and historians have maintained that the most accurate accounts of Socrates’ trial and execution were written by Plato and Xenophon. It should be noted that the reports of Plato and Xenophon often conflict, and Scholars have often had to come to conclusions based on their interpretations. However, I have recently come across some highly neglected accounts of Socrates’ last minutes, and I have decided that I will detail the final moments of his life so there is a better understanding of what had happened. So here, I present to you the story of Socrates’ last hour.
Socrates’ Last Hour
It was the seventh of May in the year 399 BC. The trial of Socrates had finished and left the philosopher doomed to a most unfortunate fate. In some lost and unknown dungeon-like basement, men walked anxiously in and out of the dark, hazy room. The thick, stone walls stifled the frantic whispers of men from inside the dungeon, and the only light that broke into the room was from a small, leg-sized window which was placed inconveniently along the highest point of the room’s northernmost wall.
The men who were populating the room were dressed in togas – some wore white togas, some wore orange, green, or even yellow and blue togas. The men circulated around a long, wooden bed, it was covered in white sheets, and upon the bed sat a large, thick man, dressed in his own white toga. The man stroked his large, gray beard, an action that would for centuries inspire great philosophers, scientists, historians, and both men and women beard growers.
A man dressed in a orange toga leaned over and addressed the large, beard rubbing man. “Socrates,” he began, “Please, let me help you escape from the prison. We can bribe the guards. I beg of you – this does not have to be your fate.”
Socrates looked to Crito, and spoke to him in soft and patient words, “Crito, my good follower, it would be unwise to think of leaving, for I have agreed to obey the laws of this land, and I leave my fate is in the hands of the politicians. Would I not be a hypocrite to escape and disobey the laws only when they are applied to me?”
“O’ dear Socrates, how it pains of me to hear you speak this way. Please, Socrates, tell me, what are we to do now? Are we to sit here and wait for you to be brought to your death, to fall into a fate brought upon you by unjust and corrupt politicians?”
“Crito—let not fear plague your mind. For now, let us feast, for I find myself famished as I have not eaten for days in this dungeon.”
Socrates reached down and rubbed a hand over his stomach in such a way that implied he was getting hungry, and it was indeed true that his belly was rounder then most. He was a man who indulged in the fruits – but a man who found little time to labor.
Crito pondered upon Socrates’ words, and then said, “But, Socrates, it is still early in the day, and there is little food to be found and little time to prepare it.”
Socrates found this agitating – indeed he found himself angered and frustrated when he would be denied his food. “Crito,” he started, his voice becoming anxious and sharp, “Is there not a single apple to be found – a single cherry, perhaps some lamb, perhaps some steak? O’ how I desire a hamburger and how my mouth drips for a burrito.”
Crito burrowed his brow at Socrates’ words, and became slightly confused. “Socrates, what is this ‘burrito’ you speak of? I have never heard of such a thing.”
Socrates found himself taken aback by this. “Crito, have you never been to Tacius Bellus? Why, I believe it is open even past midnight.
“Why – I have never been there. However, I do believe I may have heard of such a place. Tacius Bellus, you say? I try to avoid the Mexican food – it’s no good for the I.B.S., I will admit.”
“What is I.B.S.?”
“Irritable bowel syndrome—it’s this condition – where –“
“Enough! I need to hear no more.”
Socrates and Crito stopped talking for a few moments and assumed a brief awkward silence. A few men came in and out of the room, exchanging words and whispers with Socrates. Many of the men, Plato had noted in his writings, came into the room sobbing. Many of the men had tried to persuade Socrates to escape, but Socrates had to continuously talk them away as he had done with Crito.
A servant had come into the room, and had asked Socrates if he wanted anything. By this point, Socrates had become anxious and agitated. Something Plato would later note in his accounts of Socrates’ trial.
Socrates gazed around the room. “I’m dying of thirst,” he said, “Servant, please – run—fetch me something to drink.” Socrates turned his attention back to Crito. “Crito, have you talked with Ascle –
The servant interrupted Socrates. “What would you like to drink, sir?”
Socrates turned to the servant, annoyed with the apparent difficulty of getting something to drink. “Anything!”
“Sir – we have many things to drink.”
“Anything, I say! What must the father of western thought to do get something to drink or eat around here!” Socrates sent the servant off, and then turned back to Crito.
“Crito,” Socrates, in haste, said, “Have you talked with Asclepius?”
“No, I have not seen him in days,” said Crito. “For what reasons do you ask?”
“Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius; will you remember to pay the debt?”
Crito nodded morosely to Socrates, and at that moment, a servant entered with a drink for Socrates. Socrates grabbed the cup, “Ah, finally something to quench my thirst! I’m so thirsty I think I could die!”
Crito jumped up, “Wait, Socrates, don’t drink it!”
“Oh, Crito, you hound!” Socrates brought the cup to his mouth and took a long sip from it. “Delicious,” he said, “What was that?”
Crito grabbed Socrates’ shoulders. “You just drank hemlock – the poison!”
Socrates did not immediately respond to Crito – instead, as he realized what had happened, a look of panic stretched out over his face. “I drank what!?”
For the centuries following that fateful morning in May, the philosophies of Socrates influenced many thinkers all over the world. Socrates’ process of examining and questioning beliefs, the Socratic Method, is still practiced today by the greatest thinkers of our time.
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July 28, 2006
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Dude…you threw me on this one. The burrito thing was pretty good. And I like the portrayal of Socrates as a prick…pretty good. I don’t know whether or not you’re being serious with this or mocking the system. But I got some chuckles out of it regardless.
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I love philosophy and am especially fond of the Gadfly on the flank of Athens, so I was definitely interested to reading your account of his untimely end. I like the “I drank what?” idea. Makes sense.
I don’t believe you need to capitalize scholars when referring to them. I noticed you had done this in the first paragraph.
I wasn’t aware that women beard growers were inspired to stroke their beards following Socrates’ example, although you might choose to refer to them as “scientists, historians, and bearded ladies” or something to that effect.
Also, Tacius Bellus sounds Roman to me. Perhaps you might try Taxos Bellai. That sounds more like Greek. Just a thought.
Very amusing. Good job.
An amusing, light little story. I enjoyed the language; “a man who indulged in the fruits. . . etc” followed later by a discussion of Tacius Bellus is a great example of the blending of old and new world used in this post.
It’s as though the entire post was written to justify the old joke which occupies the last quote from Socrates, “I drank what?” A great diversion from the dark subject matter most Urbis writers seek to explore in short stories.
wonderful I love socrates and anything wrote about him. good job
Well, I’m not sure if that is how it went, but it is comocal to imagine. Unfortunatly, there was not much of a story all the way up to the end. Nothing happened until the line where he asks for a drink. Maybe you could have a little bit more going on. You suggest that he might be detained as you have him in a dungeon, but then you have him spitting orders and actually having sevents serve him. This probably would not be the case in any dungeon. As I said, it is comical but maybe just a little too far fetched. Far fetched is fine, but take it all the way out there if thats where you are taking it.
well as someone greatly interested in Socrates that proved to be an interesting read, and an enjoyable one, i do however feel it needs to be expanded a little more simply because i thought the whole structure a little to simple, other then that congratulations on a superb iece of work.
Cute. This takes the old joke about “what were Socrates’” last words?” a step further. I like the sudden appearance of the burrito, though I think you could carry the joke further. I also enjoyed the line “a man who indulged in the fruits but had little time to labor”.
Only one problem: the sentence about his beard should probably read “an action that would for centuries inspire… both men and women TO BECOME beard growers”. Or something similar.
I think with the material you have at hand (the event of Socrates’ death), you could have made this really hilarious. The problem with it is, it’s too absurd. I thought it was funny when Socrates mentioned a “burrito”, but implicating that a b.c. version of Taco Bell existed called “Tacius Bellus” seems a little… I can only describe it as “childish”.
That’s not to say it wasn’t humorous. I just feel that you could have done much better if you put more time into it.
“it was covered in white sheets” should probably just be ”, covered in white sheets,”
“By this point, Socrates had become anxious and agitated.” You already said he was agitated, this is redundant.
“agitated. Something Plato” agitated, something Plato
“thought to do get something” should be “do to”
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