He was a man of Xanthippus’ age, handsome, slender, tall, and, to the soberer citizens of Athens, always disgustingly perfumed and manicured. Though he was no longer young his round face was as unlined as a boy’s, with jovial and plump features and mirthful sparkling eyes and a very red full mouth like a woman’s. His expression was alert and cheerful, as if he found life the gayest of experiences—which he did—and was constantly awaiting new jokes and new entertainments with an air of joyous expectation. His face never became blank or dull or sullen except when a companion uttered words of wisdom or an abstruse theory.
He wore the most elegant of clothing and was even known to affect the Egyptian fashion of elaborate gold and jeweled necklaces and his style of living in his ornate house was sybaritic and unconventional, and always filled with coarse jesting voices and shouts of laughter, and, of course, the most ribald of music. Unlike his friends, he had no library, and never wished for solitude and could not endure it, and was always surrounded by companions of his own libidinous mind and with his own taste in jokes and amusements and women. His round lively head wore an aureole of crisp black curls which sprang from his skull with seemingly an active life of their own.
He bored Xanthippus, who usually avoided him. “He is a perpetual youth,” Xanthippus would say, “with desires like a satyr and the discriminations of the basest of slaves and the intelligence of a fish.” Sometimes he had found himself impatiently disliking this happiest of men who never engaged in weighty matters and found existence without a purpose and who rejected any responsibility except for his own enjoyment. “There is a time for everything,” Xanthippus would say, “and there is a time to be a fool, but not always.” Xanthippus, who was genial enough himself, and often found life ridiculous and without an object, and liked a jest as well as any other man, was frequently angered that Teos seemed to find him heavy and ponderous and without humor. In fact, the sort of man he, Xanthippus, despised himself.
Yet here Teos, the irresponsible, the flagrant, the reprobate, the fool, the man without imagination or subtlety and who knew nothing of poetry or the intricacies of the law, sat with a profound philosopher like Zeno as advocate of Xanthippus! There was something humorous in the situation, Xanthippus told himself, but he could not as yet discern it. Certainly Teos was no close friend of his and had never found his company entertaining or desirable. As for Zeno, he was suspected by the very priests and judges before whom he sat in silent dignity—and in his unimpressive appearance.
“Where is your advocate, lord?” asked one of the judges, a severe man of massive countenance and cold eyes.
Xanthippus stood before them, and all at once he wanted to laugh. He bowed to the lonely marble bench where sat Zeno and Teos. “These are my advocates,” he said, and his neat black beard twitched. Three of the most important judges and priests studiously examined the parchments before them and their faces were sinister and momentous. They thought of their heavy purses.
“This is most irregular,” said one of the lesser priests.
“The majority of things in this world are so,” said Xanthippus.
He hated zealots, for they were the most stupid and cruel of men and would condemn a man who even slightly disagreed with them and invariably lusted for the blood of dissenters. They boasted of their love for tolerance, and asserted they would fight to the death for it, yet they were more intolerant than a mad bull who was provoked. They were the Helots of virtue, while at the same time being the most unvirtuous of men in aspects of the important affairs of life.
He looked at Teos again and Teos was smiling happily and playing with his Egyptian necklace. As for Zeno, he was full of distress and anxiety, and kept moistening his lips and twisting his philosopher’s hands.
Someone cleared his throat noisily. A priest lifted a parchment.
“Lord, Xanthippus,” he said, “you are accused of impiety and a disrespect for government and its just decisions. It is alleged that you do not believe in the gods and have no regard for their sanctity.” He looked at his fellow priests. “For this, death is the only punishment. For, who has protected Athens and all of Greece but the gods, especially Athene Parthenos, our patroness? You are accused of jesting at her virginity and making lewd implications concerning it.”
Again Xanthippus could not repress himself. He raised a long thin hand. “Surely that is a lie,” he said in his pleasant voice. “Athene does not have a lovely countenance and is not alluring, for wisdom is forbidding and is not seductive in the least. What man desires wisdom above all things? I have yet to find such a man. Men prefer the thighs of women to any dissertation of philosophy or any theory—except if they are incapable. Wisdom, in short, is the refuge of impotence.”
Even the bribed judges and priests could not prevent themselves from gasping.
One said in a hoarse voice, “You do not believe in the gods, lord?”
Xanthippus was beginning to enjoy himself, though it was a reckless and deadly game. He spread out his hands eloquently.
“Only a fool does not believe in something greater than man, for do not the stars obey inscrutable laws, and the sun and the moon? Who has laid down this law and this ineffable order? Men? But men are helpless insects, and have no knowledge of why they are here and what is their ultimate fate. Can they order, these insignificants, the wheeling of constellations and the Pleiades? What decree of man can forbid the rising of the sun and the illumination of the heavens? Who ordains the tides, and the seasons? Can any man demand of the mountains, ‘Remove yourselves? Can a man say to the sea, ‘Retreat’? Who can order the fruitfulness of the olive trees and the fields and the palms? Who has given man awareness and harnessed the winds? Has any judge forbidden a volcano to explode, or a tempest not to disturb the waters? The moon changes by law, yet no body of men can regulate the phases of her. It is impudent of men to believe themselves all-powerful and in control of their merest existence.”
Xanthippus had spoken with an eloquence and sudden passion which amazed even himself, and Zeno stared at him incredulously and for once Teos looked grave.
A priest said in a severe voice, “But it is alleged that you have jested at the very divinity which you now defend.”
Zeno rose in his small stature and lifted his hands and all looked at him, as if startled that he was present.
“A wise man jests at the impertinence of ignorant men who would tear down the gods to their own meager level and make them equal to themselves or even less.”
He looked at them and his brilliant eyes seemed to awaken light in the room and held the attention of everyone:
“Who has defined the attributes of Divinity or guessed at His nature? Who knows what is impiety to Him, or piety? A humble man who delights in the light of the sun or the moon and reverences life and marvels at the mystery of his being—though he names no gods—is surely more loved by Deity and more cherished than a sophisticated man who alleges he knows the attributes of Divinity and His nature and pompously demands that other men believe in his tiny concepts. It is through our lack of knowledge that we approach God, and through our ignorance that we begin our understanding. God has His laws, and only in humility can we perceive them, and only dimly.”
“You do not believe that the gods have laid down a system of laws for the behavior and the obedience of men, Zeno of Elea?” asked one of the priests.
Zeno smiled. “I am not being judged,” he replied. “But I will reply to your question, lord. We can find the will of God only through prayer and in solitude and in meditation. We can find His laws in the laws of nature, which He has ordained. What governs the humblest grain of sand or the merest sheaf of wheat also governs man. The law is of one piece. The suns obey Him and know His laws. Let us reflect on them. For law and order are of the nature of God, and are open to the innocent eyes of children and are confused and elaborated upon and made obscure only by the perverted sophistries of men.”
He smiled at the priests and the judges. “My friend, Xanthippus, has
been accused of impiety. But the true sacrilege is the making of God in the likeness and image of man and attributing to Him all the passions and errors of mankind, and all the savagery, and believing that we can comprehend Him in the slightest. Of this crime Xanthippus is innocent. Who among you, sires, is competent to say that he knows anything about the Unknowable? Xanthippus has repeatedly asserted that this is beyond our competence, and who can deny it in truth? To differ with this truth is to be truly impious.”
“The gods have given us the capacity to comprehend them,” said one of the priests. “Do you deny that, Zeno of Elea?”
“Who has said we can comprehend them?” asked Zeno. “The gods, themselves? No. Only arrogant men have declared that, men without intelligence.”
He sat down, looked deeply at the silent priests and said in his sonorous voice, “Who among you dares to declare that he knows the attributes of the Godhead and is acquainted with His nature? Who dares to commit that blasphemy before the face of this august assemblage?”
The oldest of the judges, and the one most heavily bribed by Teos, was becoming impatient, thinking of the noontide meal which he had missed and for which he yearned. He pushed aside his parchment and said, “Zeno of Elea has put it cleverly and with precision. We are not presumptuous men; we would be presumptuous indeed to hold a dialogue concerning the gods with Xanthippus, who knows no more than we.”
Xanthippus bowed and bent his head mockingly. “It is perhaps merciful that we are all ignorant men, for to know even a portion of the truth would be death to us.”
But one of the judges, who had not been bribed, said, “There is the matter of insolence towards the law. I have here an accusation of an anonymous friend of the court to the effect that Xanthippus has declared his disrespect and ridicule of our democracy, and that he has not paid his just taxes.” He glared at Xanthippus, for he hated the other’s aristocracy and fame and riches. “Answer, lord,” he continued. “What is your contention against the liberty you enjoy under your government, laid down by Solon?”
Xanthippus had a witty reply to this but for once he held his tongue. He assumed a thoughtful expression, but his thin and delicate face flushed with the anger he was repressing. He raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me to define liberty, sire?” he asked.
The judge said, “That is my implication.”
Xanthippus looked at him and his blue eyes became like bright and polished stone. “What is liberty? The right of a man to demand that his government let him be and refrain from meddling with his private affairs and his life, and regulating his conduct which offends no one nor interferes with the rights of his fellows. The right of a man to own property and to pay taxes upon it for the good of the commonweal and the protection of his property and his country from internal and external enemies. The right of a man to live in peace with himself and his neighbors and to enjoy the fruit of his hands and his intelligence. The right of a man to be a man, and to live unfettered by paternalism and the officiousness of petty bureaucrats. In short, the right not to be a slave. These are simple and honest rights. Anything more is oppression.”
“You believe your government does not rise to these expectations?” asked one of the judges.
Xanthippus did not answer for a moment. Then he said in the softest voice, “Noble judge, do you believe our government rises to these expectations?”
The man shifted his eyes then thundered, “That is not only my belief but my knowledge!”
“Sire,” said Xanthippus, “who am I, a mere soldier who offered his life for his country and have served it with blood and honor, to dispute you, who were never a soldier but instead a member of a more honorable profession? As for your knowledge, sire, I plead ignorance of it.”
Teos chuckled aloud, and the priests and the judges glanced at each other, some with rage and frustration and some with only half-hidden amusement.
Then Xanthippus, the intrepid and the sophisticated, lost his precarious temper.
“You speak of Solon!” he cried. “But Solon envisioned a republic of just laws, under which all men would be free, and free, above all, from capricious and rapacious government. A nation where men could openly speak their dissent and plead for redress of wrongs—the wrongs of government against its people. We do not have such a republic, gentlemen. We do not have a republic at all. We have a degenerate democracy, the rule of the witless mob who have bellies but no minds. Under this condition we can be absolutely certain of but one thing: The world is ruled by fools, and this has always been and will be, for fools presume wisdom by their very overwhelming numbers, and what politician or judge will dispute numbers? You, gentlemen?”
Teos groaned inwardly. Now this Xanthippus had spoken his death sentence. Those whom Teos had bribed also groaned inwardly. One said sternly, “You differentiate between a republic and a democracy, Xanthippus? Are they not one and the same?”
“No,” said Xanthippus with quiet emphasis. “One is representative government. The other is government by chaos. Which, gentlemen, do we have in Athens today?”
The priests and the judges studied their parchments. They had no reverence for a brave man who was also a notable soldier, and they knew that such as Xanthippus was dangerous to their very existence. Still, many feared him, and the others feared that Teos would ask for the return of his rich bribes. After a long silence a judge cleared his throat portentously and gave Xanthippus an ominous look.
“It is alleged that you have cheated on your taxes, Xanthippus. What is your reply to this?”
Xanthippus laughed softly. “Where is my accuser, sire? Bring him forth and let his records be examined with mine, and I will wager my life that drachma for drachma I have been more honest than he.”
When they did not answer he added, “Or, is justice dead and not merely blind? Do we have government by vicious informers or government by impartial judgments?”
Again when they did not answer immediately, he said, “But only you can reply to that. That, too, is beyond my competence as a mere soldier.”
The heaviest bribed judge said with eagerness, “Then, Xanthippus, you plead incompetence both as to the nature of divinity and the nature of law?”
Xanthippus bowed. “Sire,” he said, “I am the most incompetent man present, and possibly the most ignorant, if that is possible.”
The judge said with haste, “Your humility is worthy of you, Xanthippus, and is duly noted by the Ecclesia and this court, and therefore the severity of your fate will be mitigated.” He looked furtively at Teos who was slightly frowning. Teos had asked that at the most that Xanthippus be ostracized until he, Teos, had tired of the delightful hetaira, Gaia. In memory he tasted her lips again and smelled her perfume and remembered her embraces.
Seeing the frown of Teos the judge spoke with even more haste. “Therefore, it is the judgment of this court, and the Ecclesia, that you be ostracized from Athens until we, in our mercy, are inclined to recall you. We are not insensible to your fame, Xanthippus, which was justly earned, nor is your city ungrateful. You are not guiltless, and this you know in your heart—though your guilt was caused by ignorance and incompetence. Be thankful that you live under a just and benign democracy, which takes no vengeance on its—incompetent—enemies, who speak not from malice but from benightedness.”
At this Xanthippus started to laugh aloud, but was seized quickly by both arms by Zeno and Teos, who led him towards the door. He threw off his friends on the marble steps and said to them with hilarity, “I have been saved by a philosopher and—” He halted and stared at Teos with sudden amazement. “And Teos. Why were you there, Teos, you who never interested yourself either in religion or justice?”
Teos smiled with the utmost cheerfulness. “Am I not your beloved friend, Xanthippus? Have I not always admired you?”
“No,” said Xanthippus.
Teos took his arm again with a fond look. “My litter awaits. Permit me the honor of taking you to your house.”
When Xanthippus arri
ved at his house he sent for his wife, gazed at her without emotion and with only indifference, and said, “I have been ostracized for an indeterminate period, but have not been deprived of any of my substance nor will I be imprisoned, or killed.”
Agariste wept, but he did not stay to hear her protestations or her laments. He went to Gaia who received him with her customary joy and he was consoled in her warm round arms and with her kisses. He did not know why, but even as she smiled tears ran down her rosy cheeks.
From his villa on Cyprus he wrote to his son, Pericles:
“Above all things a man must love not only his own liberty but the liberty of others, or he is less than a man. True, liberty is an abstraction but is this not true of all perfect things? We must, however, strive towards it though never can we fully attain it. It is our noblest duty to love all that is perfect, for perfection is the Shadow of God and we may, at our will and desire, rest in it, though never seeing That which casts it.”
Pericles was astonished at reading this from his urbane and mocking father, who had never revered the gods but had questioned their existence with laughter. He was deeply touched.