had seen so many of his efforts come to nothing: Alcibiades play
the traitor; Critias and Charmides, the bloody tyrant;--he had
seen many he had labored for frustrate his labors; he had seen
Athens fallen. He had done all he could, quietly, unfailingly
and without any fuss; now it was time for him to go. But going,
he might yet strike one more great blow for the Light.

So with quiet zest and humor he entered upon the plans of his
adversaries, accepting his trial and sentence like--_like
Socrates;_ for there is no simile for him, outside himself. He
turned it all masterfully to the advantage of the Light he loved.
You all know how he cracked his grand solemn joke when the death
sentence was passed on him. By Athenian law, he might suggest an
alternative sentence; as, to pay a fine, or banishment. Well,
said he; death was not certainly an evil; it might be a very
good thing; whereas banishment was certainly an evil, and so was
paying a fine. And besides, he had no money to pay it. So the
only alternative he could suggest was that Athens should support
him for the rest of his life in the Prytaneum as a public
benefactor. Not a smile from him; not a tremor. He elected
deliberately; he chose death; knowing well that, as things
stood, he could serve humanity in no other way so well. So he put
aside Crito's very feasible plan for his escape, and at the last
gathered his friends around him, and discoursed to them.

On Reincarnation. It was an old tradition, said he; and what
could be more reasonable than that the soul, departing to Hades,
should return again in its season:--the living born from the
dead, as the dead are from the living? Did not experience show
that opposites proceed from opposites? Then life must proceed