Malachi to Christ
SOCRATES
Malachi to Christ
SOCRATES
Grecian Period (468-163 B.C.)
We have arrived at the point when the influence of Greece is to make itself felt so deeply on the history of both Judaism and the religion which sprang from Judaism as to constrain us to briefly pause in order to clearly bring before our minds the strong personality and quickening power of the one Grecian character who, beyond dispute, belongs to the religious history of all mankind, and whose example and teaching struck directly on the heart and intellect, first of Hebrew Palestine and then Christian Europe. In some respects, the solemn pause at which the last utterances of Malachi leave us in Jerusalem corresponds to the pause which meets us in Grecian history when we transport ourselves to the same period in Athens. It was not merely that at the close of the Peloponnesian War the long struggle between the contending States had just come to an end, but that the eminent men who bore their part in it had themselves been called away from the scene. It is the Grecian "Morte of heroes". By close of the fifth century, before the Christian era, every one of the great statesmen of Athens had passed away and not the statesmen only, but also the great writers whose career had run parallel to the tragedy of actual life. Thucydides, the grave recorder of the age, had left its exciting tale unfinished in the middle of a sentence.
Euripides, the most philosophical and skeptical of the dramatic poets, had already met a fate stranger than that of his own Pentheus in the hunting-grounds of his royal patron in Macedonia. In the fullness of years, Sophocles had been called away from the midst of his labors and his honors by an end as peaceful and glorious as that of his own Colonean Oedipus. One man there still remained to close this funeral procession – he whose death alone of all the characters of Athenian history is an epoch in the annals not only of Greece but of the world.
Universality of Socrates
With the mention of the name of Socrates, we seem to pass at once from the student's chamber into the walks of common life, from the glories of Hellenic literature into the sanctities of Biblical religion. He and he alone, of the sons of Javan, finds a place in the Fathers of Christian, as well as in the moralists of Pagan antiquity; in the proverbs of modern Europe, as well as in the oracles of classical Greece.
The prayer "Sancte Socrates, ora pro nobis" by whomsoever said, has won a more universal acceptance than that of many a prayer addressed to the dubious saints of the Byzantine or Latin Church. If the canonization of Buddha, though formal, was the result of inadvertence, the canonization of Socrates, though informal, has been almost accepted. And the peculiar circumstances of his career; its contrasts and affinities with the events and characters of the Sacred History both before and after the date of his appearance make its description an almost necessary element in the course of the story on which we have been hitherto and shall be henceforth engaged.
His Public Life
It is not on the public stage of Greek events that Socrates is most familiar to us. For that very reason there is a peculiar interest in first approaching him in a purely historical point but we must approach him on the larger and more complex sphere of war and politics. When we meet such characters at moments where one least expects to find them, especially (as in this case) on occasions which illustrate and call forth some of their most remarkable qualities, it is the surprise of encountering a friend in a strange country – the instruction of seeing a character which we have long known and admired in private put to a public test, and coming through the trial triumphantly. In the winter campaign at Potidaea, when the Athenian army was struck down by the severity of the Thracian frosts, we start with a thrill of pleasure as we recognize, in the one soldier whose spirits and strength continued unbroken by the hardship of that northern climate, the iron frame and constitution of the great philosopher. We survey with renewed interest the confused flight from the field of Delium, when we remember that from that flight the youthful Xenophon was borne away on the broad shoulders of his illustrious friend. In the iniquitous condemnation of the Ten Generals, when the magistrates were so intimidated by the incensed manifestations of the assembly that all of them, except one, relinquished their opposition and agreed to put the question, that single obstinate officer whose refusal no menace could subdue, was a man in whom an impregnable adherence to law and duty was only one among many titles to honor. It was the philosopher Socrates – on this trying occasion, once throughout a life of seventy years discharging a political office among the fifty senators taken by lot from his own native district. Once, or it may be twice again, was he allowed to exhibit to the world this instructive lesson. In the Athenian Reign of Terror, after the oligarchical revolution of Lysander, pursuant to their general plan of implicating unwilling citizens in their misdeeds, the Thirty Tyrants sent to the government-house for five citizens, and with terrible menaces ordered them to cross over to Salamis and bring back as prisoner one of the innocent objects of their resentment. Four out of the five obeyed: the fifth was the philosopher Socrates, who refused all concurrence and returned to his own house.
This was the last time Socrates appeared in the political transactions of the country, unless we may believe the later traditions which represent him as present at that most striking and tragical scene, when for protection against his murderers Therainenes sprang on the sacred hearth of the Athenian senate-house, like Joab at the horns of the altar of Jerusalem or Onias in the consecrated grove of Daphne, and when, as we are told, Socrates and two of his friends alone stood forward to protect him, as Satyrus, the executioner, dragged him by main force from the altar.
Such was the political life of Socrates – important in a high degree in proving that unlike many eminent teachers his character stood the test of public as well as private morality, as exemplifying also the principle on which a good man may serve the State not by going out of his way to seek for trials of his strength, but by being fully prepared to meet them when they come. Had nothing more been handed down to us of his life than these comparatively trifling incidents, we should still have dwelt with peculiar pleasure on the scenes in which his name occurs, as, in fact, amid the naughty world of Grecian politics we dwell on the good deeds of the humane Nicomachus, or of the noble Callicratidas: we should still have desired to know something more of the general character and pursuits of so honest and fearless a citizen.
That desire is gratified almost beyond example in the ancient world by what is left us of the individual life of Socrates, which even in his own time made him the best-known Athenian of his day and in later times has so completely thrown his political acts into the shade that not one in ten thousand of those to whom his name is a household word has any knowledge of the few passages in which he crossed the path of the statesman or the soldier.
His Personal Appearance
It is not often that the personal appearance of a great man has been so faithfully preserved. In Jewish history, except in the case of David and perhaps Jeremiah, we have hardly been able to discern a single lineament or color of outward form or countenance. In the famous picture of the School of Athens we look round on the faces of the other philosophers, and detect them only by their likeness to some ideal model which the painter has imagined to himself. But the Socrates of Raffaelle is the true historical Socrates of Xenophon and Aristophanes. If we could transport ourselves back to the Athenian market-place during the Peloponnesian war, we would at once recognize one familiar figure, standing, with uplifted finger and animated gesture, amid the group of handsome youths or aged sophists, eager to hear, learn, and refute. We would see the Silenic features of that memorable countenance – the flat nose, thick lips, prominent eyes, the mark of a thousand jests from friends and foes. We would laugh at the protuberance of the Falstaff stomach, which no necessary hardships, no voluntary exercise could bring down. We would perceive the strong-built frame, the full development of health and strength which never sickened in the winter campaign of Potidaea, nor yet in the long plague and stifling heats of the blockade of Athens which could enter alike into the jovial revelry of the religious festivities of Xenophon and Plato or sustain the austerities, the scanty clothing, naked feet and coarse fare of his ordinary life. At the very first outset his strong common-sense, humor and courage were conspicuous. And many know the story of the physiognomist who detected in his features the traces of that fiery temper which for the most part he kept under control, but which when it did break loose is described by those who witnessed it as absolutely terrible, overleaping both in act and language every barrier of the ordinary decorum of Grecian manners.
Before we can apprehend the feelings with which the Athenians must have regarded this strange apparition among them, we must go back into his inner life, into his earlier youth and understand some of the peculiarities of the teachers with whom we have had to deal in the Semitic world. He was still young, perhaps still in his father's workshop, laboring at his group of Graces and seeking inspirations from the ancient founder of his house, the hero-artist Daedalus, when the first intimation of his mission dawned on him. It is evident that Socrates partook largely of that enthusiastic temperament which is so often the basis of a profound character, but which is rarely united with a mind so remarkable for its healthy and vigorous tone in other respects.
His Abstraction
His complete abstraction from outward things reminds us partly of the ecstatic condition of the Hebrew Prophets or leaders, partly of some of the great scientific minds both in ancient and modern times – Ezekiel lay stretched out like a dead corpse for more than a year; Ezra sat crouching in the court of the Temple from dawn till evening in his horror at the violation of the law. In like manner, Archimedes would forget to eat his meals and require compulsion to take him to the bath. It was in such a moment of abstraction that he rushed out of the bath into the streets of Syracuse, exclaiming "Eureka! Eureka!" In a similar moment, too intent on his problem to return the answer which would have saved his life, that he fell victim to the Roman soldier's sword. In such a mood, Sir Isaac Newton sat half-dressed on his bed for many hours while composing the "Principia".
In like manner, we are told that Socrates would suddenly fall into a reverie and remain motionless regardless of all attempts to interrupt or call him away. On such an occasion, when in the camp at Potidaea, he was observed standing transfixed at the early dawn of a long summer day. One after another soldiers gathered round him but he continued in the same posture, undisturbed by their astonishment or by the noon-day heat which had begun to beat upon his head. Evening drew on and still he was seen in the same position, and the inquisitive Ionians in the camp took their evening meal by his side, and drew out pallets from their tents to watch him. When the cold dews of the Thracian night came on, he remained unmoved. Later, the rising sun above Mount Athos found him still on the same spot where he had been since the previous morning. Then at last he started from his trance, offered his morning prayer to the Sun-god, and retired.
His Inspiring Genius
Abstraction from the outer world so complete as this would of itself prepare us for the extraordinary disclosures which he has himself left of that "divine sign" which by later writers was called his "daemon" or his "inspiring genius" but which he himself calls by the simpler name of his prophetic or supernatural "voice". It is impossible not to be reminded by it of the language in which the Hebrew Prophets, both by themselves and by historians of their race, are said to have heard in the midnight silence of the sanctuary or in the mountain cave or on the outskirts of the desert, the gentle "call", the still small whisper, the piercing cry of the Divine Word (1 Sam. 4:4, 6, 8, 10; 1 Kin. 19:12; Is. 40:3, 6). It recalls the voices by which the Maid of Orleans described herself to be actuated in her task of delivering France from English yoke, and to which, in the anguish of her last trial, she confidently appealed against the judgment of Bishop, Council, or Pope. As in the case of some of the Jewish seers, like Samuel or Jeremiah or of that French maiden, so in the case of Socrates, this mysterious monitor began to address him when he was a child, long before the consciousness of his powers or the conception of his mission had been realized in his mind, and continued down to the very close of his life; so that even his conduct on his trial was distinctly based upon its intimations.
He was accustomed not only to obey it implicitly, but to speak of it publicly and familiarly to others, so that the fact was well known both to his friends and enemies. It had always forbidden him to enter on public life: when the indictment was hanging over him, it forbade him to take any thought for a prepared defense: and so completely did he march with a consciousness of this bridle in his mouth that when he felt no check he assumed that the turning which he was about to take was the right one. Though his persuasion on the subject was unquestionably sincere and his obedience constant, still, personally he never dwelt on it as anything grand or awful or entitling him to peculiar deference; but spoke of it often in his usual strain of familiar playfulness. Generally, to his friends it seems to have constituted one of his titles to reverence, though neither Plato nor Xenophon scruples to talk of it in that jesting way which, doubtless, they caught from him.
His Dreams
Another mode of intercommunion with the invisible world which Socrates seemed to enjoy was by dreams – in this respect resembling some of the intuitions of the leaders of Israel and the surrounding tribes. "Often and often", as he related in his last hours, "have I been haunted by a vision in the course of my past life; now coming in one form, now in another, but always with the same words – 'Socrates! Let music be thy work and labor.'"In that solemn moment of his last hours he endeavored to literally comply with this injunction by trying to verify the fables of Aesop.
The Oracle of Delphi
But the most important preternatural influence – more important even than the restraining voice of his familiar spirit – was that which acted upon him in common with the rest of his countrymen, and to which, owing to the singular detachment of even the most sacred localities of Palestine, from Prophetic influences, Jewish history furnishes no parallel – the Oracle of Delphi. Who that has ever seen or read of that sacred spot – the twin cliffs overhanging the sloping terraces which descend to the deep ravine of the Plistusterraces now bare and untenanted, but then crowned by temples, rising tier above tier with a magnificence even more striking because of the wild scenery around – can fail to enter in some degree into the reverence paid to the mysterious utterances which issued from beneath those venerable rocks? It was a remarkable proof of the sincere belief which the Greek world reposed in the oracle that it was consulted not only for state purposes, but to solve the perplexity which was felt with regard to individual characters. This belief continued even as late as the time of Cicero.
We are told that when the Roman orator, as a young man, went to Rhodes to complete his education and consulted the oracle concerning his future career, the Pythia advised him to live for himself and not to value the opinion of others as his guide. "If this be an invention", says Niebuhr, in relating the incident with his usual liveliness, "it was certainly made by one who saw very deep, and perceived the real cause of all Cicero's sufferings. If the Pythia did give such an answer, then this is one of the oracles which might tempt one to believe in an actual inspiration of the priestess". This is one instance and assuredly another is the answer made to the faithful disciple who went to inquire whether anyone was wiser than the son of Sophroniscus. The priestess replied, and Chaerephon brought back the reply, that Socrates was the wisest of men. It was this oracle which was the turning-point of the life of Socrates.
His Call
If we had the materials, it would be curious to delineate the struggles of that hour, to trace the homely common-sense of the young statuary, confounded by the words of the response, contrary to all that he knew of his own wisdom, as he then counted wisdom, yet backed by what he believed to be an infallible authority, and no doubt pressed upon him by all the enthusiasm of his ardent friend. There was an anguish of distressing perplexity, like that which is described at the like crisis in the call of some of the greatest Jewish Prophets – Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekie1 (Is. 6:3-8; Jer. 1:6-9; Ezek. 2:9; 3:3). The
Athenian craftsman resolved to put the oracle to the test by examining into the wisdom of others; and from this seemingly trivial incident began that extraordinary life, which, in its own peculiar vein, is without parallel among contemporaries or successors, although indirectly furnishing and receiving instructive illustrations along the whole pathway of Jewish history, which, from its deeper seriousness, supplies resemblances that in Grecian history would be sought in vain.
He was in middle age when this call came upon him, and at once he arose and followed it. Beginning at that time and for thirty years he applied himself to the self-imposed task of teacher, excluding all other business, public or private, and neglecting all means of fortune. For thirty years (extending through the Peloponnesian war period), in crowded streets and squares, when all Attica was congregated within the walls of Athens to escape the Spartan invasions; during the horrors of the plague; amid the excitements of various vicissitudes of Pylus, Syracuse, the revolution of the Four Hundred, the tyranny of the Thirty, the restoration of the democracy – Socrates was always at his post; by his presence, by his voice, by his example, restraining, attracting, repelling every class of his excitable countrymen.
Early in the morning he frequented the public walks, the gymnasia for bodily training, and the schools where youths were receiving instruction. He was seen in the market-place when it was most crowded, among the booths and tables, where goods were sold. His whole day was usually spent in this public manner. He talked with anyone who sought to address him, young or old, rich or poor, and never asked for or received any reward. He made no distinction of persons, never withheld his conversation from anyone and talked on the same general topics to all.
Under any circumstances such an apparition would have struck astonishment into a Grecian city. All other teachers, both before and afterwards, either took money for their lessons or gave them to special pupils in private homes, admitting or rejecting at their own pleasure. Plato's retreat in the consecrated grove of Acadernus,Epicurus in his private Garden, the painted Portico or cloister of Zeno, the Peripatetics of Aristotle in the shaded walks round the Lycean sanctuary of Apollo, all indicate the prevailing practice.
His Teaching
The philosophy of Socrates alone was in every sense the philosophy of the market-place. Very rarely he might be found under the shade of the plane tree or the caverned rocks of the Ilissus, enjoying the grassy slope of its banks and the little pools of water that collect in the corners of its torrent bed, and the white and purple flowers of its agnus castus shrubs. But ordinarily, whether in the city, in the dusty road between the Long Walls, or in the busy mart of Piraeus, his place was among men in every vocation of life, living not for self, but for them, rejecting all pay, contented in poverty. Whatever could be added to the singularity of this spectacle was added by the singularity, as already indicated, of his outward appearance.
Amid the grand life, the beautiful forms, the brilliant colors of an Athenian multitude and Athenian street, the repulsive features, the unwieldy figure, the bare feet, the rough threadbare attire of the philosopher must have excited every sentiment of astonishment and ridicule which strong contrast can produce. And if we add to this the occasional trance, the eye fixed on vacancy, the total abstraction from outward objects, or the momentary outbursts of violent temper, we should not wonder at the universal celebrity which he acquired, even irrespectively of his singular powers or peculiar objects. An unusual diction or unusual dress secures attention for a teacher, as soon as he has secured a hearing. Such was the natural effect of the hair-cloth wrappings, or at times nudity of Jewish Prophets.
When Socrates appeared it was as if one of the marble satyrs which sat in grotesque attitudes with pipe or flute in the sculptors' shops at Athens had left his seat of stone and walked into the plane-tree avenue or the gymnastic colonnade. Gradually the crowd gathered round him. At first he spoke to the tanners, the smiths, and the drovers who were plying their trades about him; and they shouted with laughter as he poured forth his homely jokes. But soon the magic charm of his voice made itself felt. The peculiar sweetness of its tone had an effect which even the thunder of Pericles failed to produce. The laughter ceased, the crowd thickened, the lighthearted youth whom nothing else could tame stood transfixed and awestruck in his presence; there was a solemn thrill in his words; heads swam, hearts leaped at the sound, tears rushed from their eyes; and hearers felt that unless they tore themselves away from that fascinated circle, they would sit down at his feet and grow old listening to the marvelous music of this second Marsyas.
But the excitement occasioned by his appearance was increased tenfold by the purpose which he had set before him, when (to use the expressive comparison of his pupils) he cast away his rough satyr's skin and disclosed the divine image which that rude exterior had covered. The object to which he thus devoted himself with the zeal not simply of a philosopher, but of a religious missionary doing the work of a philosopher, was to convince men of all classes, especially the most distinguished, that they had the conceit of knowledge without the reality.
These were his own words in defense at his trial: "Should you even now offer to acquit me on condition of my renouncing this duty, I should reply with all respect: If you kill me you will find none other such. Men of Athens, I honor and love you; but I shall obey God rather than you, and while I have life and strength I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of philosophy, exhorting anyone whom I meet after my manner, and convincing him, saying: 'O my friend, why do you, who are a citizen of the great and mighty and wise city of Athens, care so much about laying up the greatest amount of money and honor and reputation, and so little about wisdom and truth and the greatest improvement of the soul, which you never regard or heed at all?' And this I should say to everyone whom I meet, young and old, citizen and alien, but especially to the citizens, inasmuch as they are my brethren. For this is the command of God, as I would have you know; and I believe that to this day no greater good has ever happened in the State than my service to God. For if you kill me you will not easily find another like me, who, if I may use such a ludicrous figure of speech, am a sort of gadfly, given to the State by God; and the State is like a great and noble steed who is tardy in his motions owing to his very size, and requires to be stirred into life. I am that gadfly which God has given the State, and all day long and in all places am always fastening upon you, arousing and persuading and reproaching you".
Never has the Socratic method of instruction been described in language as vivid and forcible as in the words of the last and greatest historian of Greece.
To him the precept inscribed in the Delphian Temple, i.e., "Know thyself", was the holiest of all texts, which he constantly cited and strenuously enforced on his hearers. He interpreted it to mean, "Know what sort of a man thou art and what are thy capacities in reference to human use." His manner of enforcing it was original and effective, and though he was dexterous in varying his topics and queries according to the individual person with whom he had to deal, it was his first object to bring the hearer to take measure of his own knowledge or ignorance. As long as the mind lay wrapped up in its habitual mist or illusion of wisdom, then to preach, exhort, even confute particular errors, seemed useless to Socrates – such must be dissipated before any new light could enter.
Accordingly, Socrates usually took to pieces such positive declarations of those general doctrines and explanations of those terms to which his hearer was personally most attached, showing that such doctrines and terms involved contradiction and inconsistency; all the while professing himself to be without any positive opinion or ever advancing any until the hearer's mind had undergone proper purifying cross-examination. It was this indirect and negative proceeding, which, though only a part of the whole, stood out as his most original and conspicuous characteristic and determined his reputation with a large number of persons who took no trouble to know anything else about him. It was an exposure no less painful than surprising to the persons questioned, and produced in several of them an effect of permanent alienation, so that they never came near him again, reverting to their former state of mind without any permanent change. However, on the other hand, the ingenuity and novelty of the process was highly interesting to hearers, especially youthful hearers, sons of rich men enjoying leisure; such not only carried away a lofty admiration of Socrates, but were fond of trying to copy his negative polemics. His constant habit of never allowing a general term to remain undetermined, but applying it at once to particulars; the homely and effective instances of which he made choice; the string of interrogatories, each advancing toward a result, yet a result not foreseen by anyone; the indirect and circuitous manner whereby the subject was turned round, at last approached and laid open by a totally different face – all this constituted a sort of prerogative in Socrates, which no one else seems to have approached.
While it was essential as an excuse for his practice as a questioner, what is termed his irony also contributed toward adding zest and novelty to his conversation, totally banishing from it both didactic pedantry and seeming bias as an advocate, which, to one who talked so much was of no small advantage. That a life of thirty years so spent should have created animosities similar to those excited at Jerusalem against Jeremiah, and at times Isaiah; that the statesmen, poets, and lawyers should have thought him insufferably vexatious; that the Sophists, like the Priests and hired Prophets, should have hated the man whose disinterested pursuance of his vocation without pay seemed to cast a slur upon their profession; that the multitude should have regarded, partly with dislike, partly with awe, a man whose aims were so lofty, whose life was so pure, and yet whose strange behavior seemed to indicate something wild and preternatural, was only too intelligible, and we cannot be surprised that so violent was the enmity which he occasionally provoked, that there were instances in which he was struck or maltreated and frequently laughed to scorn.
In truth, the mission of Socrates, as he himself describes it, could eminently only prove unpopular and obnoxious. Though necessary to one’s future improvement, still, trying to convince a man that he is profoundly ignorant of matters which he was confident of knowing and had never thought of questioning or even studying is highly salutary – an operation of painful surgery, in which the temporary pain experienced is one of the indispensable conditions to future beneficial results. It is an operation which few men can endure without hating the surgeon; although, no doubt such hatred would not only disappear, but be exchanged for esteem and admiration if they persevered until the full ulterior consequences of the operation developed. But from the statement of Xenophon we know that many who underwent this first pungent thrust of his dialectics never came near him again. Though Socrates disregarded them as laggards, still their voices counted in the hostile chorus. What made that chorus even more formidable was the high quality and position of its leaders. In fact, Socrates himself tells us that the men whom he chiefly and expressly sought out to cross-examine were men of celebrity, such as statesmen, orators, poets, or artisans; those most sensitive to such humiliation and most capable of making their enmity effective.
His Fall
We may wonder, not that the thirty years of public, notorious, and efficacious discoursing was finally interrupted, but that it was not interrupted long before. Why, then, it may be asked, did he fall? Why should he have been prosecuted at seventy years of age for persevering in an occupation precisely the same in manner and substance as he had followed for so many preceding years?
The answer is to be found in the general history of Athens at that time, and the general character of the Athenian people. However, it is of such universal application that it deserves connection with the triumphs and defeats of truth everywhere. It was the moment of a strong reaction. The most galling tyranny to which Athens had ever been exposed had just been overthrown. A restoration of the old democracy had just been achieved, under circumstances singularly trying; and the people of Athens were completely absorbed in the jubilee of that restoration. Every association with the dreadful period of the eight months' dominion of the Thirty was now viewed with the darkest suspicion. Every old institution was now cherished with double affection, reminding them of the free and happy days which those eight months had suspended, securing them, as it did, from the return of the lawless cruelty and self-indulgence which had been established in the interval. All the suspicions and excitements which Thucydides describes as the result of the mere traditional recollections of the tyranny of the Pisistratides, were now let loose with greater force from the freshness of the recollections of the tyranny of Critias and his associates. All the undefined, mysterious panic which ran through the city after the mutilation of the Hermesbusts was now, although in a less concentrated form, afloat again to vindicate the majesty of the ancient institutions of their forefathers so unexpectedly, so providentially restored to them.
His Trial (399 B.C.)
It was in this state of public feeling that on the walls of the portico of the King Archon (that ancient vestige of primaeval usage, which long preserved at Athens the recollection of the Gate of Judgment in which Kings of the East presided over the trial of their subjects from the Porch of Solomon down to the Sublime Porte at Constantinople and the Tower of Justice in the Alhambra) there appeared in the presence of the Athenian people the fatal indictment – Socrates is guilty of crime, first, for not worshipping the gods whom the city worships, but introducing new divinities of his own; next for corrupting the youth. The penalty due is death.
These two accusations at once concentrated on Socrates the indefinite odium which had, perhaps for years but certainly for months, been gathering in the minds of the people. Only three men had spoken, Melitus, Anytus, and Lycon; but they spoke the feeling of hundreds. The charge of innovation on the national religion, which at that moment roused almost to madness the "too much superstition" (Acts 17:22, Greek) of that sensitive populace, was one to which, however unjustly, his manner and conversation eminently exposed him. It also recalled the great spectacle which twenty-four years ago had been exhibited in the Dionysiac Theatre, when Socrates had been held up to ridicule and detestation as representative of the Sophist school in the Clouds of Aristophanes; and although many at that time who had sat on the tiers of the theatre were now in their graves, and possibly the long and blameless course which had followed might have cleared away some misunderstandings, yet the very appearance of Socrates would suggest the laughter which that hideous mask had called forth; the very words of the charge would bring before their minds the most striking of the Aristophanic scenes.
Still more sharply was the second count in the indictment – corrupting the youth. Two men, the most distinguished of the pupils of his earlier years, had just been cut off in the height of their fame and crimes. The two most hateful names in Athens at this moment were Alcibiades and Critias – Alcibiades, both for his individual licentiousness and insolence, and also for the public treason which more than any one cause had precipitated the fatal termination of the war; Critias, as the chief director of the spoliations and atrocities committed by the Thirty Tyrants. And yet both these dreadful characters (as they no doubt were regarded) had in former times been seen in public and private hanging on the words of Socrates. Alcibiades' affection toward Socrates had been stronger than he had felt to any other man; of Critias it was enough to say that he was the uncle of Plato, the philosopher's most admiring disciple. The animosity which would be incurred by this connection must have been enhanced by the presence of his accuser Anytus. Anytus had suffered with Thrasybulus during the late usurpation – with him had taken refuge in the mountain fastnesses of Phyle and with him had shared the danger and the glory of the return. As the aged accuser and aged prisoner stood before the Athenian court, the judges could hardly fail to be reminded that in one they saw the faithful supporter of their greatest benefactor; in the other, the master and friend of the arch-traitor and arch-tyrant.
It was to feelings such as these, when accompanied either by eccentricity or hostility to existing opinions or practice and added to the long-accumulated jealousy and suspicion which intellectual and moral eminence always provokes, that we must ascribe the unfavorable attitude assumed by the Judicial Assembly of Athens toward Socrates. Among the five hundred jurors of whom that assembly was composed there must have been many who had formerly smarted under his questions in the market-place – many who had been disturbed by the consciousness of something beyond their ordinary powers of understanding or appreciation.
The trial began in the morning with the reading of the formal charges against Socrates by a herald. The prosecution presented its case first. The three accusers, Meletus, Anytus, and Lycon, had a total of three hours (measured by a water-clock) to present their argument for guilt from an elevated stage. No record of the prosecution's argument against Socrates survives. However, Anytus had an additional personal gripe concerning the relationship Socrates had with his son. Plato quotes Socrates as saying, "I had a brief association with the son of Anytus, and I found him not lacking in spirit." Adding to the displeasure of Anytus must have been the advice Socrates gave to his son. According to Xenophon, Socrates urged Anytus's son not to "continue in the servile occupation [tanning hides] that his father has provided for him." Without a "worthy adviser," Socrates predicted, he would "fall into some disgraceful propensity and will surely go far in the career of vice."
When the three-hour defense of Socrates came to an end, the court herald asked the jurors to render their decision by putting their ballot disks in one of two marked urns, one for guilty votes and one for acquittal. With no judge to offer them instructions as to how to interpret the charges or the law, each juror struggled for himself to come to an understanding of the case and the guilt or innocence of Socrates. When the ballots were counted, two hundred and eighty jurors had voted to find Socrates guilty, two hundred and twenty for acquittal – a fairly small majority in the most momentous trial which, down to that time, the world had witnessed. However, there was still a chance of escape. The penalty for which the Athenians had called for was death. But, according to the form of the Athenian judicature, after the verdict had been pronounced, it was always in the power of the accused to suggest some lesser penalty than had been proposed, such as fine, imprisonment, or exile. Plato quotes Anytus as warning Socrates: "Socrates, I think that you are too ready to speak evil of men: and, if you will take my advice, I would recommend you to be careful." Had Socrates done this simply and purely, the very small majority by which the condemnation had been pronounced affords sufficient proof that the judges were not inclined to sanction the extreme penalty against him.
His own words convey an impression of the effect which must have been produced: "And what shall I propose on my part, O men of Athens? Clearly that which is my due. And what is that which I ought to pay or to receive? What shall be done to the man who has never had the wit to be idle during his whole life; but has been careless of what the many care about – wealth, and family interests, and military offices, and speaking in the assembly, and magistracies, and plots, and parties? Reflecting that I was really too honest a man to follow in this way and live, I did not go where I could do no good to you or to myself; but where I could do the greatest good privately to every one of you, thither I went, and sought to persuade every man among you that he must look to himself, and seek virtue and wisdom before he looks to his private interests, and look to the State before he looks to the interests of the State; and that this should be the order which he observes in all his actions. What shall be done to such an one? Doubtless some good thing, O men of Athens, if he has his reward; and the good should be of a kind suitable to him. What would be a reward suitable to a poor man who is your benefactor, who desires leisure that he may instruct you? There can be no more fitting reward than maintenance at the expense of the State in the Prytaneum. Men of Athens, I honor and love you; but I shall obey God rather than you, and while I have life and strength I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of philosophy". The jury knew that the only way to stop Socrates from lecturing about the moral weaknesses of Athenians was to kill him.
What is strikingly absent from the defense of Socrates is the plea for mercy typically made to Athenian juries. It was common practice to appeal to the sympathies of jurors by introducing wives and children. However, it appears that Socrates did not remind the jury that he had a family. Neither his wife Xanthippe nor any of his three sons made a personal appearance.
It is easy to conceive the indignation with which this challenge must have been received by the judges, as a direct insult to the court – the bitter grief and disappointment with which it must have been heard by his friends; throwing away the last chance of preserving a life to them so inestimably precious. To us, it invests the character of Socrates with that heroic dignity which would perhaps have been wanting to his career, from its very simplicity and homely usefulness. At the same time it has a further and peculiar interest in enabling us to form a distinct conception of that determined disregard of time and place and consequences which constitutes so remarkable a feature of Socrates individual character, and harmonises completely with that stern religious determination which recalls and illustrates so many a solitary career in the history we have traversed from Moses down to Malachi. It is the same intent devotion to his one object of life, as appeared when he remained transfixed in the camp at Potidma – as when he looked back with calm majesty on his pursuers at Deliumas when he argued through long days and months in the public places of Athens – as when he refused in the raging assembly after the battle of Arginusae to be turned one hair's breadth from the strict rule of law and duty.
His Death
The lofty tone which he assumed during his trial, and which to many of the judges would have appeared to reveal an insolence akin to Alcibiades or Critias, with whom his accuser had compared him, now rose to a still higher pitch. Dozens of accounts of the three-hour speech (apologia) by Socrates in his defense existed at one time. Only Plato's and Xenophon's accounts survive. The two accounts agree on a key point. Socrates gave a defiant – decidedly unapologetic – speech. He seemed to invite condemnation and death.
If Socrates had taken the advice of Plato, as stated above, no doubt the small majority by which the condemnation had been pronounced affords sufficient proof that the judges were not inclined to sanction the extreme penalty against him. Instead, Socrates audaciously proposes to the jury that he be rewarded, not punished. According to Plato, Socrates asks the jury for free meals in the Prytaneum and a public dining hall in the center of Athens. Socrates must have known that his proposed "punishment" would infuriate the jury. I. F. Stone noted that "Socrates acts more like a picador trying to enrage a bull than a defendant trying to mollify a jury." Why, then, propose a punishment guaranteed to be rejected? The only answer Stone and others conclude is that Socrates was ready to die.
To comply with the demand that a genuine punishment be proposed, Socrates reluctantly suggested a fine of one mina of silver (about one-fifth of his modest net worth, according to Xenophon). Plato and other supporters of Socrates upped the offer to thirty minae by agreeing to come up with silver of their own. But even the heftier fine was far too slight a punishment for an unrepentant defendant.
In the final vote, a larger majority of jurors favored a punishment of death than voted in the first instance for conviction. According to Diogenes Laertius, three hundred and sixty jurors voted for death, one hundred and forty for the fine. Under Athenian law, execution was accomplished by drinking a cup of poisoned hemlock.
In Plato's Apology, the trial concludes with Socrates offering a few memorable words as court officials finished their necessary work. He tells the crowd that his conviction resulted from his unwillingness to "address you as you would have liked me to do." He predicts that history will come to see his conviction as "shameful for Athens," though he professes to have no ill will for the jurors who convict him. Finally, as he is being led off to jail, Socrates utters the memorable line: "The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways – I to die, and you to live. Which to the better fate is known only to God." It is likely that this last burst of eloquence comes from Plato, not Socrates. There are no records suggesting that Athenian practice allowed defendants to speak after sentencing. Socrates spent his final hours in a cell in the Athens jail. The ruins of the jail remain today.
Most scholars see the conviction and execution of Socrates as a deliberate choice made by the famous philosopher himself. If the accounts of Plato and Xenophon are reasonably accurate, Socrates sought not to persuade jurors, but rather to lecture and provoke them. I. F. Stone observed that as Jesus needed the cross to fulfill His mission, Socrates needed hemlock to fulfill his.
Then ensue the long thirty days which passed in prison before execution of the verdict – the playful equanimity and unabated interest in his habitual objects of life amid the uncontrollable emotions of his companions, after they knew of the return of the sacred ship, whose absence had, up to that moment, suspended his fate. Then follows the gathering in of that solemn evening, when the fading of sunset in all its variety of hues on the tops of the Athenian hills was the signal that his last hour was at hand. Then the fatal hemlock enters; we see the immovable countenance, the firm hand, the wonted scowl of stern defiance at the executioner; we hear the burst of frantic, lamentation from all his friends, as, with his habitual ease and cheerfulness, he drained the cup to its dregs; we watch the solemn silence enjoined by himself – the pacing to and fro; the cold palsy of the hemlock creeping from the extremities to the heart, and the gradual torpor ending in death. In other words, the hemlock that ended his life did not do so quickly or painlessly, but rather by producing a gradual paralysis of the central nervous system.
We also trace how he chose, or how his disciple chose for him, these last moments for some of his characteristic arguments. Now comes out his ruling passion strong in death suggesting to him the consolation, as natural to him as it seems strange to us, that when in the world beyond the grave he should, as he hoped, encounter heroes of the Trojan war, he would pursue with them the business of mutual cross-examination, and debate on ethical progress and perfection (a) how he confidently predicted that his removal would be the signal for numerous apostles putting forth with increased energy that process of interrogatory test and spur to which he had devoted his life, and to him was no doubt far dearer and more sacred than his life; (b) how his escape from prison was only prevented by his own decided refusal to become a party in any breach of the law; (c) how deliberately and with matter-of-fact precision he satisfied himself with the result of the verdict by reflecting that the Divine voice of his earlier years had never manifested itself once to him during the whole day of the trial; neither when he came in at first or at any point during his whole discourse; (d) how his strong religious persuasions were attested by his last words addressed to his friend immediately before he passed into a state of insensibility: "Crito, I owe a cock to Aesculapius; will you remember to pay the debt?"
His Religious Character
Perhaps in the powerful narrative of the career of Socrates, perhaps in our own as condensed from it, the readers of ancient history, as it has hitherto been familiar to us, will have felt something like a jar against the solemn and majestic associations with which the life and death of Socrates have always been invested. To a large extent, in its true historical light, this is merely the inevitable result of the sudden exhibition of a great character usually regarded with almost ideal indistinctness. It is seldom that the first sight of an eminent man corresponds exactly to our preconceived impression; and the disturbance of that impression, especially if the impression is tinged by moral or religious awe, has the effect of disappointment and depreciation beyond what is justified by case facts. It is for this reason, among others, that it has been thought good to introduce at length the contemplation of the whole historical position of Socrates. It precisely illustrates the like difficulty which we experience in dealing with the characters of the yet more consecrated story of Jewish sages and prophets. But on second thoughts we shall recognize, as in other matters so in this, that truth and reality, so far from being inconsistent with a just reverence, tend to promote it. The searching analysis of the modern English scholar has taught us more exactly wherein the greatness of Socrates consisted. Therefore, we are better able to truly honor, and, so far as in us lies, to imitate it. We know better than we did wherein lay the true secret of his condemnation, and we are therefore better able to not only be compassionate, but to take warning by the error of his judges.
Likeness to the Christian History
We have briefly considered how curiously his claims, expressions, and external mode of life, illustrate and are in turn illustrated by utterances and acts of Hebrew seers. But there is more than this. As in the cases of David and Jeremiah, we felt entitled to see the forecasting's, the preluding's, of that supreme event which gives universal interest to earlier Jewish history. So in the case of Socrates it is no less remarkable to trace the resemblances which bring that final consummation of Jewish history into connection with that Western World for which the great Prophet of the Captivity already had anticipated so important a part in the fortunes of his own race.
In studying the character and life of Socrates, we know that we are contemplating the most remarkable moral phenomenon in the ancient world; we are conscious of having climbed the highest point of the ascent of Gentile virtue and wisdom; we find ourselves in a presence which invests with a sacred awe its whole surroundings. We feel that here alone, or almost alone, in the Grecian world, that we are breathing an atmosphere not merely moral but religious; not merely religious but Christian (it may be a strong expression, yet it is borne out by authority of the earliest Church Fathers). Difficult as it was to escape from these associations under any circumstances, the language of the Greek historians has now rendered it all but impossible. The startling phrases used, as alone adequate to the occasion, are dictated by the necessity of the case; and when we are told that Socrates was a cross-examining missionary, that he spent his life in public apostolicdialectics, that he was habitually actuated by his persuasion of a special religious mission, we are at once carried forward from the time of Socrates himself to that more sacred age, and we are enabled fully to appreciate what Socrates was and did.
Likeness to the Gospel History
The comparisons which have often been drawn between the Galilean Teacher and the Athenian sage have obviously been exaggerated. There are in the accompaniments of the character of Socrates dark shadows, grotesque incidents, unworthy associations, which render any such parallel, if pressed too far, as painful and untrue as the like parallels that have sometimes been found in Jacob or David, or, yet more rashly, in Jephthah or Samson. Still, if viewed correctly, there are few more remarkable confirmations of the reality of the Gospel history than the light which, by way of contrast or likeness, is thrown upon it by the highest example of Greek to the antiquity. It is instructive to observe that there, almost alone, outside of the Jewish race, is found the career which, at however remote a distance, whether to friends or enemies suggests a solid illustration of the One Life, which is the turning-point of the religion of the whole world. In other words, the story of Socrates is full of suggestions.
When we contemplate the contented poverty, the self-devotion, the constant publicity, and the miscellaneous followers of Socrates, we can understand better than before at least the outward aspect of that Sacred Presence which moved on the busy shores of the Sea of Galilee, and in the streets and courts of Jerusalem. When we read of the dogged obstinacy of the court by which He was judged, the religious or superstitious prejudices invoked against Him, the expression of His friend when all was finished; such was the end of the wisest and best of all the men who have ever lived – another Trial and another Parting inevitably rush to the memory. When we read the last conversations of the prisoner in the Athenian dungeon, our thoughts almost insensibly rise to the farewell discourses in the upper chamber at Jerusalem with gratitude and reverential awe. Of course, the differences are immense. But there is a likeness of moral atmosphere and external incident that gives cause for attention. Or (to turn to another side), when we are perplexed by the difficulty of reconciling the narrative of the first three Evangelists with the altered tone of the fourth, it is at least a step toward the solution of that difficulty to remember that there is here a parallel diversity between the Socrates of Xenophon and the Socrates of Plato. No one has been tempted by that diversity to doubt the substantial identity, the true character, much less the historical existence of the master whom they both profess to describe. The divergences of Plato from Xenophon are incontestable; the introduction of his own coloring and thought undeniable; and yet his representation is none the less indispensable to the complete ideal which mankind now reveres as the picture of Socrates.
Regarding the events which we now regard as greatest in the history of mankind, and when we think of the total silence of Josephus or of other contemporary writers, it is not altogether irrelevant to reflect that for the whole thirty years comprised in the most serious of ancient histories, Socrates was not only living, but acting a more public part, and, for all the future ages of Greece an incomparably more important part than any other Athenian citizen; and yet the able and thoughtful observer Thucydides never once noticed him directly or indirectly. There is no stronger proof of the weakness of the argument from omission, especially in the case of ancient history, which, unlike our own, contained within its range of vision no more than was immediately before it for the moment.
Likeness to the Apostolic History
If we descend from this higher ground to those lower but still lofty regions, which belong to the closing epoch of Jewish history, the illustrations supplied by the life of Socrates are still more appropriate and instructive. When we are reminded of the apostolic self-devotion of Socrates, a new light seems to break on the character and career of the teacher of Tarsus from whose life that expression is especially derived; and the glowing language in which the English historian of Greece describes the energy and enthusiasm of the Athenian missionary enables us to realize with greater force than ever the pureness, knowledge and love unfeigned of the missionary of a higher cause who argued in the very market-place where Socrates had conversed more than four centuries before, and was, like him, accused of being a "vain babbler" and a "setter-forth of strange gods" (Acts 17:18).
Even in minute detail there are some passages of the Apostle's life which are singularly elucidated by corresponding features in the career of the philosopher. For example, we more vividly understand the relation of the Apostle Paul, himself a Rabbi (teachers of his time) – belonging to them while being distinct from them. Contemplate the like relations of Socrates to the Sophists. How striking is the coincidence between the indignant refusal of Paul in these very cities of Athens and Corinth to receive remuneration for his labors, and by precept and example the similar protest of Socrates against the injurious effect produced on teachers by direct dependence on casual contributions; on the voluntary or involuntary payment of their hearers (Comp. 1 Cor. 9:1-18). How remarkably is the vulgar feeling of the Roman world toward the Apostles and their converts illustrated by the vulgar feeling of the Athenian world toward Socrates and his pupils.
In the attacks on Alcibiades and Socrates at two distinct periods we see union of a great mass of Athenian society, both democratical and aristocratical, against what they conceived to be revolutionary; against men who were obnoxious because they towered above their age. As in the alleged plot of the mutilation of the Hermae; Thessalus, the son of the aristocratic Cimon, and Androcles, the demagogue, both united against Alcibiades in the charge of overthrowing the constitution and establishing a tyranny – so Aristophanes, the poet of the aristocracy, and Anytus, the companion of the exiled leader of the popular party, combined in bringing against Socrates the charge of overthrowing mythology and establishing atheism. In each case there was a real danger to be discovered – if the prosecutors could have discerned it. Alcibiades was at work on designs which might have dissolved the existing bonds of society at Athens, and perhaps made him its tyrant and destroyer. Socrates was at work on designs which would ultimately place the religion and morality of Greece on a totally new foundation. They failed to convict Alcibiades because his plans were not yet fully developed; they failed to convict Socrates justly because his design was one which none but the noblest minds could understand.
So far there was a resemblance between the two cases – a resemblance of which the enemies of Socrates made the most. But, as everyone now recognizes, the difference was far wider. Alcibiades was actually what he was taken to be, the representative of all that was worst in the teaching of the Sophists – of all that was hostile to faith and virtue. While formally belonging to the Sophists, Socrates was actually the champion of all that was best and true in that time; and he fell victim to the blindness which in all great movements has again and again confounded two elements intrinsically dissimilar, because externally they both happened to be opposed to the prevailing opinion of the time.
There is no passage in history which more happily illustrates the position which was taken up against the Christian apostles and missionaries of the first and second centuries – a position which has frequently been overlooked or misapprehended. By containing among its supporters men who were morally the extreme opposites of each other, Christianity shared the common lot of every great moral change which has ever taken place in human society. No careful reader of the Epistles can fail to perceive the constant struggle which the Apostles had to maintain, not only against Jews and unbelievers external to Christian society, but against wild and licentious doctrines which took shelter within it. The same confusion which in the Athenian mind had taken place in the case of Socrates and Alcibiades, took place in the first century of the Christian era with regard to the Apostles and fierce fanatics of the early Church, who were to all outward appearance on the same side, both equally bent on revolutionizing the existing order of civil society.
As Aristophanes could not distinguish between the licentious arguments of the wilder class of sophists and the elevating and inspiring philosophy of Socrates, so Tacitus could not distinguish between the anarchists whom the Apostles Paul and Peter had labored to repress; the pure morality and faith which they had labored to propagate. He regarded them both as belonging to "an execrable race", "hateful for their abominable crimes"; and as the Greek poet could see nothing but an atheist in Socrates, so the Roman historian would have joined in the cry, "Away with the atheists", which was raised against the first Christians. In each case, there were some who even at the time judged more calmly and more wisely. Socrates was justly appreciated by his illustrious disciples, and the gross mistake which Tacitus had made with regard to Christianity was not shared by his friend and contemporary, the younger Pliny. But these warnings are instructive for every age; and it is because the two cases, amid infinite diversity, tend to explain each other that we have ventured thus far to anticipate the story of coming events, bringing them together, i.e., combining them, to read the same indispensable lesson of religious wisdom.
General Anticipations of a Higher Revelation
Besides these indirect illustrations of the Hebrew annals in the life of Socrates there are also indications in the Platonic representations of his teaching which bring it directly within the prophetic scope of the Sacred History. Not only in the hope of a Prince of the House of David, or an Elijah returning from the invisible world, who should set right the wrong and deliver the oppressed, but in the still small voice that was heard by the Ilissus or on the quays of the Piraeus there was a call for another Charmer who, when Socrates was gone, might come even among the barbarian races – one who should be sought for far and wide, for there is no better way of using money than to find such a one. In the anticipations of the Socratic dialogues, as well as in the Man of Sorrows (depicted by the Evangelical Prophet), there was the vision of the Just Man, scorned, despised, condemned, tortured, slain, by an ungrateful or stupid world, yet still triumphant. And yet a higher strain is heard. No doubt the Egyptian monuments speak of another lire, and Grecian mythology and poetry spoke of Tartarus and Elysium and the Isles of the Blessed.
No doubt the Hebrew Psalmists and Prophets contained aspirations for a bright hereafter, and also dim imagery of the under-world of the grave. But in the dialogue of Socrates in prison the conviction of a future existence is urged (whatever may be thought of the arguments) with an impressive earnestness which has left a permanent mark on the world, and of which the Jewish mind, hitherto dark and vacant regarding this momentous topic, was destined henceforth to become the ready recipient and chief propagator. There was also the double stream of the two philosophies which have since flowed from the teaching of Socrates; each of which has in turn dominated in some measure the Jewish Church, in a still larger measure the Christian Church – the world unrealized of Plato, the counterpart of the anticipations of the Hebrew Prophets in Hellenic phrase and form; the world explored of Aristotle, the counterpart on a colossal scale of boundless knowledge and practical wisdom, as it was believed of Solomon and his followers.
The General influence of Socrates
These details belong to a later stage of the history, and are more or less remotely connected with Socrates himself. It is true that he founded no school, that he refused the title of master. No definite system of opinions or doctrines can be traced to his instructions. Some of his chief admirers fell into courses of life or adopted theories of philosophy of which he would have disapproved. But nevertheless from him came the general impulse, of which the effects were henceforth evident to a certain extent in every province touched by Greek intellect, and which therefore bear on the future prospects of the Jewish Church as clearly as the teaching of Isaiah or Ezra. That which cannot be questioned; that which places him in the midst of the pathway of the development of the Jewish religion is this: his appearance exercised an influence over the whole subsequent history of European speculation – he stands at the very fountain-head of philosophical thought.
Although, as in the case of Hebrew predictions of the glory of the restored Commonwealth of Israel, there was no literal fulfilment of the hopes of Socrates that his own peculiar weapons of instruction would be taken up by his successors, yet, like those same predictions, in a larger and higher sense these hopes were accomplished by the lasting results which his mighty originality achieved. The moral sciences then first took the place in philosophy which they have never since lost. Out of other minds he struck the fire which set light to original thought, permanently enlarging the horizon, improving the method and multiplying the ascendant minds of the speculative world for all subsequent generations.
Again, Socrates stands conspicuous as the first great example of union between vigorous inquiry and profound religious relief. There was nothing in the Hebrew Scriptures to prevent such an alliance. But there is hardly any positive instance of its realization. In the Book of Job and Book of Ecclesiastes there is anxious inquiry, but it is united with religious perplexity and despair rather than with religious faith. In the Psalms there is unshaken confidence in the laws of God and nature; but the restless curiosity of the modern world is absent. In the Proverbs there is an ample glorification of Wisdom; but it is of practical sagacity and common sense rather than of active speculation. For the first time we see in Socrates that complete union which many doubted possible, but after which the best of later times have ardently aspired.
The impartial voice of the modern historian might say: "Socrates was the reverse of a sceptic: no man ever looked upon life with a more positive and practical eye; no man ever pursued his mark with a clearer perception of the road which he was travelling: no man ever combined the absorbing enthusiasm of a missionary with the acuteness, originality, inventive resource, and generalizing comprehension of a philosopher".
Amid the controversies of modern times, it is a rare satisfaction to know that the boldest philosophical enterprise ever undertaken was conceived, executed and completed in and through a spirit of intense and sincere devotion. The clash between religion and science was discerned by him, no less clearly than by us; in proportion his course was more difficult than ours because Paganism was more difficult to reconcile with reason than Judaism or Christianity – yet to the end he equally retained his hold on both; and no faithful history can claim his witness to the one without also acknowledging witness to the other.
Lastly, there is the especial, the singular prerogative of Socrates – his faculty, his mission, his life of cross-examination. The points which we have just enumerated have been shared with him by others; but in this his own favorite, life-long method of pursuing or suggesting truth.
Where are we to look for a parallel to Socrates, either in or out of the Grecian world? The cross-examining disputation has been mute ever since his last conversation in prison, which he wielded with matchless effect and noble purposes. Even his great successor Plato was a writer and lecturer, not a colloquial dialectician. Except for the Son of God, Jesus Christ, no man has ever been found strong enough to bend his bow; much less to use it as he did. His life remains a satisfactory evidence of how much can be done by this sort of intelligent interrogation; how powerful is the interest it can inspire; how energetic the stimulus which it can apply in awakening dormant reason and generating new mental power.
The re-appearance of such a man in subsequent stages of society is virtually impossible. The modern privacy of domestic life, the established order of social intercourse, online communication rather than through books or speech render such perpetual dialogue impracticable, which, in the open out-of-door life of Greece, needed only courage and resolution to be adequately sustained. But though the remedy is impossible, the need for it has not diminished.
However little that instrument may have been applied since the death of its inventor, its necessity and use have not disappeared, nor can it disappear. Unfortunately, the minds of far too many of us today are in that state of "sham knowledge" against which Socrates made war. In other words, far too many of us arrive at our notions by spontaneous, unexamined, unconscious, uncertified association; resting upon forgotten particulars and blending together disparities or inconsistencies, filling the mind with old and familiar phrases and oracular propositions. Every person destined for vigorous and profitable scientific effort has found self-instruction a necessity in order to break up, disentangle, analyze, and reconstruct ancient mental compounds.
The giant of colloquial philosophy no longer stands in the market-place to lend help and stimulus. He no longer stands among us. Yet we can contemplate the result if he were to once more visit the earth; were he once more to appear with that Silenic physiognomy, with that grotesque manner, with that indomitable resolution, with that captivating voice, with that homely humor, with that solemn earnestness, with that siege of questions; were he once more to walk among a crowded metropolis, under the groves and cloisters of a university, in the midst of political, ecclesiastical, religious meetings, on the floor of a legislative assembly, at the foot of the pulpits of a well-filled church assembly. How often in a conversation, in a book, in a debate, in a speech, in a sermon, have we longed for the doors to open and for the son of Sophroniscus to enter – how often in the heat of angry accusations, in the rabbinical subtleties or in the theological controversies that for centuries have darkened counsel by words without knowledge. Perhaps souls, weary of unmeaning phrases and undefined issues, have been tempted to repeat such words.
O for one hour of Socrates. O for one hour of that voice which should by its searching cross-examination make men see what they knew and what they did not know; what they meant and what they only thought they meant; what they believed in truth and what they only believed in name; wherein they agreed and wherein they differed. No doubt, differences would still remain, but they would be the differences of serious and thinking men – not a cessation of the hollow catchwords and empty shibboleths by which all differences are inflamed and aggravated. The voice of the great cross-examiner is indeed silent, but there is a voice in each man's heart and conscience which Socrates has taught us to rightly use. That voice, more sacred than the divine monitor of Socrates himself, can still make itself heard; that voice still enjoins us to give ourselves a reason for the hope that is in us – both hearing and asking questions. He gave the stimulus which prepared the Western world for the Great Inquirer, the Divine Word which should "pierce even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow" of the human mind, "and discern the thoughts and intents of the heart" (Heb. 4:12). Whether from within or without the example of Socrates encourages us to hope that we shall be more than compensated by that fancied repose which the spirit of inquiry disturbs. "A wise questioning" is indeed "the half of knowledge". "A life without cross-examination is no life at all".
Authorities:
The Memorabilia of Xenophon
Donkin, Life of Archimede
Benjamin Jowett, Plato
Hartwig Derenbourg, Histoire de la Palestine
Georg Heinrich August von Ewald, History of Israel
William Smith, Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology
Titus Flavius Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews
William Rounseville Alger, Doctrine of a Future Life
Abraham Kuenen, The Religion of Israel to the Fall of the Jewish State
Thomas Arnold, Fragment on the Church
Plato, Republic
Plato, Dialogues, especially the 'Apologia', 'Crito', and 'Phaedo' in Jowett's Plato.
George Grote, History of Greece, volume eight
Alfred Edersheim, Sketches of Jewish Social Life
Alfred Edersheim, The Temple
Morris Jacob Raphall, Post-Biblical History of the Jews
Adriaan Reland, Palaestina ex monumentis veteribus illustrate
