When your ethics professor brings Ancient Greek philosophy into discussion for the first time, your initial thought might be of a white-bearded senior citizen wearing a toga and notably teetering with theories of virtue and justice. He emits a perpetual sense of curiosity and wonder while prying into the cracks of human nature. If the universe were a clock, he would contemplate how it works, how it ticks, why it ticks, what time it tells and what that time means, or perhaps why the time it tells should matter to us anyway. This image, regardless how generic, fits the description of one of the most admirable and controversial minds of history, the founding father of philosophy: Socrates. Far from being just another name in a history book, Socrates’ views and methods of inquiry set the pace for future philosophers. He was the Mohammed Ali, the William Shakespeare, or the Leonardo DaVinci of philosophy.
Socrates was born approximately 469 B.C.E. in a little village just outside of Athens. The date is not exactly known by anyone, particularly because his birth was not nearly as paramount as his death. As a child, he worked with his father Sophroniscus, a successful sculptor, until Socrates was sent to study with the philosophers Anaxagoras, Archelaus, and Parmenides of Elea. He quickly found his bearings in philosophy, as these three wise men were but stepping stones for Socrates’ real potential. But unlike these and many other pre-Socratic philosophers, Socrates refrained from attempting to explain the natural world around him, viewing it as an utterly hopeless endeavor. Rather, he explored the universe hidden within a man’s soul (or psyche, as the Greeks would say), which he believed to be immortal and infinite. That, as he would say, is the greater journey.
As things progressed for Socrates, Athens and Sparta grew to war with each other in 431 B.C.E. Now in his late thirties, Socrates enlisted as a hoplite (private, third class) in the Peloponnesian War. As a hoplite, or foot soldier, a man was required to provide his own armor and weapons for battle. Socrates did just that. With his body cast in iron armor, helmet, shield and sword, “Socrates distinguished himself for bravery at the siege of Potidaea, 431/30, and again at the defeat of Athenians by the Boeotians in 424.”
With no apparent need for comfort, he was renowned for his simplistic attire worn year-round. He “not only looked like a philosopher, he dressed like one. Winter and summer he invariably wore the same shabby tunic with a threadbare half-length cloak,” and went about barefoot regardless of weather conditions. His comrades were perplexed by his relentless composure, as if he were a stone weathering a storm. His ability to endure great personal hardship without complaint allowed Socrates to make quite a name for himself.
Despite his time spent smashing shields with Spartans, Socrates never held an occupation other than the one he regarded as the most important. He was a philosopher, and unlike many sophists of his time, Socrates refused to receive payment from the students he taught. Hence, he criticized the sophists for doing so. He would never admit to being wise, much less a teacher. It’s no surprise he never wrote anything down, he believed himself as ignorant as the next man. After returning from war, Socrates was greeted by an old friend, Chaerephon, whom spoke of a visit to Delphi. While there, Chaerephon found himself in the temple of Apollo. Present was an oracle to answer inquires from pilgrims of all kinds. At the time, the Greeks believed some women to have greater spirituality than others, which made them sufficient mediums through whom the gods often spoke. The oracles would undergo trance-like states, as if invoked with the very spirit of Apollo. Curiously, Chaerephon asked of the oracle if there lived anyone of greater wisdom than Socrates, to which she answered that there was no one. Puzzled upon hearing the response of the oracle, Socrates sought out to test the theory by questioning men with a reputation for wisdom. Hence, he sought out a supposedly wise politician, and after interrogating his mind to pieces, Socrates “decided that he seemed wise to a lot of people, and especially to himself, but in fact he was not.” He would not be so easily satisfied. Socrates persistently engaged in conversation with anyone he encountered, testing each one and often making the man contradict himself. His smart-aleck, sarcastic, and sometimes patronizing inquires often left his opponents unsettled and aggravated. No doubt, he became notorious for provoking anger in the wisest of men.
His favorite spot to consort with (and irritate) Athenians was the Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios in the Agora, a “shady colonnade lined with stallholders selling wares.” The Agora served as a marketplace for Athens, with dusty shops and stalls, and was later converted to town center to house government and political matters such as the people’s court. With such a strange appearance, awkward attitude, no apparent concern for clothes or possessions, and a resounding condescension in his conversations, Socrates was a familiar figure on the streets of Athens. He sustained that extent of his own genius was, as he would say, that he knew nothing except the fact of his own ignorance. Much later he realized why the oracle recognized him as wise—”for he more than anyone else appreciated the limits of his own knowledge.”
Ultimately, the provoking system of questioning men left Socrates with few devoted followers and numerous enemies. His followers were often wealthy young gentlemen, like Plato, whom were generous to offer an open ear to his relentless questioning and skepticism. Without being bolted to a cross, he acted as an enlightened father-figure to the youth of Athens. In 423, Socrates was ridiculed by the comical playwright Aristophanes. In his play “The Clouds,” Aristophanes “portrayed Socrates as a master of pointless wordplay and verbal trickery. The head of an institute called ‘The Thinkery,’ he literally had his head in the clouds.” This illustrated mockery of Socrates became quite popular in Athens, and had ultimately damaging effects on the community’s view of him. Initially, Socrates didn’t see this as a threat, and viewed it more like a roast: close friends poking fun in a public fashion.
However, with far more enemies than friends, this depiction of Socrates was a loudspeaker to broadcast an already popular image of a threat in Athens. In the year of 399 B.C.E., three meddlesome citizens, Anytus, Lycon, and Meletus, approached King Archon concerning the prosecution of Socrates, on the grounds of corrupting the youth and refusing to worship ancestral gods. Upon this, Socrates was given four days to visit King Archon to state his defense and go to trial. As a citizen of Athens, Socrates happily obliged. Next, the trial was held over the course of a full day, in the court of the Agora of Athens. The recorded indictment in the court of Athens stated:
“Meletus, son of Miletus, of the deme of Pitthus, indicts Socrates, son of Sophroniscus, of the deme of Alopecae, on his oath, to the following effect. Socrates is guilty (i) of not worshipping the gods whom the State worships, but introducing new and unfamiliar religious practices; (ii) and, further, of corrupting the young.”
The jury consisted of 501 male citizens, and much unlike the courtrooms today, a majority vote was the rule rather than the exception.
During the hearing, Meletus presented his argument first. In addition to the charges placed on Socrates, Meletus warned the jury of Socrates’ manipulative eloquence and rhetoric, claiming he would attempt to trick the jury with verbiage. Given his chance to speak (arguments were short and timed with a water-clock), Socrates promptly replied to this warning by promising only truth, and asked to be forgiven in his lack of eloquent speech, for he wished not to mislead the jury. He maintained that his life and actions in Athens were not unjust or impious in any way, but a good deed to Athens and its citizens. Juries at the time were easily swayed by sob stories and suck-ups. Yet, instead of catering to the jury by displaying a “pitiful appeal” or showing any remorse, he chose to lecture them on these discreditable practices of their court. Socrates, while on trial for his life, condemned the procedures of the Athenian court and its jurors. With ironclad principles in hand, Socrates smirked at Death from across the courtroom.
The time to vote had come, and the judges did so by dropping pebbles into earthenware jars. Of the 501 judges, 280 voted for conviction, with a majority of barely sixty people. Had thirty people decided to acquit instead of convict Socrates, he would have walked. Athenian law required both Socrates and Meletus to suggest a sentence. Meletus demanded the death penalty; however, Socrates refused to suggest anything. He remained a rock, unmoved in his belief that he had done no wrong, and in fact, that he was a public benefactor to Athens. As a just and deserving sentence, he thought, Socrates proposed he should be granted free meals at the expense of Athens, an honor offered to Olympian athletes. He finally settled to pay a small fine to the state, which Plato and other supporters immediately multiplied thirty-fold. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Socrates had infuriated the jury with his cavalier behavior and resilience to weep and wail for his life. It was a Pyrrhic victory for Socrates; he refused to yield in mercy and signed his death warrant. Without discussion, the jury voted on the sentence—the penalty was death by poison hemlock. Socrates, upon hearing the verdict, remained undaunted.
Over the next month, he sat patiently in his cell awaiting his execution, as a man might wait for his coming vacation trip. During this time, a faithful follower, Crito, came to Socrates pleading with him to escape imprisonment and flee Athens. Crito had arranged the escape and would pay for all bribes necessary. Money was of no concern. However, Socrates saw no reason to leave the city in which he lived all his life. He took no evasive actions, even after being sentenced to death. As a citizen of Athens, he was bound by her laws. He personified the law in Athens, portraying for Crito what the law would say to this evasion, being Socrates faithfully lived by Athenian law all his life. During the four days given to approach King Archon and the time before the actual trial, Socrates had the opportunity to leave Athens and avoid conviction. This alternative would have been happily accepted, if not advised. Yet, even in the absence of guilt, Socrates embraced his fate, and “he looked forward to meeting the immortals.”
After a month’s time, Socrates’ execution was to take place. He was required to drink a toxic mixture extracted from hemlock, a poisonous plant in the parsley family. The plants toxins directly target the central nervous system, calmly shutting down nerve endings, numbing the body into paralysis, and ultimately falling into a fatal sleep. As the cup was handed to Socrates, he “received it quite cheerfully…without a tremor, without any change in colour or expression.” Surrounded by friends and followers, all eyes were fixed upon him. As if he were toasting with friends, he raised the cup to his lips, and calmly, without distaste, gulped down the poison in a single shot. At this sight, the room began to weep and sob broken-heartedly. The deed was done. Yet Socrates, as he realized this, replied sternly: “My friends, what a way to behave…Calm yourselves and be brave.” He walked around his cell lethargically, until his feet became heavy, dragging behind him like stones attached to his legs. He then laid down, having been over-encumbered by the effects of the hemlock. Sleepily, he suggested to Crito that he sacrifice a cock to the god Asclepius, to ensure the well-being of his soul in the after-life.
“It shall be done,” Crito responded, “are you sure that there is nothing else?” To this, Socrates gave no reply. His body remained still, cast in iron and statuesque, and Crito closed his eyes and mouth. “This…was the end of our comrade, who as…of all those whom we know the bravest and also the wisest and most just.” His execution profoundly changed ideas about heroism, primarily because his death was due to his refusal of abandoning his own principles.