Four Phases of Morals: Socrates, Aristotle, Christianity, Utilitarianism

by John Stuart Blackie

Taking all these things together, remembering how many follies and ferocities have everywhere been perpetrated in the name of religion, and impressed with the full force of what the poet says of the reward wont to be paid by the world to persistent speakers of truth—

“Die wenigen die von der Wahrheit was erkannt Und thöricht genug ihr volles Herz nicht wahrten Dem Pöbel ihr Gefühl, ihr Schauen offenbarten Hat man von je gekreuzigt und verbrannt,”—

some persons may perhaps feel inclined to think with Mr. Grote that “the wonder rather is that the wise man was not prosecuted sooner. It was only the extraordinary toleration of the Greek people that prevented this.” There is a great amount of truth in this remark; but the exercise of polytheistic toleration in the case of Socrates was rendered more easy by the undoubted innocency of the accused, and the host of friends whom his wisdom and goodness had created for him as his champions. Had Socrates really been as heterodox in Athenian theology as Michael Servetus was in the theology of the Christian world at the period when, in harmony with universal European law, he was burnt by the Genevese Calvinists, we might then have drawn a contrast between monotheistic intolerance and polytheistic toleration in two perfectly similar cases; but as matters really stand, while the execution of Servetus was only a great legal and theological mistake, the death of Socrates must be stamped by the impartial historian as a great social crime. It was equally against local law and human right, a rude invasion of blind prejudice, overbearing insolence, and paltry spite against the holiest sanctities of human life.

The details of the death of Socrates, sketched with such graceful power and kindly simplicity by Plato in the concluding chapters of the Phædo, are well known; but the present paper would seem imperfect without some glimpse of that last and most beautiful scene of the philosopher’s career. We shall therefore conclude with that extract; and to make the picture of his last days as complete as possible, introduce it by an extract from Plato’s Apology, in which the dignified self-reliance and serene courage of the sage is described with all that rich fulness and easy grace of which the writer was so consummate a master:—

“I should have done what was decidedly wrong, O Athenians, if, when the archons whom you elected ordered me, at Potidæa, at Amphipolis, and at Delium, to accept the post given me in the war, and stand where I was ordered to stand at the risk of death,—if then, I say, I had not obeyed the command, and exposed my life willingly for the good of my country; but when the order comes from a god—as I had the best reason to believe that a god did order me to spend my life in philosophizing, and in proving myself and others, whether we were living according to right reason,—if in such circumstances I should now, from fear of death, or from any other motive, leave my post, and become a deserter, this were indeed a sin; and for such an offence any one might justly bring me before this court on a charge of impiety, saying that I had disobeyed the voice of the god by flinching from death, and conceiting myself to be wise when I was not wise. For to be afraid of death, O Athenians, is in fact nothing else than to seem to be wise when a man is not wise: for it is to seem to have a knowledge of things which a man does not know. For no man really knows whether death may not be to mortal men of all blessings perhaps the greatest; and yet they do fear it, as if they knew that it is the greatest of evils. And how, I ask, can this be other than the most shameful folly to imagine that a man knows what he does not know? or perhaps do I differ from most other men in this, and if I am wiser at all than any one, am I wiser in this, that, while not possessing any exact knowledge of the state of matters in Hades, I do not imagine that I possess such knowledge; but as to right and wrong, I know for certain, that to disobey a better than myself whether man or god, is both bad and base. On no account therefore will I ever fear and seek to avoid what may or may not be an evil, rather than that which I most certainly know to be bad; in so much that if, on the present occasion, you should be willing to acquit me, and refuse to listen to Anytus, who maintained that I either should never have been brought before you at all, or you could not do otherwise than condemn me to death, because your sons, putting in practice the lessons of Socrates, must needs go on without redemption to their ruin—if, notwithstanding this declaration of my prosecutor, you should still be unconvinced, and say—O Socrates, for the present we discharge you, but on this condition, that for the future you shall not go on philosophizing and proving, as you have hitherto done; and, if you are caught doing so, then you shall die—if on these conditions you were now willing to acquit me, I should say to you, O Athenians, that, while I cherish all loyal respect and love for you, I choose to obey the gods rather than men, and so long as I live and breathe I will never cease philosophizing: and exhorting any of you with whom I may happen to converse, and addressing him as I have been wont, thus,—O my excellent fellow-citizen, the citizen of a State the most famous for wisdom and for resources, is it seemly in you to feel no shame if, while you are spending your strength in the accumulation of money, and in the acquisition of civic reputation, you bestow not the slightest pains to have your soul as well furnished with intelligence as your life is with prosperity? And if any man to this question should reply, that, so far as he is concerned, he really does bestow as much care on wisdom as on wealth, then I will not forthwith let him go, but will proceed, as I was wont, to interrogate, and to prove, and to argue; and if, as the result of the discussion, he shall appear to me not to possess virtue, but merely to say that he possesses it, I will then go on to reprove him in that by his deeds he prefers what is base to what is noble, and foolishly sets the highest value upon that which has the least worth. And in this wise I will speak to every man whom I shall converse with, be he citizen, or be he stranger, and the rather if he be a fellow-citizen to whom I am bound by nearer and more indissoluble ties. For this is precisely what I am commanded to do by the god; and if the god did indeed give forth this command, then must I distinctly declare that no greater blessing could be to this city than that, so long as I do live, I should live to execute the divine command. For what I do day after day treading your streets is simply this, that, speaking to both young and old, I exhort them not to seek in the first place money or anything material, but to stretch every nerve that their soul may be as excellent as possible; for that virtue and all excellence grow not from gold, but rather that gold and all things truly good, both in private and public life, grow to men from the possession of virtue as the root of all good. If by preaching this doctrine I corrupt the youth, let such teaching be declared corrupt: but if any one asserts that I teach other doctrine than this, he is talking unreason. Therefore, O Athenians, do as seemeth you good; listen to Anytus, or listen to him not; acquit me or acquit me not, I can do no otherwise than I have done, though I should die a hundred times.

(At these words murmurs of dissent and disapprobation are heard from the jury.)

“Be not surprised, O Athenians, nor express displeasure at what I have said; listen rather and hear, for you will be the better and not the worse for anything that I have said, and I have some other things to say also of a nature to bring out similar expressions of your dissent; but hear me, I beseech you, with patience. This I must plainly tell you, that if you put me to death, being such an one as I have described, and doing such things as I do, you will not hurt me so much as you will hurt yourselves; or, more properly speaking, no man can hurt me, neither Anytus nor Meletus nor any one else; for it is not in the nature of things that a better man should receive essential harm from a worse. No doubt a worse man may kill me, or banish me, or brand me with statutable infamy—evils these the greatest possible in the estimation of some, but not certainly in my conviction, who hold the greatest infamy to be even that which this man has brought upon himself, in that wrongfully he endeavours to take away the life of his fellow. I am not therefore, in making this present defence, pleading my own cause so much as speaking in your behalf, O Athenians, lest ye should be found sinning against the god in condemning a just man unjustly. For if you put me aside you will not easily find another (though it may excite a smile when I say so) who may be able or willing to perform the same service for the public good; for even as a large and mettlesome, though from the size of its body somewhat slow, horse requires a goad to make it run, even so the god seems to have attached me to you, that by spurring and goading, and exhorting and reproving you day after day with a pious persistency, I should rouse you to the performance of what your dignity requires. Such an honest counsellor, and one who shall as faithfully apply when necessary the profitable pain that belongs to the successful treatment of your malady, you may not so readily find again; for which reason I say, fellow-citizens, hear me and spare my life; but if, as is natural enough, you take offence, and, like other sleepers, begin to kick and to butt at the man who rouses you from your lethargy, nothing is easier than killing me; and then when I am gone you will be allowed to sleep on in uninterrupted sloth, unless indeed the god shall be pleased to send some other messenger of grace to pluck you from destruction. And that I truly am such a person as I here profess to be, a real messenger of the gods to you, you may gather from hence that no mere human motive could have induced me now for so many years to have neglected my own affairs, and devoted myself to your good, looking upon every man as my father or my brother, and exhorting him by every possible suasion to seek for virtue as the only good. And this also I may say, that if in the exercise of this my vocation I had exacted any payment or received any pecuniary reward my accusers might have had some ground for their charge; but as the case stands you perceive plainly that, while my enemies have brought forward every possible charge against me with the most shameless effrontery, to substantiate which they might imagine themselves in possession of some shadow of proof, none of them has produced a single witness to the effect that I ever either received or sought a wage of any kind for the instructions which I imparted. But there is one witness which I can produce to rebut such a charge if it were made, a witness which will not fail to silence even the bitterest of my accusers,—even that poverty in which I have lived and in which I shall die.

“So much for the character of my teaching. But perhaps it may seem strange to some one, that, while I go about the city giving counsel to every man in this busy fashion, with all my fondness for business I have not found my way into public life, nor come forward on this stage to advise you on public affairs. Now the cause of this is none other than that which you have frequently heard me mention, namely, that something divine and superhuman to which Meletus in his address scoffingly alluded; for this is the sober truth, O ye judges, that from my boyhood I have on all important occasions been wont to hear a voice which, whenever it speaks in reference to what I am about to do, always warns me to refrain, but never urges me to perform.^[117.1] This voice it is, and nothing else, which forbade me to meddle with public affairs, and forbade me very wisely, as I can now clearly perceive, and with a most excellent result; for of this, O Athenians, be assured, if I had essayed at an early period of my life to manage your public business, I should without doubt have perished long ago, and done no good either to you or to myself. And be not wroth with me if in this I tell you the truth; the man does not exist who shall be able to save his life anywhere, if he shall set himself honestly and persistently to oppose you or any other multitude of people when you are violently bent on doing things unjust and unlawful; whosoever therefore would live on this earth as the champion of right and justice, if only for a little while, amongst men, must make up his mind to do good as a private person, and forego all ambition to serve the public in a political capacity.”

This is not the tone certainly which any accused person anxious to save his life in pleading before a democratic jury would have adopted, whether at Athens or New York. By the majority of his judges, who came predisposed to condemn him, such language could only be interpreted as adding insult to injury. If he thinks himself too good to live amongst us, why, then, let him die! And in accordance with this sentiment a verdict was brought in—only by a small majority however—that he was guilty of the charge. This verdict, according to Athenian law, did not necessarily determine the punishment; the accuser asked for death; but from the smallness of the majority there was every reason to believe that a less punishment would have satisfied the jury, if only the accused had shown any willingness to accept it. But in the short address which he made after the verdict of guilty had been given in, though he professed himself willing to pay a fine of thirty minæ, which his friends had guaranteed, for himself was too poor, yet he made this declaration with such an air of calm superiority, and accompanied it with such a proud claim of reward for great public services as his proper civic due, instead of punishment for any public offence, that his judges, being, as they were, made of the common human stuff, under the feelings of the moment could scarcely do otherwise than take it as an insult, and so they passed sentence of death upon the philosopher for contumacy towards themselves, not less than for blasphemy against the gods.

The fate of Socrates was now fixed; nor did he show any desire to have it altered. To such a strict observer of the laws, and a person to whom his moral position before men was of infinitely more consequence than his life, any attempt to escape from prison could have been suggested only to provoke refusal; so he remained in ward thirty days, till the sacred ship should return from the Delian festival, during the absence of which Attic usage forbade the infliction of capital punishment on any citizen. Through all this period he is represented as preserving the same tone of cheerful seriousness and playful dignity which characterized him in his defence before the judges. He discoursed with his friends on the immortality of the soul; and the record of this conversation, no doubt, in the argumentative part largely Platonized, but in the fundamental scheme substantially true, has been preserved to the world in the well-known dialogue of the Phædo; the closing chapters of which, exhibiting with a graceful and graphic simplicity, never surpassed, the last moments of the revered teacher’s mortal career, supply all that is further required to complete the present sketch:—“Well, friends, we have been discoursing for this last hour on the immortality of the soul, and there are many points about that matter on which he were a bold man who should readily dogmatize; but one thing I seem to know full certainly, that whosoever during his earthly life has flung sensual pleasures behind him, and been studious to adorn his soul, not with conventional and adventitious trappings, but with its own proper decoration, temperance and justice, and courage and freedom and truth,—the person so prepared waits cheerfully to perform the journey to the unseen world at whatever period Fate may choose to call him. You, Simmias, and Cebes, and the rest of you, my dear friends, will go that road some day, when your hour comes: as for me, to use the phrase of the tragic poets, ‘Destiny even now calls me,’ and it is about the hour that I should be going to the bath; for I think it better to take a bath first before I drink the drug, so that the women may not have the trouble to wash my body when I am gone.