The Answer of the Philosopher

by

Alex. V. Domokos

---

The air in the jail was a mixture of smoke, decaying straw and urine. It was suffocating. But he was not concerned with that. He was concerned with his hopeless future. He was an ugly old man but not yet old enough to die. He sensed that his personal fate foreshadowed the destruction of his beloved Helles. From the barred window Socrates saw only a segment of the Agora enshrouded in mist. Farther away, the Acropolis was just an outline against the night sky. The market square was deserted. Only the cries of the night patrols were heard as they signalled to each other.

Scanty white hair framed his balding skull like a halo. His grotesque face resembled a faun with a sarcastic smile making fun of the world. Being a philosopher he was not concerned with his appearance. He was incarcerated for many weeks awaiting his execution. Strangely, he fully agreed with the logic of his sentence. He began to re-examine his own trial in his mind; it was an exercise in self-evaluation.

"Why do I have so many, many enemies, not only among the mob of the Agora, but also among the council members of the five hundred? Because I am arrogant, or at least I act as an arrogant self-righteous bastard. On the Agora I publicly dissect people bit by bit with my sharp, unanswerable questions. Nobody likes to be a fool. I make fools out of people because then I look smart. It is easy to question people endlessly without offering an answer of your own. They never can pin me down since I never state my opinion.

"I am accused of being impious. They say I don't believe in gods. It's true. I do not believe in man-made gods—gods who are no different from us. They are cheaters, liars, murderers, just as we are. When I questioned people to name the fundamental difference between man and gods, there was no answer which could not be destroyed by another question. Why should I believe in the gods as exemplary beings? I must confess, though, that I have no answer to the puzzle. But I don't let myself be questioned by anyone. Now being alone, Socrates versus Socrates, I must answer to myself, 'What do I believe in?' "

He caught himself questioning as he would question any stranger in the market place. Questioning was such an ingrained habit. That habit had earned him his nickname from the Athenians, the 'gadfly'. Many people felt the sting of his questions. The façade of humble ignorance was his defense. When his answer was demanded he pleaded ignorance and, like an eel, slipped through all their nets. No one could catch him. That made everybody frustrated, angry and hostile.

"By my arrogance I infuriated the majority of the council, but I can't help it. I feel victory when I see my opponents getting angrier and angrier at every question until they explode! When that happens, I know I have triumphed. Only Hippias was smart enough to see through my manipulation when he said, 'Socrates, no more questions until you state your point.' "

"Why, Hippias? Are you afraid to discuss such a simple matter with an uneducated person like myself?"

Hippias shouted, red-faced, "You are a cheat, Socrates! No more answers from me!" I knew that in the eyes of the crowd, I was the winner. Anger kills any argument. But in my own mind I knew that Hippias was right. I never give satisfaction to any of my opponents. Never!"

His wrinkled face was serene. For the first time he realized the seriousness of his predicament. "I have now many irreconcilable enemies like Anytus. Poor Anytus. He is taking his revenge. He claims I destroyed his son. In a way, I did. My questions about the gods confused him. Strong persons can accept uncertainty. They can live with doubts; weak persons cannot. Truth is a potent brew. The strong are enhanced by it, the weak are crazed by it. Like wine, it could be a stimulant or a poison. it depends on the individual's reaction. I had no idea that Anytus' son was so weak. I exposed many young people to doubt: Crito, Alchibiades, Platon, Critias, Hippias — all responded differently. But Anytus' son went crazy. No wonder his father accused me of corrupting his son. So, I was ordered to stand trial. Trial in such a so-called democracy like Athens is a farce. There is no democracy here. Only mob-rule! Demagoguery! The loudest orator who promises the most, wins the vote. A small majority is enough to decide the issue, regardless of how many are hurt by it. My trial was no different. Out of five hundred, sixty votes tipped the scale against me."

Suddenly his gadfly nature surfaced and he put the question to himself. "Would you be such an ardent opponent to democracy if the vote had been in your favor?"

"Yes, I would!" he answered without hesitation. "Democracy favors the lowest common denominator, not leaving room for any excellence. Unfortunately the leadership of the elite is equally dangerous. We can see that danger in Sparta where the aristocracy rules. Democracy easily turns into anarchy, and the leadership of the elite easily turns into dictatorship. Since I detest both, it seems to me I have no home in Hellas."

He burst into bitter laughter. "Where is a home for you, Socrates? Maybe only in your dreams. Maybe that's why you must die to reach the Elysian plains, the land of dreams, the land where uncompromising and absolute truth exist..."

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted. approaching footsteps announced the intrusion of the outside world into his solitary domain. He felt his guts churn. "Maybe the jailer is coming with the hemlock. How is it that after I made my peace with death I still have fear?"

When the door opened his fear eased. In the doorway stood his most cherished pupil, Platon. Platon was the embodiment of the ideal of Hellas. He was tall with blond hair and blue eyes. His body was well proportioned despite the fact that he was a trained wrestler. His keen mind was not only swift, but daring. He argued with anyone, including his master. In Platon the healthy mind joined a healthy body in Hellenistic perfection. After a silent embrace Platon said, "Master I bring good news to you."

"Good news is most welcome. But only when I know what it is can I decide if it is good or bad."

"I bring you your freedom. Crito bribed the guards. Even Anytus hinted that he favors your escape under the condition that you leave the city."

"Don't you see how relative is the value of good? What is good for me is not necessarily good for another. What is your definition of good?" He was the master again questioning his pupil Platon.

Young Platon knew his master better than to refuse to participate in his game. "I would say good is the total absence of pain."

"If that's good how does it differ from happiness?"

"The two are not the same but I don't know how to separate them," confessed Platon.

"If I accept the offer of Crito and the others, I make them happy. I absolve them from the torment of guilt. But does it make me happy too?"

"First you must stay alive to experience happiness."

"Many people live without being happy, Platon."

"Life is of primary important to everybody."

"Is it? Do you remember Alchibiades?"

"How could I forget him?" answered Platon with another question.

"It is impossible to forget him. I know you have a good reason to have a grudge against him."

"I cannot respect turncoats."

"I wonder if your harsh condemnation of him is not influenced by jealousy? He was the golden boy of Athens, loved by women, the nephew of the stratagos, Pericles, good-looking, wealthy, the darling of society. You have many reasons to be jealous."

"Yes, he was a ladies' man. Even the queen of Sparta became pregnant by him. What kind of a man was he? While he was a fugitive under the Spartan king's protection, he seduced his queen!"

Listening to Platon's tirade against Alchibiades, Socrates sensed his envy. The two were rivals in more ways than one. "Do you realize, Platon, why your condemnation is so passionate? Because you sense in him an extraordinary person, an evil genius. Extraordinary personalities are either loved or hated. I must quote Alchibiades to make my point clear. As a young man he said to his aging uncle, Pericles, who had just returned from exile and was a broken man, 'Uncle, I would rather like to see you at the peak of your mental power.' It was a cruel but honest statement."

"Cruel, yes. I could imagine how deeply hurt that great man was. Forgive me, Socrates, I know Alchibiades was one of your favorite students, but he was a rotten character."

"Yes, but it has nothing to do with my point, Platon. Can't you see how fast I am deteriorating? I am afraid that soon you would like to say to me what Alchibiades said to Pericles. Only you are more considerate than to say it to my face. Nevertheless, it will cross your mind."

Platon was honest enough not to protest.

Socrates continued, "Solitude is the best mirror of reflection. I have had time enough to evaluate the world around me. There are two systems of opposite values today. Those extremes are represented by Athens and Sparta. Neither is suitable for me. I am inclined to believe my death sentence is merciful. It saves me from feeble old age."

"But, Master..."

"Don't waste your breath, Platon. I will tell you a story that clarifies my point. I heard it from a Corinthian fisherman. The tension in Attica is growing since Corcyra joined the Athenian League. Sparta cannot afford to see her power erode. Sooner or later the conflict will be inevitable, but who is right? Who is wrong? I will let you draw your own conclusion. But, the fisherman's story...

"Some Athenian youth, having become fed up with the corruption of democracy, decided to desert Athens and join the Spartan army. 'We hate this decadent city of Athens where everything is for sale. Votes, decency, women, brotherhood are all for sale. Athens is a merchant city without principle. It is a disgusting society.'

"At the same time some young Spartans were also disillusioned with their system and decided to join Athens. 'Our city, Sparta, is a butcher state. Manhood has to be proven by killing slaves. What kind of heroism is that? In Sparta kindness and love are interpreted as weakness. Life is cruel and meaningless.' Those were their grievances. By chance the two groups met half way between the two cities at a Corinthian inn. Soon heated arguments were exchanged and, since both groups were armed, the killing started.

"In your opinion, Platon, why were those young men so intolerant of each others' ideas?"

"Because the faults of their own society looked like virtue in the other."

"A good answer. But the truth is the other way around, Platon. They saw in the opposite society their dream of perfection. Man hates those who destroy their dreams. Anyone who robs the other of his illusions, commits an unforgivable crime. That's my sin, Platon."

"I can't follow your argument, Master."

"Pity! My best pupil can't understand me! Look at me, Platon. I deprived Athenians of their dream in the superiority of Democracy, and I could not offer any better answer. As soon as my wits are gone, my sharp logic deteriorates, you will feel pity for me. I am a fool who does not fit into this world since I strive for perfection. Those who have felt the sting of my questions will triumph over me. That's what I should be waiting for? No, Platon. I won't let you be disillusioned in me. Neither can I let my enemies triumph over me by freeing them from the haunting burden of guilt for my unjustified killing.

"It is time to answer the ultimate question about values of morality. My consent to my sentence is my final answer to Crito's proposal."

Platon was spellbound. He was hypnotized by the radiance of the spirit over which no fear could triumph. The proximity of immortality overwhelmed him.