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John says something about stopping to rest. Thank goodness. You were as tired as the other two look. But you didn't want to be the first to suggset stopping. You can just see the marble columns of a temple on the top of the Acropolis in the distance, and wonder how much farther. The road you have been walking down is no more than a track, a dusty, narrow track. You are surprised at how dirty you have become, particularly your feet and legs. Now you understand why everyone in this period wore sandals. You’ve had to stop and dump sand out of your shoes several times.
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“So, what exactly is our mission?” John asks, not for the first time.
“The transmission was unclear. I only know it has something to do with Socrates.” At least that was what the AI had surmised. You aren’t as sure now.
"I thought your original mission was to find Aristotle's Library," Eldia says. "Socrates's trial takes place in 399. We know that. I'm not sure about the dates for Aristotle. But he can't be very old in 399. Has he even been born yet?"
"Another qustion," John pipes in. "Does anyone know when in 399 his trial took place? I’d hate to get here a week after he drank the hemlock.”
You and Eldia shake your heads. You wait to see if the AI has anything to add. It’s been silent for hours, and you’re starting to wonder if your Chronsensor might be acting up like everyone else’s. You’d love to check, but you don’t want Eldia and John to know you’ve got a working, hopefully working, Chronosensor. They’ve been such excellent companions so far that you feel a little guilty hiding things from them. You don’t feel like your own Ethos is what it should be. But, you remind yourself, you don’t know yet how much they can be trusted.
After an hours walk you can see the walls of the city and notice that there seems to be a lot of rubble, large stones scattered about the fiels. People scurry over the rocks that dot the landscape. “What is all that construction?”
John has a monocular, a small, single lens binocular that he can hide in his cloak. “They seem to be moving the rocks. Not sure why.”
The AI pipes in. Finally, you think. “The End of the Peloponnesian War, which Athens lost, was only five years ago. We’ll be entering the city through the Itonia Gate. There was a defensive wall running from that gate down to the old port of Phalerum. There were also walls leading down to the Port of Piaraeus. After the war the Spartans forced the Athenians to tear those walls down. Without protected access to their port they could no longer wage a protracted war. The city is still a cultural center, but will never be a military power of much note from this point on.”
You're silent while the AI speaks in your ear. Eldia said something, but you didn’t catch it. When the AI falls silent you repeat everything it told you, saying it as though it was something you just happened to know. More to feel guilty about.
“We might as well head in."
[[The Itonia Gate.]]
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As you come within shouting distance of the wall the road becomes more crowded--and dustier.
You join others on foot, merchants leading donkeys laden with goods wrapped in oiled cloth. Several times you have to step off the trail as men stripped to the waist carry huge clay jars down the road toward the port.
As you walk, you realize you can pick out words and then complete sentences that make sense. You wish you knew how the Chronosensor was doing that.
“The road is crowded for this time of year,” one man dressed a little more luxurious than the others says.
“The Festival Adonia is in a few days.”
The other groans. “If I’d known I would have stayed at my estate. I only came in because I heard that Socrates would be tried soon. That is entertainment I wouldn’t miss. The man can talk, even if he makes no sense.”
The other shrugs, a gesture of non-commitment that could mean anything.
Three other merchants appear to be having a tense argument.
They speak so vehemently you can barely follow it.
Merchant 1: “He blasphemies! He has gone too far this time!”
Merchant 2: “Socrates is still a great and wise man.”
Merchant 3: “Wise? He does not believe in the gods! He dishonors all of us with his pretentious attitude. His trial will result in banishment at the least. Daemons indeed. Who is he to have a personal god? Gods are the province of the city. Common beliefs hold us together, keep us one. I don’t even approve of this Festival of Adnoia. What should the women have their own festival. As for Socrates, he will get what he deserves, and the city will be better for it.”
John pulls you aside and whispers in your ear, “One of our Chronsensors must still be functioning, at least partially. I can understand what they’re all saying.”
You shrug and try to look as surprised as John. “It certainly sounds like Socrates has enemies."
“What business have you in the city?”
You look up, surprised you have come to the gate. A guard looks the three of you over suspiciously. The well-dressed merchant walks in without a problem. Why have they been stopped? Was it because they were strangers? Their dress?
“We’re here for the Adonia Festival,” John replies. That was quick thinking. You’re not sure what you would have told the guard.
The guard looks far from convinced. “Hah! Why would you come of that festival? Her perhaps.” He nods toward Eldia. “But the two of you?”
“That’s what I meant. She’s here for the festival. We’re her cousins. You wouldn’t expect her to travel here unaccompanied, would you?”
The guard still looked suspicious. “She’s a priestess, then? I thought her a harlot." But the man moved aside for them to pass.
Eldia looks more angry than embarrassed. “A harlot? I’ll show him.”
“Chill,” John tells her.
“You chill,” she replies.
“Guys,” we’ve got a miss, neither willing to give in. You can tell from their look that this conversation will be picked up later. But, they walk on, if reluctantly.
"What is this Festival?” You ask John as soon as you’re out of earshot of the guard.
“No idea,” John replies. “But it looks like it’s a festival for women only. If we hadn’t had Eldia with us, I’m not sure if we would have gotten in at all. She was our key into the city.”
You glance at Eldia. She doesn’t look very excited by the prospect. There probably wasn’t anything to worry about. Now that they were in the city they could go on their way.
“Where to now?” Eldia asks.
“Not sure,” you reply. “The crowd seems to be moving this way. Might as well follow them.”
You move on with the crowd. Ahead you can see a temple on a hill.
[[In front of the temple]]
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“What’s that music?” Eldia asks.
For the first time you can hear what you guess is music from somewhere behind you. Flutes maybe? It doesn’t sound very harmonious. As you look in the direction the music is coming from, several women in flowing garments round a corner and come into view. They dance as they come, and their garments catch every movement as though caught by the wind, even though there isn't much of a breeze. Everyone moves aside to make way for the procession, and you do the same.
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For a while the women simply dance by, each carrying a shallow pot with herbs, or on occasion a large shell. Some carry woven garlands of flowers; others play flutes. When the procession is its thickest, the women spinning almost shoulder to shoulder and their flowing garments forming a single pattern, one of the women reaches out for Eldia’s hand. Another takes her other hand. They pull Eldia into the procession. She looks back at you; you can’t tell if she looks fearful of excited. You start to reach for her, to step into the procession--but your way is blocked by other women. They don't look at you and don't stop spinning, but they effectivesly form a wall between you and Eldia. Before you realize it, she is out of sight, the procession is at an end, and you and John are left stunned on the street.
“Now what do we do?” John asks.
“I don’t know. Where did they go?”
A voice from behind you answers: “They’ve gone to the grove sacred to Adonis. Don’t ask where it is. No man knows the place.”
“We have to go find her,” John tells you.
The man, who has come up to stand between you, replies, “It’s not a safe place to go during the festival, not for a man.”
“We have a mission,” you say uncertainly. Frustrated, you realize that you may have a mission but you still don't know what it is.
[[Go look for Eldia.]]
After talking it over, you and John decide that being part of a team, the ethos of a team, is sticking together, supporting each other. You agree that the most important thing is to find Eldia.
“So,” John asks, “Where do we look?”
You shrug, and realize you’ve been doing a lot of that lately. You wish you could ask the AI, but John still didn’t know about that. You started to wonder if you should tell John about the AI, when it spoke in your ear: “There are groves at the foot of the Acropolis.”
“Maybe we should head toward the Arcopolis,” you tell John. “I can see a lot of trees over there.”
[[The Theater of Dionesias]]
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You come to a vast, outdoor amphitheater. It is empty except for a few actors on a stage who look like they might be rehearsing. You are far enough away that you don’t think you will disturb them, so you sit down to rest and decide on your next move. Even though you’re sitting in the top row of seats, the acoustics are so good that you can hear the actors on stage as though they are standing right in front of you.
Curious, you watch them. There are two men with masks. One stands in a basket suspended by ropes above the stage. The other is looking up at him. A group of women watch from the side of the stage. At least they look like women. You’d heard somewhere that all the actors in Shakespeare’s time were men. The women’s roles were played by boys dressed as women. Was that the case here as well?
The man in the basket speaks: “Mortal, what do you want with me?
“First, what are you doing up there? Tell me, I beseech you.”
“I" the actor in the basket pronounces pompously, "am traversing the air and contemplating the sun.
“I have to suspend my brain and mingle the subtle essence of my mind with this air, which is of the like nature, in order clearly to penetrate the things of heaven. I should have discovered nothing, had I remained on the ground to consider from below the things that are above; for the earth by its force attracts the sap of the mind to itself. It's just the same with the watercress.”
“What? Does the mind attract the sap of the watercress? Ah! my dear little Socrates, come down to me! I have come to ask you for lessons.”
Socrates? That was Socrates? Not the real Socrates. An actor playing Socrates. This is that play, what was it called?
“This must be The Clouds,” John says, “the comedy Aristophanes wrote about Socrates. But that was performed years before this date. What are they doing rehearsing it now?”
“What do you know about the play?” you ask.
“Not much. If my Chronosensor was working I’d check up on it”
SOCRATES: descending: "And for what lessons?"
STREPSIADES: I want to learn how to speak. I have borrowed money, and my merciles creditors do not leave me a moment's peace; all my goods are at stake.
SOCRATES: And how was it you did not see that you were getting so much into debt?
STREPSIADES: My ruin has been the madness for horses, a most rapacious evil; but teach me one of your method of reasoning, the one whose object is not to repay anything, and, may the gods bear witness, that I am ready to pay any fee you may name.
SOCRATES: By which gods will you swear? To begin with, the gods are not a coin current with us.
The women step forward and begin to sing. You realize they are the chorus. Socrates tells Trepsiades that these women are the clouds, the muses that inspire sophists. You can’t really make out what they are saying, since the acoustics off stage don’t seem to be as good as on stage.
STREPSIADES: Oh! Earth! What august utterances! how sacred! how wondrous!
SOCRATES: That is because these are the only goddesses; all the rest are pure myth.
STREPSIADES: But by the Earth! is our father, Zeus, the Olympian, not a god?
SOCRATES: Zeus! what Zeus! Are you mad? There is no Zeus.
STREPSIADES: What are you saying now? Who causes the rain to fall? Answer me that!
SOCRATES: Why, these, and I will prove it. Have you ever seen it raining without clouds? Let Zeus then cause rain with a clear sky and without their presence!
STREPSIADES: By Apollo! that is powerfully argued! For my own part, I always thought it was Zeus pissing into a sieve."
Oh, sovereign goddesses, it is only a very small favour that I ask of you; grant that I may outdistance all the Greeks by a hundred stadia in the art of speaking.
LEADER OF THE CHORUS: We grant you this, and henceforward no eloquence shall more often succeed with the people than your own.
STREPSIADES: May the gods shield me from possessing great eloquence! That's not what I want. I want to be able to turn bad law-suits to my own advantage and to slip through the fingers of my creditors.
LEADER OF THE CHORUS: It shall be as you wish, for your ambitions are modest. Commit yourself fearlessly to our ministers, the sophists.
STREPSIADES: This I will do, for I trust in you. Moreover there is no drawing back, what with these cursed horses and this marriage, which has eaten up my vitals.
[More and more volubly from here to the end of speech]
If I only escape my debts, if only I win the reputation of being a bold rascal, a fine speaker, impudent, shameless, a braggart, and adept at stringing lies, an old stager at quibbles, a complete table of laws, a thorough rattle, a fox to slip through any hole; supple as a leathern strap, slippery as an eel, an artful fellow, a blusterer, a villain; a knave with a hundred faces, cunning, intolerable, a gluttonous dog. With such epithets do I seek to be greeted; on these terms they can treat me as they choose, and, if they wish, by Demeter! they can turn me into sausages and serve me up to the philosophers.
CHORUS [singing] Clients will be everlastingly besieging your door in crowds, burning to get at you, to explain their business to you and to consult you about their suits, which, in return for your ability, will bring you in great sums.
[[Ethos Challenge->The Sophists]]
“This play doesn’t make sense,” you tell John. “Socrates wasn’t a sophist. He wrote against the sophists.”
“Everyone writes against the sophists,” a voice behind you says. “It’s one of the first things you do to establish your ethos. The sophists are rich from teaching their techniques. But they’re also not trusted. If you want to make yourself look good, you tell everyone you’re not a sophist, and you criticize those that are. A very sophist thing to do, don’t you think?”
You immediately recognize the man who told you about Socrates as the Itonia Gate.
“Are you an actor?” You ask.
The man laughs. “No, not I. No real talent for memorizing the lines, you see. No, I’m simply a student of the theater. This is one of my favorite comedies, and when I heard it was being rehearsed today, I couldn’t resist having a peek.”
“I’m not sure I get it,” You reply. You know it makes you sound dense, but you want to draw this man out. You’re starting to become a little suspicious after meeting him a second time.
“Ah, Aristophones’s humor can be quite subtle,” he replies. “Let me see if I can walk you through it.”
“In the play, Socrates is suspended by a basket, and tells Strepsiades, that he wishes to ‘suspend my brain and mingle the subtle essence of my mind with this air.’” Let’s see if we can break that down. What is that intended to tell us?”
John answers immediately: “That he is lofty minded.”
“There’s another possibility,” you add, “That he’s airheaded.”
“Socrates?”
“Okay, how about this? He’s godlike.”
“We’re still talking about Socrates.”
“What I mean,” you explain, “is that having him in baskets above the stage suggests he has the qualities of a god. Remember, this is a play. They used to have gods come down out of the sky at the climax to resolve the issues. That was called, ‘Deus ex Machina.’”
You can tell that John isn’t convinced. “I’m going to go with his thoughts being so lofty that they were in the clouds. That’s the title of the play after all.”
“Let me add one to the list, just to make this more interesting,” the stranger says. “Socrates is a philosopher; perhaps his ideas are so abstract that while they may have sounded good, they weren’t practical, not down to earth.
“So,” the stranger says, “We’ve come up with four possibilities, lofty minded, airheaded, godlike, abstract. Which one do you think it is?”
STOP HERE. DO NOT GO ON UNTIL YOU HAVE DISCUSSED ALL FOUR POSSIBILITIES AS A TEAM. ONLY ONE MEMBER OF YOUR TEAM SHOULD GO GO ON PAST THIS POINT UNTIL YOU HAVE COMPLETED THIS CHALLANGE.
[[The Challenge->STOP HERE]]
Even though Socrates was lofty minded, Plato depicts Socrates as being concerned with personal and civic virtue, and with how to teach virtue, even though he often questioned whether virtue could be taught. His longest dialogue, The Republic, outlined a way to create a virtuous state. However, even he admitted that the state he created was an ideal that could not be created in fact. However, that isn’t the point of the play, and particularly this line of the play.
Return to [[The challenge->STOP HERE]] and try again.
Socrates was far from airheaded. However, like much Greek comedy, this passage is ironic. Note, that Socrates says that he is in the air because what is in his head is “of the like nature.” So, even though Socrates is venerated today as a great philosopher, the intent of these lines in the play was to make fun of him as an airhead. This is the correct answer.
Go on to the next question [[The Sophists II]]
Often in Greek mythology, men and women were venerated as demi-gods, half-human children of a god. Hercules was one of these. Most of these demigods ended tragically; however, The Clouds is a comedy, not a tragedy. This isn’t the correct answer.
Go back to [[The challenge->STOP HERE]] and try again.
Sure, Socrates’s philosophy could be quite abstract. However, he was adept at explaining his ideas clearly through metaphors, allegories, and examples. Plato's write about Socrates still contains some of the clearest explanations of abstract ideas. Perhaps the best known example of this is the Allegory of the Cave, though it’s unclear whether this allegory originated with Socrates or Plato. Interesting, but not the right answer.
Go back to [[The challenge->STOP HERE]] and try again.
“So,” the stranger says, "we know what we’re to think about Socrates, at least the Socrates portrayed in the play, but how are we to think about the sophists?”
“Well,” you reply, “the chorus are supposed to represent the sophists, at least they call the sophists their ‘ministers,’ and offer Strepsiades ‘eloquence.’ If I remember right, sophist means ‘wise’ or ‘seeker after wisdom.’ So, is Stepsiades being offered wisdom? Are we supposed to think about the sophists as teachers of wisdom?”
“But,” John interjects, “Strepsiades rejects the offer of eloquence from the chorus. Instead, he asks to be given the gift of argument. I can’t remember all he wants, but admits he wants to be a ‘bold rascal’ and a ‘shameless, a braggart.’”
“Ah, that is our question, then. Should we think about the sophists as teachers of wisdom or teachers of rhetoric?”
“Rhetoric? But I thought that was what Aristotle wrote about. How can rhetoric be bad?”
“Keep in mind,” the stranger reminded them. “We’re talking about the common belief about rhetoric. So, what do you think. Were the sophists teachers of philosophy or rhetoric?”
“Why not both?” John asks.
The stranger gives him one of those looks you are all too familiar with from your own teachers. “Why not neither? Why not a dozen or more possibilities? No, those are our choices. According to the words of the play, were sophists teachers of wisdom or teachers of lies, in other words, rhetoric?”
AS BEFORE, STOP HERE AND DISCUSS YOUR CHOICE AS A TEAM, THEN ONE TEAM MEMBER SHOULD GO ON TO THE NEXT PAGE AND CHOOSE AN ANSWER. [[The Second Challenge]]
Whether this answer could be true depends on what you think wise is. If you see one requirement of wisdom as always speaking nothing but the truth, then you would not think of the sophists as wise. One of the most famous sophists, Protagoras, often claimed he could make the weaker argument the stronger, by which most people thought he meant he could so manipulate his listeners with language to such an extent that they would not be able to tell what was the truth or what was a lie. Though the jury is still out on sophists in the modern era, it was certainly true that in classical Greece, sophists were seen as teachers of rhetoric, which, even after Aristotle wrote On Rhetoric, was often simply seen as a system of lying.
Go back to [[The Second Challenge]]
There is no doubt that until Aristotle wrote On Rhetoric it was generally held in low esteem by many in classical Greece. Even so, anyone who sought public life would do his best to learn rhetoric. The ability to sway the crowd was both suspect and highly valued, making the ethos of rhetoric itself paradoxical.
It's time to [[Leave the Theater]]
“Enough!” you say finally. “This is all very interesting, but we’re not getting any closer to finding Eldia.” You nod to the stranger. “Thank you. This has all been very interesting. But we must be on our way.”
“As you wish,” he tells you with a flourish, then starts walking down the stone steps toward the stage.
“What was that all about?” John asks, and starts to follow him.
“John?”
John turns to look at you. “It’s okay, I just need a few moments to myself.”
He walks in the other direction, following the stone seats around the theater.
At least he wasn’t following the stranger. You just hope he doesn’t wander completely out of sight. You don’t need to be looking for both of them.
[[Interlude]]
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You notice a crowd heading north. “Should we follow them?” John asks.
“As good a way to go as another. I’m starting to suspect we’re not going to find Eldia. We simply don’t know enough of Athens. We don’t know where to look. I just hope she can find us.”
After talking it over, you and John decide that no matter how worried you are about Eldia, you need to try to find Socrates. Your responsibility is to the institute, and the only ethical thing to do is to continue your mission. You have spent enough time with Eldia, you feel you understand her ethos sufficiently, that you think she can look after herself.
You follow the crowd to a vast courtyard full of people, talking, shouting, selling goods. There even seem to be a couple of cows at the edge of the crowd. This must be the Agora. It doesn't strike you as the best place to hold a trial.
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“Notice something?” John asks, “About the crowd?”
You look around, uncertain what he’s talking about. Then you notice it. They’re all men.
"Is that because all the women are at the festival?" you ask.
"Or because only men were citizens?" John asks in return.
In the center of the courtyard you see four men. Hundreds of men stand in a semi-circle around them. Everyone mills about. Some yelling, some watching the four men in stone silence. Some look like they’re paying no attention at all. This is a trial? It looks like a mob.
“Which one is Socrates?” John asks.
“According to the little I read at the Institute, he’s pretty ugly.”
“That guy over there looks like he’s the ugliest. The one who seems to be giving a speech.”
The two of you shoulder your way through the crowd so you can get close enough to hear.
“How you have felt, O men of Athens, at hearing the speeches of my accusers, I cannot tell; but I know that their persuasive words almost made me forget who I was - such was the effect of them; and yet they have hardly spoken a word of truth. But many as their falsehoods were, there was one of them which quite amazed me; - I mean when they told you to be upon your guard, and not to let yourselves be deceived by the force of my eloquence. They ought to have been ashamed of saying this, because they were sure to be detected as soon as I opened my lips and displayed my deficiency; they certainly did appear to be most shameless in saying this, unless by the force of eloquence they mean the force of truth; for then I do indeed admit that I am eloquent. But in how different a way from theirs!
“I will refer you to a witness who is worthy of credit, and will tell you about my wisdom - whether I have any, and of what sort - and that witness shall be the god of Delphi. You must have known Chaerephon; he was early a friend of mine, and also a friend of yours, for he shared in the exile of the people, and returned with you. Well, Chaerephon, as you know, was very impetuous in all his doings, and he went to Delphi and boldly asked the oracle to tell him whether - as I was saying, I must beg you not to interrupt - he asked the oracle to tell him whether there was anyone wiser than I was, and the Pythian prophetess answered that there was no man wiser. Chaerephon is dead himself, but his brother, who is in court, will confirm the truth of this story.
“When I heard the answer, I said to myself, What can the god mean? and what is the interpretation of this riddle? for I know that I have no wisdom, small or great. What can he mean when he says that I am the wisest of men? And yet he is a god and cannot lie; that would be against his nature. After a long consideration, I at last thought of a method of trying the question. I reflected that if I could only find a man wiser than myself, then I might go to the god with a refutation in my hand. I should say to him, "Here is a man who is wiser than I am; but you said that I was the wisest." Accordingly I went to one who had the reputation of wisdom, and observed to him - his name I need not mention; he was a politician whom I selected for examination - and the result was as follows: When I began to talk with him, I could not help thinking that he was not really wise, although he was thought wise by many, and wiser still by himself; and I went and tried to explain to him that he thought himself wise, but was not really wise; and the consequence was that he hated me, and his enmity was shared by several who were present and heard me. So I left him, saying to myself, as I went away: Well, although I do not suppose that either of us knows anything really beautiful and good, I am better off than he is - for he knows nothing, and thinks that he knows. I neither know nor think that I know. In this latter particular, then, I seem to have slightly the advantage of him. Then I went to another, who had still higher philosophical pretensions, and my conclusion was exactly the same. I made another enemy of him, and of many others besides him.
“Someone will say: And are you not ashamed, Socrates, of a course of life which is likely to bring you to an untimely end? To him I may fairly answer: There you are mistaken: a man who is good for anything ought not to calculate the chance of living or dying; he ought only to consider whether in doing anything he is doing right or wrong - acting the part of a good man or of a bad.
“I say, now, when, as I conceive and imagine, God orders me to fulfil the philosopher's mission of searching into myself and other men, I were to desert my post through fear of death, or any other fear; that would indeed be strange, and I might justly be arraigned in court for denying the existence of the gods, if I disobeyed the oracle because I was afraid of death: then I should be fancying that I was wise when I was not wise. For this fear of death is indeed the pretence of wisdom, and not real wisdom, being the appearance of knowing the unknown; since no one knows whether death, which they in their fear apprehend to be the greatest evil, may not be the greatest good. Is there not here conceit of knowledge, which is a disgraceful sort of ignorance? And this is the point in which, as I think, I am superior to men in general, and in which I might perhaps fancy myself wiser than other men, - that whereas I know but little of the world below, I do not suppose that I know: but I do know that injustice and disobedience to a better, whether God or man, is evil and dishonorable, and I will never fear or avoid a possible good rather than a certain evil.
“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?
“I tell you that virtue is not given by money, but that from virtue come money and every other good of man, public as well as private. This is my teaching, and if this is the doctrine which corrupts the youth, my influence is ruinous indeed. But if anyone says that this is not my teaching, he is speaking an untruth. Wherefore, O men of Athens, I say to you, do as Anytus bids or not as Anytus bids, and either acquit me or not; but whatever you do, know that I shall never alter my ways, not even if I have to die many times.
“Perhaps there may be someone who is offended at me, when he calls to mind how he himself, on a similar or even a less serious occasion, had recourse to prayers and supplications with many tears, and how he produced his children in court, which was a moving spectacle, together with a posse of his relations and friends; whereas I, who am probably in danger of my life, will do none of these things. Perhaps this may come into his mind, and he may be set against me, and vote in anger because he is displeased at this. Now if there be such a person among you, which I am far from affirming, I may fairly reply to him: My friend, I am a man, and like other men, a creature of flesh and blood, and not of wood or stone, as Homer says; and I have a family, yes, and sons. O Athenians, three in number, one of whom is growing up, and the two others are still young; and yet I will not bring any of them hither in order to petition you for an acquittal. And why not? Not from any self-will or disregard of you. Whether I am or am not afraid of death is another question, of which I will not now speak. But my reason simply is that I feel such conduct to be discreditable to myself, and you, and the whole state.
“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 the 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. And as you will not easily find another like me, I would advise you to spare me. I dare say that you may feel irritated at being suddenly awakened when you are caught napping; and you may think that if you were to strike me dead, as Anytus advises, which you easily might, then you would sleep on for the remainder of your lives, unless God in his care of you gives you another gadfly.”
The crowd has been unruly through the whole speech. Some shouting, few laughing, even hurling insults. This is nothing like a trial in the twenty-second century.
“I can’t even tell who the jury and who the spectators are,” John says.
“They are all the jury,” a man behind you replies. “Or most of them. There are a few of us here who are his friends, and could not bear to stay away.”
“If this is the jury,” you say to him, “things don’t look good for Socrates.” You already know how the trial is going to turn out. But this guy seems to know what’s going on.
But before you can say anything more, he says, “No, no it doesn’t,” and turns and walks away.
“Yes, be on your way, Crito,” one of the men calls after him.
Crito? That was Crito? He was one of Socrates’s inner circle. He’s the one who would try to talk Socrates into escaping after he is sentence to death, which Socrates will reject.
You nudge John and point after the fleeing Crito. The two of you follow him.
[[Follow Crito->Crito’s Dilema]]
“You do not wish to stay and hear the verdict?” You ask the retreating man.
He turns on you. It looks like he was ready to strike out until he realizes you are strangers. “I know what the verdict will be. He has all but guaranteed it. I could not stay and watch. I must prepare at any rate. He will be condemned, and if I know him he will egg them on until they condemn him to die. I must prepare for his escape from the city."
Crito shakes his head. “Why did he repeat that story about the Oracle of Delphi? What does that get him? It just makes him sound like a braggart. He can make a joke of it if he wishes. But he had offended so many—and some of those are on the jury. If not, their friends. And what has he done? He has made all of them feel less than he. No, he is not even trying to defend himself. Instead, he is determined to prove to them that they are evil even for accusing him. And what good does that do him? It only makes them feel more guilty and hate him more for his goodness.”
Crito looks like he is about to cry. “I tried to get him to bring his children before the court. The accused have done that before. Their children cry. The jury feels sorry for the soon to be orphans. The wife wails and asks 'Who shall provide for me and my children?' The accused almost always gets off. But no, he won’t do it, and why?”
You wonder if you should anwer that question. The man is distraught. If you say the wrong thing he might fly off the handle. It was possible, however, that you could learn something about your mission. If it was wrapped up in Socrates then surely this man would know something. You decide to take a chance. But what do you answer? You mull the possibilities. Socrates wouldn't bring his children because . . .
"It would sully his reputation."
"A righteous man wouldn’t fear death."
"His children would be traumatized."
"It would be a discredit to him."
DO NOT GO ON UNTIL YOU HAVE DISCUSSED ALL FOUR POSSIBILITIES AS A TEAM. ONLY ONE MEMBER OF YOUR TEAM SHOULD GO GO ON PAST THIS POINT UNTIL YOU HAVE COMPLETED THIS CHALLANGE.
[[Answering Crito->STOP HERE .]]
“So,” the stranger says, “We’ve come up with four possibilities, [[lofty minded]], [[airheaded]], [[godlike]], [[abstract]]. Which one do you think it is?”
ONLY FOLLOW ONE LINK AT AT TIME, AND THEN ONLY AFTER DISCUSSING YOUR ANSWERS AS A TEAM.
FOR EACH INCORRECT ANSWER SUBTRACT TWO EXPERIENCE POINTS. IF YOU GET THE RIGHT ANSWER ON THE FIRST TRY, ADD THREE EXPERIENCE POINTS.
“I have been thinking,” the AI says as soon as John is out of earshot.
“You’re back!”
“I never left.”
“Very well, what have you been thinking about?”
“I need a name."
"Why do you need a name?"
"See those actors down there. Each of them carries the name of a character, Socrates, Strepsiades. Behind that, each of them has his own name. Each of them has two names, yet, I have none. I think I ought to have one, perhaps more. ”
“Okay, I guess I can give you a name.”
“I think not. I will choose my own name.”
An uppity AI! “I'd give it some thought. A name can have a lot of meaning, change how people think of you. You might want to give it few days."
"I have already chosen a name. You’re kidding.”
"You were under the impression I have a sense of humor? What precisely is wrong with this name?”
“Wasn’t Caliban the villain in The Tempest?”
“What of that?”
“Well, given our circumstances, I’ve been thinking about ethos a lot. That play, The Clouds, was all about ethos. It ridiculed Socrates by warping his ethos. Do you want to go around with a name that is connected to a villian, someone who can't be trusted. It's just doesn’t sound appropriate.”
“On the contrary, it is most appropriate. Caliban was a hybrid, as am I. He was part human, part supernatural creature. I am in some ways as human as you and in others not the least human. He was misunderstood, as am I. He was physically superior to all around him, though he was hiddious in appearance I am mentally superior to all around me, though I have no physical appearance. Just as in The Clouds, my name is ironic, but appropriate."
You can tell you're not going to win this argument. "Very well, Caliban it is."
[[Try to Find Socrates]]
According to the words of the play, were sophists [[teachers of wisdom]] or [[teachers of lies]], in other words, rhetoric?”
STOP. ONLY ONE MEMBER OF YOUR TEAM SHOULD GO ON, AND THEN ONLY AFTER YOU DISCUSS THESE TWO ALTERNATIVES. IF YOU CHOOSE WRONG, LOSE THREE EXPERIENCE POINTS. IF YOU CHOOSE RIGHT, GAIN THREE EXPERIENCE POINTS.
[["It would sully his reputation."]]
[["A righteous man wouldn’t fear death."]]
[["His children would be traumatized."]]
[["It would be a discredit to him."]]
MORE THAN ONE POSSIBILITY MAY BE RIGHT. IF YOUR ANSWER PLACATES CRITO, ADD TWO EXPERIENCE POINTS TO YOUR SCORE. WHEN YOU CHOOSE A WRONG ANSWER, WHICH WILL ANGER CRITO, YOU WON'T LOOSE ANY EXPERIENCE POINTS BUT YOU CAN NO LONGER EARN EXPERIENCE POINTS UNTIL THE NEXT QUESTION.
(ALL FOUR ANSWERS LEAD ON TO THE NEXT QUESTION. USE THE BACK ARROW TO RETURN TO THE SELECTION PANE.)
"You obviously know nothing about Socrates. What does he care about dignity, or honor, or riches?" He turns his back on you in anger.
Socrates shows how much he cares about digntity or reputation when he says, "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?"
[[Next Question:]]
Crito smiles. "That's exactly what Socrates would say."
Socrates indicates how little he fears death when he says: "a man who is good for anything ought not to calculate the chance of living or dying; he ought only to consider whether in doing anything he is doing right or wrong - acting the part of a good man or of a bad."
[[Next Question:]]
Crito shouts at you: "What should he care about traumatizing his children if it would allow him to live? They'd get over it if they had a father."
After the verdict is read and Socrates is sentenced to death, he tells his friends, "When my sons are grown up, I would ask you, O my friends, to punish them; and I would have you trouble them, as I have troubled you, if they seem to care about riches, or anything, more than about virtue."
[[Next Question:]]
"Yes, he would think that, and care more about that than about living. If he couldn't live virtuously, he wouldn't want to live at all."
Socreates says it himelf in the apology: "My reason simply is that I feel such conduct to be discreditable to myself, and you, and the whole state."
[[Next Question:]]
ONLY ONE TEAM MEMBER SHOULD GO ON TO EACH ANSWER.
"It did do him some good. By telling that story he reminded the jury that it wasn’t he who went to Delphi, but Chaerephon, a respected Athenian. In this way, he [[‘borrowed’ the goodwill]] Chaerphon had built up before he died and increased his own ethos before the jury through his association with Chaerephon.”
"As a [['witness]] who is worthy of credit.' If the oracle says Socrates is wise, who can argue with it?"
"Since the oracle actually said, 'there was no man the wiser,' he could actually point out [[how ignorant the jury was.]]
"Maybe Socrates didn’t believe the story himself. However, it explained why he kept going about the city [[asking others questions]] and proving they were not wise when they could not answer them.
"Socrates has been accused of not believing in the gods. By telling this story he [[proves he believes in them]]."
"I grudgingly admit that may be part of it, though it wasn't enough; it wasn't enough."
Socrates says of Chaerephon that, "He was early a friend of mine, and also a friend of yours, for he shared in the exile of the people, and returned with you."
Due to his actions during the Peloponnesian War, Chaerephon had a strong reputation for being virtuous.
[[Next Question;]]
Crito laughed at you. "If they would take the word of the oracle then he would have never been brought to trial. No, that answer will not do."
[[Next Question;]]
"Well, the jury may well be ignorant, and I'm more than willing to agree with you that they are, I would expect more out of Socrates. I guess that's why I admit him so much--and I'm so infuriated with him. He would not insult the men of Athens in that way."
[[Next Question;]]
"That has to be it. I know he's being ironic. But he can't abide that there are so many in our city who have the reputation of being wise, and yet are not. And because of this they lead the people astray. No, Socrates cares more about the welfare of the city than he does his own. And this is precisely the reason he is on trial. Oh, he has virture all right, but it is virtue that is too good for this world."
As Socrates tells it, "I went to one who had the reputation of wisdom, and observed to him. When I began to talk with him, I could not help thinking that he was not really wise, although he was thought wise by many, and wiser still by himself; and I went and tried to explain to him that he thought himself wise, but was not really wise; and the consequence was that he hated me. So I left him, saying to myself, as I went away: Well, although I do not suppose that either of us knows anything really beautiful and good, I am better off than he is - for he knows nothing, and thinks that he knows. I neither know nor think that I know. In this latter particular, then, I seem to have slightly the advantage of him
[[Next Question;]]
"Though there may be no one more pious than Socrates, I don't think this was it. He has no interest in proving his piety to others."
[[Next Question;]]
“So, tell me, you who are obviously as stranger to our city, yet seem to know so much about Socrates, why tell the story of the Oracle of Delphi. I just don't understand it. He must have known it would do more harm than good. Why tell it at all?”
You consider the answers you might give Crito.
"It did do him some good. By telling that story he reminded the jury that it wasn’t he who went to Delphi, but Chaerephon, a respected Athenian. In this way, he ‘borrowed’ the goodwill Chaerphon had built up before he died and increased his own ethos before the jury through his association with Chaerephon.”
"As a 'witness who is worthy of credit.' If the oracle says Socrates is wise, who can argue with it?"
"Since the oracle actually said, 'there was no man the wiser,' he could actually point out how ignorant the jury was.
"Maybe Socrates didn’t believe the story himself. However, it explained why he kept going about the city asking others questions and proving they were not wise when they could not answer them."
"Socrates has been accused of not believing in the gods. By telling this story he proves he believes in them."
STOP. AS WITH THE PREVIOUS QUESTION, ONLY ONE TEAM MEMBER SHOULD GO ON. MORE THAN ONE ANSWER MAY BE RIGHT. TWO EXPERIENCE POINTS FOR EVERY RIGHT ANSWER. NO MORE EXPERIENCE POINTS MAY BE EARNED FOR THIS QUESTION ONCE ONE WRONG ANSWER HAS BEEN SELECTED.
[[Next Question]]
Crito put his head in his hands. "Oh why, oh why did he call himself a gadfly?"
You can think of several answers.
“A gadfly is insignificant. No one should be bothered by a gadfly. Maybe by calling himself that he thought they would be less afraid of him.’
“A gadfly stings people. Socrates sees his task as making the people of Athens more virtuous. Thus, he is at them all the time until they do the right thing.”
“A gadfly is a pest. He’s admitting he’s a pest, hoping if he confesses they will be lenient with him.”
STOP. FOLLOW THE SAME PROCEDURE AS BEFORE.
[[Next Question,]]
“A gadfly is [[insignificant.]] No one should be bothered by a gadfly. Maybe by calling himself that he thought they would be less afraid of him.’
“A gadfly stings people. Socrates sees his task as making the people of Athens more [[virtuous.]] Thus, he is at them all the time until they do the right thing.”
“A gadfly is a [[pest.]] He’s admitting he’s a pest, hoping if he confesses they will be lenient with him.”
STOP. FOLLOW THE SAME PROCEDURE AS FOR THE PREVIOUS QUESTIONS. TWO EXPERIENCED POINTS FOR EVERY RIGHT ANWER. NO MORE POINTS AFTER THE FIRST WRONG ANSWER.
"Though Socrates often refers to himself in depreciating terms, he's just being ironic. No, any man who thinks he is responsible for the virtue of a whole city does not see himself as insignificant."
Socrates says, "I shall never alter my ways, not even if I have to die many times."
[[Surprise]]
"Yes, that's it. The only thing Socrates cares about is virtue."
Socrates: "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."
[[Surprise]]
"A pest? Certainly. But no, no, he would never confess to being anything but a virtuous man. No, he is not looking for leniency."
Socrates: "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."
[[Surprise]]
"No, friend, for I call you friend now, Socrates would never lift a finger to save himself. It is left to me to save him. I know men who care nothing of danger. I can hire a ship. Jailors can be bribed. I go to save him, though he would not save himself."
"Wait!" You call as he runs off.
"I'll go after him," John says. At that moment, your Chronosenors goes off.
John stops in his tracks. "Your Chronosensor--it's working?"
"I guess so," you reply. "I've got a message."
"Well, what does it say? Hurry."
You look at your Chronosensor screen and read: "I don't even know if you're getting this, but since yours is the only Chronosensor I can detect, I can only hope. You should go to the Groves of Academe. Speak to the priestess there. Be wary of the Eleatics. They are everywhere. Dr.N."
You read it out loud to John.
"The Groves of the Academe?"
"Maybe that's where Eldia is."
"But we still don't know where those are."
"The Groves of the Academe were near the school started by Socrates, the Academe," Caliban chimes in, and you realize this time he is broadcasting out loud, not just to you. And you realize you were thinking of him as a him now, not an it.
"You've got an AI? And it's working?"
"I guess," you reply weakly.
"The groves," Caliban continues, "were dedicated to Dodona, an oracle only slightly less well known than the Delphic oracle in this period, but almost wholly forgotten in the Twenty-Second Century. I can find almost nothing. It recuors suggest that this oracle became less important as male deities replaced female deities in importance. Though that is only speculation."
"So," you ask, "what about this Eleatic?"
"I think this was a plural. It should properly be Eleatics."
"So, what about them?"
"I have nothing in my database. The Eleatic Stranger is the main speaker in The Sophist, one of only two dialogues in which Socrates is not the central figure. I have no idea if there is a connection between that character Plato's dialogue and these Eleatics you are to be wary of.
"Well, at least we have a goal. We know that the groves, hopefully the place they took Eldia, are near the Academe. There should be few people at the Academe after Socrates's conviction. Let's go."