Original subtitles

(dramatic music)

Since the dawn of civilization,

the forces of nature and the whims of gods

held sway over humanity.

But 2,500 years ago,

humankind experienced a profound transformation.

Suddenly there were new possibilities.

This is a time when rationality

overrode superstition and belief.

This is an ethic which does not rely on the gods.

The world is now explained in terms of natural forces.

We're now responsible for our own destiny.

Upheavals across the globe

sparked an ambitious vision of what humans could achieve,

spearheaded by three trailblazers.

Socrates, Confucius, and the Buddha.

Great thinkers from the ancient world

whose ideas still shape our own lives.

Is wealth a good thing?

How do you create a just society?

How do I live a good life?

By daring to think the unthinkable,

they laid the foundations of our modern world.

I've always been intrigued by the fact that these men,

who lived many thousands of miles apart,

seemed, spontaneously and within 100 years of one another,

to come up with such radical ideas.

So, what was going on?

I want to investigate their revolutionary ideas

to understand what set them in motion.

This time, Socrates.

It's so thrilling imagining those big, new ideas

could possibly have been enacted there.

He was the soldier whose bravery in battle

was matched by the inflammatory courage of his ideas.

Socrates encouraged his fellow citizens

to rationally examine every aspect of their lives.

Does the person who possesses knowledge

in a big way know everything?

You don't know? I don't know.

I give up. I give up.

I'm going to inhabit his world

to examine how his subversive philosophy

challenged superstitious belief

that had reigned for millennia

and to discover how his search for truth

led to his downfall.

In 469 B.C., Socrates was born,

the son of a midwife and a stonemason,

into a city in the midst of a tumultuous transformation.

He grew up in the suburbs of Athens

at eye level with the sacred Acropolis rock.

But young Socrates wouldn't have looked out

over the elegant lines of the Parthenon temple,

that exquisite symbol of Western civilization

that still stands proud today.

Instead he'd have woken every morning to a horror,

the blackened and burned-out remains of buildings

brutalized by war.

His city bore the scars of a ferocious conflict

with the region's superpower, Persia.

But against the odds, Athens had triumphed

just 10 years before Socrates was born.

Now it reveled in what some call the Greek Miracle,

a golden age.

Burgeoning trade flooded the region with new wealth

and, crucially, with new ideas.

But the key ideology that would shape young Socrates' life

belonged to Athens alone.

Because here, around 508 B.C.,

democracy, the power of the people, was born.

Virtually overnight, all adult male citizens

found they didn't just serve the state, they were the state.

You cannot overemphasize

how electrically exciting this must have been.

Ordinary men were selected randomly at lot

to hold the very highest of offices,

the equivalent of being head of the foreign office

or home secretary for one day.

Socrates wouldn't only witness a city being rebuilt,

but the ethical hazards of a new social experiment.

As he was growing up, democracy, too, was finding its feet.

Ordinary Athenians now had the potential

to determine their own future,

but their fate was still very firmly

in the hands of the gods.

Gods, demigods, and spirits were believed to be everywhere,

influencing people's everyday lives.

If I'd been looking out over Athens

during Socrates' lifetime,

then this scene would have been thick with smoke,

and the smell of sacrifice would be heavy in the air,

as Athenians frantically rushed around

trying to keep their gods on side, all 2,000 of them.

This pantheon of gods

gave people a sense of their place in the universe.

But in these exciting times,

a few were daring to question religious convention.

As a teenager, Socrates sought them out

in one of Athens' most edgy

and marginal districts, Kerameikos.

For 600 years, this had been Athens' main burial ground.

Come Socrates' day, and it had evolved

into a kind of cosmopolitan suburb of sin.

Traveling salesmen plied their wares here,

along with prostitutes,

who offered what were euphemistically known

as middle-of-the-day marriages.

Many young Athenians didn't need to work.

There was one slave to every two free citizens.

So Socrates had the free time to come here

and listen in on theories carried in on the trade routes.

He encountered thinkers from the Eastern Mediterranean

whose ideas had, for over a century,

confronted traditional explanations of the cosmos.

What people saw as mysterious and unfathomable

they viewed as rationally ordered

and, to some degree, rationally explicable.

We refer to them now as one group, the pre-Socratics,

but in reality, they were brilliant, independent thinkers.

They asked hugely ambitious scientific questions.

What is the cosmos made of?

What is matter, and how do we perceive it?

Their answers, in some cases,

undermined the role of the gods as rulers of the cosmos.

Their abstract theories, obviously conceived

without the help of scientific instruments,

that the universe was made of atoms and empty space,

that water was the fundamental element of the world,

and that the sun was one giant red-hot rock

were wildly provocative.

The scale and audacity of their thinking was breathtaking.

The pre-Socratics

not only struck at the core of traditional belief,

but their use of reason opened up a new way

to look at the entirety of human experience,

an approach eagerly taken up by the young Socrates.

Suddenly it's not just tradition or myth

or religious hierarchies

that are telling you how to make sense of your world,

but rational debate, systematic thought.

Just like those other groundbreaking philosophers

of the age.

Confucius in China and the Buddha in what's now India,

Socrates and his contemporaries

are daring to harness the power of the mind

to explain the world around them.

This is a quantum shift.

Confident, brave-new-world Athens

didn't seek to suppress this new spirit of inquiry.

The city became a magnet for innovation,

thanks in large part to the man

who would dominate Athenian politics

for almost half of Socrates' life,

the visionary politician Pericles.

He gathered thinkers and artists to advise him

and set about making democracy the dominant ideology

in the Greek world.

He glorified the streets with sumptuous statues

and fetishized democratic principles.

Athens built warships called Freedom and Freedom of Speech.

Yet Socrates would understand

all this success had its flip side.

Democracy's high ideals would need to be interrogated.

A later source tells us that Socrates declared,

"Beautiful statues, high city walls,

and warships are all very well,

but what's the point if those within them aren't happy?"

So we have to imagine a young Socrates

walking around this fabulous, febrile city,

beginning to ask those big questions

that are still utterly relevant today.

Is wealth a good thing?

Can a democracy itself create a just society?

What is it that makes us truly happy?

Democracy had opened a Pandora's box

of new dilemmas and contradictions.

As he reached adulthood,

Socrates would become the one to point them out,

a constant irritant known as "the gadfly of Athens,"

an infamous celebrity of his day.

But Socrates is also an enigma, because as far as we know,

he didn't write anything down, not a single line.

He thought that writing was dangerous

because it imprisoned knowledge.

It's only thanks to contemporaries, such as Plato,

who may have coined the term "philosopher,"

perhaps with Socrates in mind,

that his thoughts and life story have been preserved.

And what a man he seems to have been.

Ironic, courageous, brilliant,

wildly charismatic, and utterly infuriating.

Plato's compelling accounts of his life,

his ideas, and his dramatic death

are a jewel in the canon of Western thought.

When we think of the ancient Greek philosophers,

we often visualize them as they've been portrayed

in Renaissance works of art.

Lofty gray beards, draped in elegant robes,

hanging around classical columns.

We don't, perhaps, imagine them

involved in the dirty and bloody business of war.

Athens' appetite for territorial expansion

seems to been sharpened

by the collective will of democratic voters.

Socrates, like all male Athenian citizens,

was expected to fight.

He was in his late 30s when he was sent here to Potidaea

to help take control of this strategic city

in Northern Greece.

It's from this time of war

we get sharper textual details of Socrates' life.

The man himself starts to come into focus,

his vision, his physical courage, his eccentricities,

and a man with something momentous on his mind.

The fighting was fierce,

and for three years, the town was besieged.

In desperation, locals turned to cannibalism.

Yet in amongst all these horrors and the pity of war,

somehow Socrates found stillness.

We're told he became absorbed by complex, private thoughts.

In the depths of winter,

wearing just a threadbare cloak and with bare feet,

he stood for 24 hours at a stretch stock-still,

lost in his own mind.

Unlike the pre-Socratic thinkers,

Socrates came to believe that understanding the cosmos

was an esoteric diversion from something far more important.

Studying the secrets of the stars was all very well.

But human affairs had far greater urgency.

So Socrates did something truly groundbreaking.

He turned rational thought inward

to solve the mortal dilemmas we all face.

He threw all his energies into resolving

the fundamental questions of human existence.

What kind of a life should we lead?

What sort of people do we want to be?

He's the first individual in the West

to put ethics at the very heart of his philosophy.

Socrates' starting point was simple.

Everyone yearns for a full and flourishing life.

But it wasn't to be found in the transitory pleasures

and distractions of the material world.

Socrates believed we can only realize our human potential

when we nurture the most precious,

the most permanent part of our beings, our souls.

When we do right, we protect our soul.

When we do wrong, we harm it.

Knowing right from wrong

was fundamental to every aspect of life.

And in 5th-century Athens, the issue was acute.

As many as 4,000 legal cases were heard each year.

Democracy had revolutionized the law courts.

Now any male citizen,

from aristocrats right down to fishmongers,

could be a judge for the day.

We're told Socrates found such amateur governance troubling.

If those sitting in judgment weren't qualified

to understand the difference between right and wrong,

then they could convict an innocent person.

They'd be punishing someone who didn't deserve to be hurt.

But in Socrates' view,

the innocent person would only suffer physically.

It's the jurors who would be harming themselves much more.

By unknowingly doing wrong, they would inflict terrible,

lasting damage to their own souls.

In order to protect Athenians,

Socrates needed to teach them.

"The only evil is ignorance," he said.

But Socrates faced a problem.

The Greeks did have an ethical framework of sorts,

but it wasn't either clear or consistent.

The destiny of all Greeks was in the hands of the gods.

They were venerated, even though their personal lives

were pretty short on moral guidance.

Capricious and vengeful, they fought with each other.

They slept with one another's wives.

They abducted mortals.

And appropriately, the gods didn't seem that interested

in human morality, either.

Living a good life didn't guarantee favor with the gods.

Respecting their power

and offering the most expensive and bloodiest sacrifice

was a much safer bet.

Greeks did, however, believe there were five virtues.

Justice, temperance, courage, piety, and wisdom.

But in practice, these virtues were slippery,

shifting ideals.

What was considered just or pious for an aristocratic man

wasn't necessarily the same for a slave woman.

In Socrates' experience, traditional moral thinking,

the kind taught by elders and priests and epic poets,

just didn't stand up to scrutiny.

His philosophy became a search

for more robust, universal definitions.

Socrates thought that all the virtues were interlinked.

They couldn't be separated.

He thought of them as one thing,

something he called knowledge of the human good.

For him, virtue is knowledge,

knowledge of the human good.

He says that this knowledge of the human good

is going to, in some sense, save your life.

This is really strong language.

But is that an abstract idea,

or is this something that can play out

in people's day-to-day lives?

Oh, no, absolutely.

Knowledge of the human good is what enables us

to make the right practical decisions in our daily lives.

But it's going to look different in different contexts.

For instance, if you're on a battlefield,

it will manifest itself as courage.

If you're sacrificing in a temple, it will look like piety.

And it's through those decisions and actions

that we are enabled to take care of our souls,

our most precious possession,

on which all our happiness depends.

But that means that people have real agency,

because it seems to be that he's saying

it's not down to the gods

to make the world a better place.

It's down to us.

Absolutely.

Socrates is saying you don't have to depend on the whims

and the caprices of the gods.

It's really about individual empowerment and responsibility.

And furthermore, whereas he inherited a tradition

which said there was one kind of virtue for a man,

another for a woman,

one for, you know, a well-born person, another for a slave,

he's saying, no, it's about knowledge of the human good

in a universal sense.

It's available to everybody.

Cicero later says of him,

"He brings philosophy down from the heavens

and into people's homes."

Into people's individual homes.

This really is a very radical moment in Western thought.

Exciting and empowering but also dangerous.

Indeed, because even though Socrates himself

was personally very religious,

as far as we know, very pious,

this is socially threatening.

It's threatening traditional religion,

and, of course, these messages

are disturbing to a lot of people.

Socrates didn't deny the existence of the gods,

but his emphasis on the capacity of humans

to shape their own destiny

could be seen as challenging their traditional roles.

Fortunately, the sacrificial fires to the gods,

which had burned for centuries,

were now lit in a city that also prized

freedom of expression.

Initially Socrates' unorthodox ideas were tolerated.

But then in 431 B.C., the good times looked set to end.

The violence of Potidaea escalated into all-out conflict.

The pitiless Peloponnesian War between Athens

and its nemesis, the city-state of Sparta.

Here at the National Archeological Museum,

funerary urns depict the heartbreaking suffering and loss

experienced by the Athenians.

With Spartan hordes ravaging the countryside around Athens,

Pericles ordered every citizen from the surrounding area

to come inside the city walls.

It was a fatal strategy.

A new kind of terror was unleashed from within.

Athens became one giant refugee camp.

With the population hemmed in together,

a deadly disease spread like wildfire.

The symptoms were ghastly,

sweats, fevers, a suppurating rash, and a racking cough.

At a conservative estimate,

at least 1/3 of the population was wiped out.

Angry and frustrated, Athenians turned on their poster boy

and removed Pericles from office.

Eventually he died, it's believed, of the plague himself.

A thriving Athens had been robust enough

to deal with the searching questions of Socrates.

Now with confidence ebbing away, tolerance was threatened.

Yet energized by the same sense of crisis and danger

which motivated the philosophies

of Confucius and the Buddha,

Socrates seems to have flourished.

By now in his 40s and surrounded by war, death, and disease,

his search took on a new intensity.

How do we decide what is good?

Is wealth a good thing?

What makes us truly happy?

In Athens, Socrates wasn't the only one

discussing big ideas with its embattled citizens.

The Sophists were cocksure, showy educators,

masters in the art of persuasive argument.

They acted as speechmakers in legal trials,

entertaining huge crowds in stadiums.

Socrates was skeptical, to say the least.

Like the Sophists, he challenged orthodox thought.

But he also passionately believed

that philosophy should have a higher purpose.

Clever ideas and persuasive arguments just weren't enough.

To the Sophists, smart words were currency.

They sold their services to the highest bidder.

But Socrates refused to be paid,

preferring handouts from friends.

That's not to say he didn't enjoy worldly pleasures.

He drank and made love.

But barefoot and unwashed,

he stood out in materially minded Athens.

We're told that he marched past shop stalls

in his shabby robes, saying, "How many things I don't need."

He saw wealth as impermanent,

a distraction from the search for absolute values.

Socrates believed you couldn't buy knowledge.

And wisdom didn't come from listening to long speeches.

It could only come through something else.

Dialogue.

So, Bettany, I understand you're here

to do a documentary about Socrates.

Yes.

Why are you making this documentary?

His Socratic method worked something like this.

Socrates would engage someone in the street.

I can learn something more about Socrates

and I can share that knowledge

with the people who are watching it.

These are big words, knowledge and truth.

Should we take one of them? What would it mean.

He'd ask them an ethical question.

So, what is this thing knowledge that you want to impart?

In my book, knowledge is love of what it is to be human.

The person would attempt to define the concept.

But Socrates would find inconsistencies

in their answers.

Knowledge is love, okay.

So if you wanted to have an operation for appendicitis,

would you go to a woman who was full of love

but knew nothing about surgery?

No.

Okay, so, I would say that the definition of knowledge

as love is not good enough.

They would be forced to withdraw their definition

and to reformulate and refine their ideas.

So let's try it again.

Is there one kind of knowledge or many kinds of knowledge?

Knowledge is one. Take your time.

I don't know the answers to this.

Maybe knowledge is one thing, but knowing is many things.

This process would spiral

into a dizzying round of question and answer.

To know how the stars move

and to know how the liver operates is the same thing.

No, they're not the same thing.

Does the person who possesses knowledge in a big way

know everything?

Between those two, who is probably the best stone maker?

Uh, the one who.

I don't know. I don't know.

Come on. I give up. I give up.

Socrates likens his role to that of a midwife

who helps to nurture and deliver the thoughts of others.

But it was never an easy birth.

I have to say the one thing you've proved to me

is that I know nothing.

Ah, no, no. That's me.

I am the expert at making other people know things.

But I'm no good. I know nothing.

And that is the only knowledge I claim for myself.

That Socratic method is fascinating and stimulating,

but it is also infuriating.

Yes, because it's in an oral context the way we do it,

and Socrates famously believed

in the supremacy of the oral over the written,

and that also stirs up the emotions.

First of all, in his pretense

of being the fool, the ignorant man.

Of knowing nothing, yeah.

Yes, and because that is his tool that he turns, in fact,

against his friends or opponents, as you may take it,

and makes them admit to things

that they don't want to admit to

by playing, essentially, the fool, saying,

"I know nothing. I know nothing.

I can only ask you to tell me, because I know nothing."

So he laid an emphasis on definitions,

then on what he called diaeresis, division,

of breaking down a problem into little part,

analyzing parts, analyzing it,

and then attacking each one separately

and then trying inductively to group them back together

into a more general concept.

So Socrates uses that to make people become aware

that things they consider simple and elementary and basic

and that they know they, in fact, don't know.

And what about the modern world?

Do you think we could have the modern world

without Socratic debate,

without questioning what it is to be human

and what it is to be human in the world around us?

Well, I think that the best way to accept,

to find Socrates' place in it

is to see that the opposite of the Socratic method

essentially is fanaticism and dogmatism.

And in that sense,

the modern world very much needs an antidote to those things

at every level.

The Socratic method was cathartic.

It got difficult issues out into the open

and defined concepts with much greater precision.

Socrates' tough questioning, with his trademark irony,

was conducted in public, causing a stir wherever he went.

He was inviting everyone to seek knowledge

of the human good, to identify fundamental truths.

But people could only do this for themselves

by constantly interrogating their actions

and most deeply held beliefs.

"The unexamined life," Socrates said, "is not worth living."

But there was a problem.

Socrates' teaching found particular favor with the young.

With no end in sight to war with Sparta,

these human resources were vital to Athens' future.

Laws attempted to protect the youth from malign influence.

Encouraging them to think for themselves

was fraught with danger.

Yet Socrates sought them out

close to the most public place in the city, the agora.

Across the ancient world,

commerce was increasingly a driver for change,

and that was felt particularly keenly here in Athens.

The agora was a buzzing market,

a place where people came to exchange goods and gossip.

Socrates loved sharing his ideas here.

It's from "agora" we get the word "agoraphobia,"

a fear of open spaces.

There was anxiety back then, too, as under-18s were barred.

Now archeology helps point

to how Socrates met young Athenians

just outside the agora's boundary in a private dwelling.

So, we're right on the edge of the agora space,

and we're in between the public space

and the private space behind us here.

And this wall behind us right here

is one of those private establishments.

And we have a later source

that mentions Socrates visiting the house

of a friend of his,

and we have this figure, Simon the Cobbler,

and he's hosting young men.

So, we have the literary source.

But what's nice is that during the excavations right here,

they found hobnails, they found bone eyelets,

and then they also found a cup.

And this is the amazing bit of evidence, really,

because this cup has the name Simon scratched on it.

And this is a replica right here of the cup,

and you can see that it does have "Simonos" scratched on it.

I just, It's so thrilling being here,

imagining those big, new ideas

could possibly have been enacted there 2,500 years ago.

We can say that Socrates was walking around this space,

and he was probably hanging out right here

in order to discuss things,

things that might otherwise be something

that might get him in trouble.

I mean, it's a dangerous situation there, potentially.

So you've got this magnetic personality

having these rumbustious conversations with young men

and encouraging them to think for themselves.

That's exactly right.

This is the place where we're supposed to have

freedom of thought and freedom of expression and so on

in this democratic idea.

But this is a place where you have to respect the gods

and you have to respect your elders

and you have to respect the laws of the city.

He's questioning the gods. He's questioning the laws.

So he's really putting it to the test

and forcing these young guys

to see things in a different way,

and the city didn't really like that.

Socrates was storing up trouble,

especially as some of his devotees

were confident young aristocrats,

the city's future leaders.

Most notable was Alcibiades.

Well-born, wealthy, and an Olympic champion,

this sexually promiscuous hell-raiser

entranced and scandalized Athens for decades.

Yet this playboy was friends with Socrates,

who was 20 years his senior.

Socrates had actually saved Alcibiades' life

during the battle of Potidaea.

Plato's "Symposium" describes an infamous exchange

that took place between them

during a heady aristocratic drinking party.

A drunken Alcibiades, we're told, crashes the discussion,

which turns to the question of beauty.

In Greek culture, Alcibiades' body beautiful

would typically have been regarded

as a sign of his moral beauty, too.

But it appears Alcibiades bought into

Socrates' alternative concept of real beauty.

Socrates, he says, might be ugly on the outside,

but he has an inner beauty

that by far outshines any physical beauty

and that he, Alcibiades, loves Socrates

because he is the wisest man

and therefore the most beautiful.

However, when it came to achieving inner beauty

for himself, Alcibiades was woefully out of step.

He thought his good looks could help him.

But his cocky plan to seduce Socrates was rebuffed.

"You are plotting to get real beauty

in exchange for its appearance," Socrates said.

"That would be gold for bronze."

For Socrates, the talents of young aristocrats

were worthless without the wisdom to use them properly.

By debating with them,

he was pushing the patience of Athens.

Yet Socrates didn't compromise his principles

as demonstrated in the story of the Oracle of Delphi.

We're told that a friend of Socrates' called Chaerephon,

a rather impetuous individual from all accounts,

came on pilgrimage here to this sacred site.

Delphi had been a place of religious devotion

for 2,000 years.

Chaerephon, in time-honored fashion,

climbed the sacred way to ask a question of the god Apollo,

who spoke through a priestess.

When he finally reached the oracle, he asked,

"Is there any man wiser than Socrates?"

And the answer came back, "No."

Chaerephon took the message to Socrates,

who, in typical manner, questioned the oracle's words.

Even the words of Apollo, a god, for heaven's sake,

were subject to Socrates' scrutiny.

He set about cross-examining people

who had a reputation for wisdom

or a particular kind of specialist knowledge.

After questioning public officials, poets, and craftsmen,

he discovered that they all lacked the wisdom they claimed.

Eventually Socrates concluded

that the oracle was indeed right.

He was the wisest of men but only because, as he put it,

"I don't pretend to know what I don't know."

Socrates was wiser

because he acknowledged the limits of his own understanding.

By publicly exposing the false pretensions and ignorance

of those who did claim to know the truth,

he was bound to make enemies.

But there was something else about Socrates

that was even more unsettling.

He claimed to have his own daimonion, or guiding spirit,

a kind of hotline of communication

to the supernatural world.

This daimonion spoke to him during trancelike episodes.

It warned him from making wrong decisions.

On one occasion,

it advised against entering public politics.

Socrates' followers would have been in awe

of this uniquely personal divine calling,

but the average Athenian would have been confused

and deeply disturbed by it.

Don't forget, this is a time and place

where ritual, devotion, and belief

all take place out in public as part of a shared experience.

Not only that, but Greek folk culture imagined the world

to be infused with spirits, not all of them good.

Socrates' unorthodox, private spirituality

could easily be confused

with a darker, more troubling kind of magic.

Some muttered that he was a sorcerer.

In this super-religious culture,

the philosopher was laying himself open to scandal.

False rumors and innuendo

would culminate on a very public stage,

fostering the kind of misinformation

that would ultimately spell disaster for Socrates.

Picture Socrates bustling up here to the Theatre of Dionysus

in spring 423 B.C.

He finds some snacks to munch during the show,

chickpeas, figs, nuts,

settling down to watch the drama.

He's here to watch a new comedy called "Clouds"

by the young buck of Athenian theater, Aristophanes,

only 22 and eager to make his mark.

By now a big character in the city,

Socrates is considered fair game.

And he's parodied pretty mercilessly.

He's portrayed as a ludicrous figure,

the head of a ridiculous school called the Think Shop.

Socrates' character was merged with other intellectuals

who were arousing popular suspicion,

the devious Sophists, who undermined society

by making the weak argument defeat the stronger,

and the pre-Socratics, who, in some cases,

displaced the preeminence of the gods with their science.

We're told that Socrates actually came to the theater

to watch Aristophanes' "Clouds."

What could it have felt like

to see himself portrayed in that way?

I think he must have been amused.

There is this anecdote of Socrates

actually standing up in the seats of the theater

so that those who didn't know him

knew who he was and what he looked like

as his character was being ridiculed onstage.

So I think Socrates was detached

from all these standard norms of society,

and I think it's possible that he might have enjoyed that.

Yeah. On the face of it, this is all very amusing,

but do you think that Socrates should be worried

by the way that Aristophanes is choosing to portray him?

In hindsight, I think he should have been worried.

The core of democracy, the principle of democracy

is that the citizens be educated.

If you don't have educated citizens,

democracy does not work.

The theater was a major tool

for educating the Athenian citizens,

and the memory of that portrayal

would have remained for decades to come

as a whole generation of Athenians

would have been exposed to it.

It's the ancient equivalent of trial by media?

It is, it is, in 5th-century Athens, yeah.

But the cracks appearing in Socrates' reputation

were nothing compared to what

was happening to Athens itself.

As the war with Sparta dragged on,

people questioned the success of the democratic experiment.

At the heart of the uncertainty

was Socrates' close friend Alcibiades.

He'd been chosen to lead an expedition against Sicily

in 415 B.C., the largest in Athens' military history.

But one night, before they set sail,

someone stalked through Athens' streets

mutilating statues of the protector god Hermes.

The rumor spread that Alcibiades

and his aristocratic friends

were the vandals, part of a plot to bring down democracy.

Back in Athens, rumor escalated to outrage,

and Alcibiades was ordered home

to face trial on charges of sacrilege.

But then, en route, he vanished.

And where he reappeared shocked everyone.

He turned up a traitor in the bosom

of Athens' greatest enemy, Sparta.

Alcibiades' damaging defection

exacerbated the anxieties of a god-fearing public.

They needed a scapegoat,

and Socrates was tainted by association.

But he seems unconcerned,

doggedly pursuing the knowledge of right from wrong

above all else.

So when the philosopher

unexpectedly entered public life in his 60s,

he was on a collision course with Athens.

He became presiding officer in an emotionally charged case

whose drama was played out here on the hill of the Pnyx.

Six disgraced Athenian generals were accused

of failing to collect the bodies

of dead soldiers lost at sea.

The public called for the generals to be tried together,

in breach of Athenian law.

But Socrates refused to be swept along

by the vengeful mood of the crowd.

Even though threatened with indictment for treason,

Socrates refused to budge.

He wanted no part in this kangaroo court.

As the sun set, there was stalemate.

And then the next morning, Socrates was off the case.

Later that day,

the generals were all tried here together at the Pnyx,

condemned, and then executed.

To me, this case embodies one of the most important ideas

that Socrates has been developing all his adult life,

which is that one should never take revenge.

And in this, he's completely turning on its head

one of the foundational tenets

of traditional Greek morality,

which said that you should help your friends

and harm your enemies.

And Socrates says no.

Because all you can do to another person

is you can take away their possessions,

you can damage their body, you can kill them,

but you can't harm their soul.

But by doing wrong to somebody else,

you are damaging your own soul

and thereby taking away your chance of a virtuous

and, hence, also a happy and flourishing life.

This was a city-state that believed in justice,

that wanted to see justice enacted,

so in Socrates' book, what form should punishment take?

It's a good point.

He does believe that sometimes punishment is appropriate,

but you punish somebody solely in terms

of trying to cure their soul

of the damage that they have brought upon themselves

by doing wrong.

So punishment is there to cure and purify a damaged soul.

I mean, even today,

those still feel like quite progressive ideas.

Absolutely.

I mean, we're barely catching up with these ideas even now.

We still have debates, "What is the purpose of punishment?

Is it to kind of retribution, or is it some kind of reform?"

Now, Socrates is absolutely clear.

The purpose of punishment is to reform.

They are fascinating ideas,

but they must have been very,

very troubling to the Athenians,

because it must have felt as if he was kind of unpicking

the foundations that kept communities together.

Yeah, it would have looked weak to them.

It would have looked like, "Oh, no, you're not a real man.

You're not standing up for yourself.

What are you doing?"

In a way, he's almost anticipating

the teaching of the Sermon on the Mount,

you know, turn the other cheek, in a sense.

But he's 500 years before all that.

How does he dare to march so out of step

from the rest of society?

Because I think he absolutely believes

that nobody else can harm his soul,

but if he takes part in the illegal actions

that he was invited to take part in,

then he will be absolutely damaging his own soul

and taking away his chance of a happy and flourishing life.

In the name of wisdom and truth,

Socrates was prepared to stick his head

dangerously high above the parapet.

Interestingly, it's a quality that he shares

with both Confucius and the Buddha.

For all three philosophers,

personal comfort and personal security

came a poor second to principle.

And in the case of Socrates,

having the courage of his convictions

would prove to be a matter of life or death.

As Athens' enemies closed in, society turned in on itself.

Freedom was a luxury it could no longer afford.

Finally the Spartans brought Athens to her knees.

They tore down her city walls

and installed a junta of 30 handpicked oligarchs.

Death squads roamed the streets,

and thousands of democrats were disappeared,

forced into exile, or executed.

Even though a counterrevolution restored democracy

just eight months later,

it was a deeply compromised democracy,

riven with suspicion and recrimination.

In this poisonous atmosphere,

Athens finally decided to deal with its troublesome gadfly.

In 399 B.C., at the age of 70, Socrates was back in court.

This time, he was on trial.

The accusations against him were read out here in the agora

close to this oath stone.

The first charge was impiety,

denying the gods and introducing new ones,

the second that he'd corrupted the young.

Both could carry the heaviest penalty, execution.

The trial took place in a religious court.

Using the latest technology,

a water clock measured the three hours allowed

to the prosecution's case.

Were his accusers politically motivated?

Was he being scapegoated for his association

with prominent anti-democrats like Alcibiades?

Perhaps.

But then, he'd set about to open the minds of the young

and, with his goading questions,

to challenge the status quo.

Eventually the water clock was refilled

for the philosopher to defend himself.

Plato recounts how Socrates feels he's fighting a lost cause

thanks to Aristophanes' searing, damaging caricature of him.

"It's not my crimes that will convict me," he said,

"but rumor and gossip.

I can't possibly defend myself.

It's like boxing with shadows.

You will persuade yourselves that I am guilty."

Yet in typical style, Socrates uses his defense

to sting his fellow Athenians from their moral slumber.

It is a brilliant, audacious speech.

But it's also provocative and arrogant,

and the jurors don't like it one bit.

The city that once fetishized freedom and freedom of speech

could not tolerate freedom to offend.

Socrates was judged by at least 500 men chosen at random

and recruited from all over the traumatized city-state.

The jurors would have used these ballots in a secret vote.

A solid stem for acquittal, a hollow for condemnation.

Found guilty,

a second vote is held to determine his punishment.

Socrates has the chance to avoid execution

by proposing a lesser alternative,

typically a fine or exile.

Instead, by speaking freely, democratically,

he seems to invite martyrdom.

He declares that he's lived his life

for the benefit of the city.

He deserves reward, not retribution.

He suggests dinner in perpetuity at the citizens' expense.

Socrates' irony loses him more support in the second vote.

It seems he takes the news philosophically.

The jury couldn't harm his soul,

but they had harmed their own.

"Now I go to die and you to live.

God only knows which is the better journey."

Socrates didn't fear what he didn't know, including death.

The man the oracle proclaimed to be the wisest

was now on death row

for putting his own philosophy into practice.

One of the things I find so compelling about Socrates

is that even though he lived 25 centuries ago,

in many ways, he saw us coming.

He denounces an obsession with looks,

with material goods, with spin, and with fame.

He wasn't just exploring the meaning of life,

but the meaning of our own lives.

Just listen to this.

"Oh, my friend, why do you,

who are a citizen of the great and wise city of Athens,

care so much about laying up wealth and honor and reputation

and so little about wisdom and truth

and the improvement of the soul?

Are you not ashamed?"

Socrates would have to wait a month for his execution,

a sentence intended to silence him.

But Socrates' death at the hands of the people

provided the perfect ingredients for his resurrection

as an ideological martyr, a kind of blueprint philosopher.

And ironically, what secured his legacy

was the very thing that he'd disregarded

throughout his life, the written word.

His supporters wrote detailed accounts

of his extraordinary life,

immortalizing his ideas and his spirit.

Through their words,

his game-changing, history-making voice endures.

Still asking those probing, universal questions

which, even today, are at the heart of our value systems.

What makes us good?

What is justice?

How can we be happy?

Socrates was the inspiration for Plato and Aristotle,

two giants of philosophy whose ideas

would shape Western and Eastern civilization up until today.

Following Socrates' death,

Plato abandoned his political ambitions in disgust

and set up his Academy,

which would continue as a center of learning

for close on a thousand years.

This building is Athens' modern Academy,

and it's just a couple of miles from the original,

and it's part of a network of academic institutions

right across the globe inspired by that Athenian example.

On the day of Socrates' execution,

his distraught friends and family came here to the agora.

The place where Socrates had once walked freely

was now his cage.

But he is serene.

Calmly he lifts the lethal little cup of hemlock poison

and drinks.

We're told that Socrates' last words,

as the lethal hemlock took effect,

were, "Crito, we owe a cock to Asclepius."

With this cryptic message, even on the brink of death,

he kept his followers and future scholars guessing.

Was he proving himself pious

by invoking one of the city's deities?

Or was he ironically giving thanks to the god of healing

for relieving him of the sickness of existence?

Socrates might have been infuriating.

But his tenacious questioning of what it means to be human

still has absolute resonance.

By stating that the ultimate evil is ignorance

and that a good life is within our reach,

he challenges us all never to be thoughtless.

The unexamined life is not worth living.

With his head covered, no one saw the final moment

when Socrates' precious soul

slipped from that ugly, satirical, unforgettable face.

(dramatic music)