Raphael , Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino, The School of Athens, 1511, fresco, Vatican Museums, Vatican City, Rome
By Jason A. Heron, OblSB
Every year, I teach students about the trial and death of Socrates. Socrates was on trial in ancient Athens, accused of “corrupting the youth.” This was code for getting young people to ask hard questions about the status quo in Athens. The people in power didn’t want to be asked any hard questions; they had a lot to lose if the status quo changed. So, they brought Socrates to trial, and if he was found guilty, he would die.
My students and I learn this by studying the “Apology,” which was written by Socrates’ student, Plato. The “Apology” is Plato’s account of what Socrates said in the courtroom as he defended his way of life, his educational mission, and his willingness to question the status quo. Invariably, my students think the word “apology” has to do with saying sorry. After all, most of us have been apologizing since we were very young. I know I have.
As we read the “Apology,” we realize Socrates isn’t apologizing at all. He is defending himself against people who are calling for his execution. His defense is masterful. He’s putting on a clinic for those of us who want to know how to give good reasons for why we act the way we act, why we say what we say, and why we believe what we believe.
The purpose of this column in The Bishop’s Bulletin is “apologetic.” For Christians, the call to apologetics is most famously summed up in 1 Peter 3:15: “Always be prepared to make a defense to any one who calls you to account for the hope that is in you, yet do it with gentleness and reverence […].” So, this column is supposed to help us develop that ability to give good reasons for the hope others see in our actions, our words and our beliefs.
The only difference between this column and Socrates’ day in court is that we aren’t on trial for our lives. Or, at least, I’m not. If you are, dear reader, then you should put down The Bishop’s Bulletin and focus. You’ve got big fish to fry. But even if we aren’t literally on trial, we often find ourselves facing questions—from our children, from co-workers and from our own hearts—about why we act, speak and believe with such hope.
At Socrates’ trial, the jury was made up of 501 male citizens, and—spoiler alert—he was found guilty by a margin of 60 votes. They sentenced him to drink poison derived from the hemlock plant. He drank it. Then, he died. You can read all about his death in two other works by Plato: the “Crito” and the “Phaedo.” It’s great reading.
One of the striking things about Socrates’ defense in court that day is that he’s not defensive. He’s calm. He even cracks a few jokes. So, though the powerful are threatening his life, he doesn’t seem troubled in the least. Read the “Apology.” You’ll be impressed by the peace radiating from Socrates. You keep waiting for him to lose it, to scream that he doesn’t want to die, to berate his fellow citizens for being unjust. But he doesn’t. He calmly, rationally and with great humor offers a defense of his actions, words and beliefs.
His defense is actually an invitation to further conversation. And since long, interesting conversations are what Socrates was famous for, it turns out his self-defense at his trial is just another opportunity to talk with folks about what is true, good and beautiful. He’s living his trial as just another day in his life. It’s remarkable.
When Christians engage in “apologetics”—giving good reasons for why we act, speak and believe with such hope—we have choices to make. We are free to get defensive with others and to imagine ourselves in combat with them. But we are also free to invite people to deeper conversation. A good conversation is the natural habitat of truth, and it is a practice that creates friendships. But defensive combat is the natural habitat of violence, and it is a practice that divides and severs. When we choose conversation, we embody the gentleness and reverence 1 Peter calls for.
For Christians, this idea of a gentle, life-giving defense of truth finds its ultimate perfection in Jesus.
When Jesus was on trial for his life, he did not engage in defensive combat. When we asked him to defend his actions, words and beliefs, he did not fight us. Rather, he did something we could not have predicted. He invited each of us into the deepest conversation in the universe: his Cross and Resurrection. This conversation starts very awkwardly, with Jesus forgiving us while we’re in the middle of driving the nails into his body. In other words, the Cross is his response to our combat, to our demand that he get defensive and fight.
But since that Friday, our apologetic task is to offer our family, friends, neighbors and enemies good reasons for our hope. We do that first by living that hope. And within that life of hope, we invite others into the conversation.
