lic,
though it loved to abuse them, was the greatest sophist of them
all--brilliant and capricious, incomparably rich in all but wisdom. The
majority belonged to what Plato called "the sight-loving, art-loving,
busy class." This is an age, then, when the man of practical
common-sense is pre-eminent, and the philosopher with his dark sayings
has passed away. The pride of wisdom has given way to the pride of power
and the pride of cleverness. The many men pursue the many goods of life,
and there is no spirit among them all who, sitting apart in
contemplation, wonders at the meaning of the whole.

[Sidenote: Socrates and the Self-criticism of the Philosopher.]

Sect. 157. But in their midst there moved a strange prophet, whom they
mistook for one of themselves. Socrates was not one who prayed in the
wilderness, but a man of the streets and the market-place, who talked
rather more incessantly than the rest, and apparently with less right.
He did not testify to the truth, but pleaded ignorance in extenuation of
an exasperating habit of asking questions. There was, however, a humor
and a method in his innocence that arrested attention. He was a
formidable adversary in discussion from his very irresponsibility; and
he was especially successful with the more rhetorical sophists because
he chose his own weapons, and substituted critical analysis, question
and answer, for the long speeches to which these teachers were
habituated by their profession. He appeared to be governed by an
insatiable inquisitiveness, and a somewhat malicious desire to discredit
those who spoke with authority.

But to those who knew him better, and especially to Plato, who knew him
best, Socrates was at once the sweetest and most compelling spirit of
his age. There was a kind of truth in the quality of his character. He
was perhaps _the first of all reverent men_. In the presence of conceit
his self-depreciation was ironical, but in another presence it was most
genuine, and his deepest spring of thought and action. This other
presence was his own ideal. Socrates was sincerely humble because,
expecting so much of philosophy, he saw his own deficiency. Unlike the
unskilled player, he did not seek to _make_ music; but he loved music,
and knew that such music as is indeed music was beyond his power. On the
other hand he was well aware of his superiority to those in whom
self-satisfaction was possible because they had no conception of the
ideal. Of such he