The peoples of whom history has given us some slight knowledge
regarded their different religions as links that bound them together;
it was an association of the human race. There was a kind of right
to hospitality among the gods, just as there was among men. When a
stranger reached a town, his first act was to worship the gods of
the country; even the gods of enemies were strictly venerated. The
Trojans offered prayers to the gods who fought for the Greeks.
Alexander, in the deserts of Libya, went to consult the god Ammon,
whom the Greeks called Zeus and the Latins Jupiter, though they both
had their own Zeus or Jupiter at home. When a town was besieged,
sacrifices and prayers were offered to the gods of the town to secure
their favour. Thus in the very midst of war religion united men and
moderated their fury, though at times it enjoined on them inhuman and
horrible deeds.
I may be wrong, but it seems to me that not one of the ancient
civilised nations restricted the freedom of thought.[13] Each of them
had a religion, but it seems to me that they used it in regard to men
as they did in regard to their gods. All of them recognised a supreme
God, but they associated with him a prodigious number of lesser
divinities. They had only one cult, but they permitted numbers of
special systems.
The Greeks, for instance, however religious they were, allowed the
Epicureans to deny providence and the existence of the soul. I need
not speak of the other sects which all offended against the sound
idea of the creative being, yet were all tolerated.
Socrates, who approached nearest to a knowledge of the Creator, is
said to have paid for it, and died a martyr to the Deity; he is the
only man whom the Greeks put to death for his opinions. If that was
really the cause of his condemnation, however, it is not to the
credit of intolerance, since they punished only the man who alone
gave glory to God, and honoured those who held unworthy views of the
Deity. The enemies of toleration would, I think, be ill advised to
quote the odious example of the judges of Socrates.
It is evident, moreover, that he was the victim of a furious party,
angered against him. He had made irreconcilable enemies of the
sophists, orators, and poets who taught in the schools, and of all
the teachers in charge of the children of distinguished men. He
himself admits, in his discourse given to us by Plato, that he went
from house to house proving to the teachers that they were ignorant.
Such conduct was hardly worthy of one whom an oracle had declared
to be the wisest of men. A priest and a councillor of the Five
Hundred were put forward to accuse him. I must confess that I do
not know what the precise accusation was; I find only vagueness in
his apology. He is made to say, in general, that he was accused of
instilling into young men sentiments in opposition to the religion
and government. It is the usual method of calumniators, but a court
would demand accredited facts and precise charges. Of these there is
no trace in the trial of Socrates. We know only that at first there
were two hundred and twenty votes in his favour. From this we may
infer that the court of the Five Hundred included two hundred and
twenty philosophers; I doubt if so many could be found elsewhere.
The majority at length condemned him to drink the hemlock; but let
us remember that, when the Athenians returned to their senses,
they regarded both the accusers and the judges with horror; that
Melitus, the chief author of the sentence, was condemned to death
for his injustice; and that the others were banished, and a temple
was erected to Socrates. Never was philosophy so much avenged and
honoured. The case of Socrates is really the most terrible argument
that can be used against intolerance. The Athenians had an altar
dedicated to foreign gods--the gods they knew not. Could there be a
stronger proof, not merely of their indulgence to all nations, but
even of respect for their cults?
A French writer, in attempting to justify the massacre of St.
Bartholomew, quotes the war of the Phocæans, known as “the sacred
war,” as if this war had been inspired by cult, or dogma, or
theological argument. Nay, it was a question only of determining to
whom a certain field belonged; it is the subject of all wars. Beards
of corn are not a symbol of faith; no Greek town ever went to war
for opinions. What, indeed, would this gentleman have? Would he have
us enter upon a “sacred war”?