The Socratic Pilgrimage of the Elephant's Child

At his trial, Socrates suggests that it was the question put by his friend Chaerephon to the priestess at Delphi, "whether there was anyone wiser than Socrates," which compelled him to devote his life to philosophical inquiry (Apology 7 [21a]).¹ The oracle's response, "that there was no one" (ibid.), had to be true, of course, since it would be improper for the god to lie. But what, precisely, did the god mean? "After puzzling about this for some time, Socrates reluctantly began to interview everyone who had a reputation for wisdom—politicians, poets, skilled craftspeople; and he urges the jury to think of these interviews as a sort of pilgrimage" (7-8 [21a-22a]).

Even though this pilgrimage was undertaken as a matter of religious duty, "it aroused against Socrates a great deal of hostility, and hostility of a particularly bitter and persistent kind" (9 [23a]), which eventually led to his indictment and trial. After the jury had determined that he was indeed guilty and had sentenced him to death, Socrates offered the following prophecy to those who voted against him:

You have brought about my death in the belief that through it you will be delivered from submitting your conduct to criticism: but I say that the result will be just the opposite. You will have more critics . . . and being younger they will be harsher to you and will cause you more annoyance.

[24 (39c, d)]

Now, in my view, one of Socrates' more important youthful successors is the Elephant's Child. I do not assume that Kipling had Socrates, or a Socratic pilgrimage, in mind when he wrote "The Elephant's Child." Perhaps, as Socrates claims, "it is not wisdom that enables authors to write their works, but a kind of instinct or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets who deliver all their sublime messages without knowing in the least what they mean" (8 [22c]). But since the concept of pilgrimage is ubiquitous in human experience and in the literary tradition, it is hardly surprising that Kipling would utilize this concept at some point. What may seem surprising are the parallels between a Socratic pilgrimage and the journey of the Elephant's Child to the banks of the Limpopo River. Yet, as I shall argue, the Elephant's Child does replicate the principal features of a Socratic pilgrimage, and she even fulfills Socrates' most preposterous wish.²

One Elephant, but a New Elephant

In the Republic, Socrates—with the concurrence of his interlocutor—claims that one "who is finical about his studies, especially when he is young and cannot yet know . . . what is useful and what is not, is not a lover of learning or a lover of wisdom. But the one who feels no distaste in sampling every study, and who attacks his task of learning gladly and cannot get enough of it, him we shall justly pronounce the lover of wisdom, the philosopher" (714 [475b, c]). Now, this claim provides the three essential characteristics of a genuine philosopher: openness to every sort of knowledge, enjoyment in the process of study, and an insatiable appetite for learning. Certainly, the Elephant's Child fits this description.

Most obvious is the fact that the Elephant's Child too is "full of 'satiable curtiosity, and that means [she] asked ever so many questions" (Kipling 63). But since the scope of her usual questions encompasses the whole of her immediate sense experience, while her "new fine question . . . 'What does the crocodile have for dinner?'" (64) extends into the unknown, the Elephant's Child also evidences an extraordinary willingness to taste every kind of learning. Extraordinary, that is, because she is never deterred by the predictable reaction of her "dear families" to any of her questions, but especially to this one. Rather, this 'satiable Elephant's Child proceeds undaunted until she encounters the object of her quest. And when the Crocodile confirms his identity, by a distinctive act as well as by an express statement,

the Elephant's Child grew all breathless, and panted, and kneeled down on the bank and said...