APOLOGY
by
Plato
Translated by Benjamin Jowett
How you, O Athenians, have been affected by my accusers, I cannot tell;
but I know that they almost made me forget who I was—so persuasively did
they speak; and yet they have hardly uttered a word of truth. But of the
many falsehoods told by them, there was one which quite amazed me;--I mean
when they said that you should be upon your guard and not allow yourselves
to be deceived by the force of my eloquence. To say this, when they were
certain to be detected as soon as I opened my lips and proved myself to
be anything but a great speaker, did indeed appear to me most shameless—unless
by the force of eloquence they mean the force of truth; for is such is
their meaning, I admit that I am eloquent. But in how different a way from
theirs! Well, as I was saying, they have scarcely spoken the truth at all;
but from me you shall hear the whole truth: not, however, delivered after
their manner in a set oration duly ornamented with words and phrases. No,
by heaven! but I shall use the words and arguments which occur to me at
the moment; for I am confident in the justice of my cause (Or, I am certain
that I am right in taking this course.): at my time of life I ought not
to be appearing before you, O men of Athens, in the character of a juvenile
orator—let no one expect it of me. And I must beg of you to grant me a
favour:--If I defend myself in my accustomed manner, and you hear me using
the words which I have been in the habit of using in the agora, at the
tables of the money-changers, or anywhere else, I would ask you not to
be surprised, and not to interrupt me on this account. For I am more than
seventy years of age, and appearing now for the first time in a court of
law, I am quite a stranger to the language of the place; and therefore
I would have you regard me as if I were really a stranger, whom you would
excuse if he spoke in his native tongue, and after the fashion of his country:--Am
I making an unfair request of you? Never mind the manner, which may or
may not be good; but think only of the truth of my words, and give heed
to that: let the speaker speak truly and the judge decide justly.
And first, I have to reply to the older charges and to my first accusers,
and then I will go on to the later ones. For of old I have had many accusers,
who have accused me falsely to you during many years; and I am more afraid
of them than of Anytus and his associates, who are dangerous, too, in their
own way. But far more dangerous are the others, who began when you were
children, and took possession of your minds with their falsehoods, telling
of one Socrates, a wise man, who speculated about the heaven above, and
searched into the earth beneath, and made the worse appear the better cause.
The disseminators of this tale are the accusers whom I dread; for their
hearers are apt to fancy that such enquirers do not believe in the existence
of the gods. And they are many, and their charges against me are of ancient
date, and they were made by them in the days when you were more impressible
than you are now—in childhood, or it may have been in youth—and the cause
when heard went by default, for there was none to answer. And hardest of
all, I do not know and cannot tell the names of my accusers; unless in
the chance case of a Comic poet. All who from envy and malice have persuaded
you—some of them having first convinced themselves—all this class of men
are most difficult to deal with; for I cannot have them up here, and cross-examine
them, and therefore I must simply fight with shadows in my own defence,
and argue when there is no one who answers. I will ask you then to assume
with me, as I was saying, that my opponents are of two kinds; one recent,
the other ancient: and I hope that you will see the propriety of my answering
the latter first, for these accusations you heard long before the others,
and much oftener.
Well, then, I must make my defence, and endeavour to clear away in
a short time, a slander which has lasted a long time. May I succeed, if
to succeed be for my good and yours, or likely to avail me in my cause!
The task is not an easy one; I quite understand the nature of it. And so
leaving the event with God, in obedience to the law I will now make my
defence.
I will begin at the beginning, and ask what is the accusation which
has given rise to the slander of me, and in fact has encouraged Meletus
to proof this charge against me. Well, what do the slanderers say? They
shall be my prosecutors, and I will sum up their words in an affidavit:
‘Socrates is an evil-doer, and a curious person, who searches into
things under the earth and in heaven, and he makes the worse appear the
better cause; and he teaches the aforesaid doctrines to others.’ Such is
the nature of the accusation: it is just what you have yourselves seen
in the comedy of Aristophanes (Aristoph., Clouds.), who has introduced
a man whom he calls Socrates, going about and saying that he walks in air,
and talking a deal of nonsense concerning matters of which I do not pretend
to know either much or little—not that I mean to speak disparagingly of
any one who is a student of natural philosophy. I should be very sorry
if Meletus could bring so grave a charge against me. But the simple truth
is, O Athenians, that I have nothing to do with physical speculations.
Very many of those here present are witnesses to the truth of this, and
to them I appeal. Speak then, you who have heard me, and tell your neighbours
whether any of you have ever known me hold forth in few words or in many
upon such matters...You hear their answer. And from what they say of this
part of the charge you will be able to judge of the truth of the rest.
As little foundation is there for the report that I am a teacher, and
take money; this accusation has no more truth in it than the other. Although,
if a man were really able to instruct mankind, to receive money for giving
instruction would, in my opinion, be an honour to him. There is Gorgias
of Leontium, and Prodicus of Ceos, and Hippias of Elis, who go the round
of the cities, and are able to persuade the young men to leave their own
citizens by whom they might be taught for nothing, and come to them whom
they not only pay, but are thankful if they may be allowed to pay them.
There is at this time a Parian philosopher residing in Athens, of whom
I have heard; and I came to hear of him in this way:--I came across a man
who has spent a world of money on the Sophists, Callias, the son of Hipponicus,
and knowing that he had sons, I asked him: ‘Callias,’ I said, ‘if your
two sons were foals or calves, there would be no difficulty in finding
some one to put over them; we should hire a trainer of horses, or a farmer
probably, who would improve and perfect them in their own proper virtue
and excellence; but as they are human beings, whom are you thinking of
placing over them? Is there any one who understands human and political
virtue? You must have thought about the matter, for you have sons;
is there any one?’ ‘There is,’ he said. ‘Who is he?’ said I; ‘and of what
country? and what does he charge?’ ‘Evenus the Parian,’ he replied; ‘he
is the man, and his charge is five minae.’ Happy is Evenus, I said to myself,
if he really has this wisdom, and teaches at such a moderate charge. Had
I the same, I should have been very proud and conceited; but the truth
is that I have no knowledge of the kind.
I dare say, Athenians, that some one among you will reply, ‘Yes, Socrates,
but what is the origin of these accusations which are brought against you;
there must have been something strange which you have been doing? All these
rumours and this talk about you would never have arisen if you had been
like other men: tell us, then, what is the cause of them, for we should
be sorry to judge hastily of you.’ Now I regard this as a fair challenge,
and I will endeavour to explain to you the reason why I am called wise
and have such an evil fame. Please to attend then. And although some of
you may think that I am joking, I declare that I will tell you the entire
truth. Men of Athens, this reputation of mine has come of a certain sort
of wisdom which I possess. If you ask me what kind of wisdom, I reply,
wisdom such as may perhaps be attained by man, for to that extent I am
inclined to believe that I am wise; whereas the persons of whom I was speaking
have a superhuman wisdom which I may fail to describe, because I have it
not myself; and he who says that I have, speaks falsely, and is taking
away my character. And here, O men of Athens, I must beg you not to interrupt
me, even if I seem to say something extravagant. For the word which I will
speak is not mine. I will refer you to a witness who is worthy of credit;
that witness shall be the God of Delphi—he will tell you about my wisdom,
if I have any, and of what sort it is. You must have known Chaerephon;
he was early a friend of mine, and also a friend of yours, for he shared
in the recent exile of the people, and returned with you. Well, Chaerephon,
as you know, was very impetuous in all his doings, and he went to Delphi
and boldly asked the oracle to tell him whether—as I was saying, I must
beg you not to interrupt—he asked the oracle to tell him whether anyone
was wiser than I was, and the Pythian prophetess answered, that there was
no man wiser. Chaerephon is dead himself; but his brother, who is in court,
will confirm the truth of what I am saying.
Why do I mention this? Because I am going to explain to you why I have
such an evil name. When I heard the answer, I said to myself, What can
the god mean? and what is the interpretation of his riddle? for I know
that I have no wisdom, small or great. What then can he mean when he says
that I am the wisest of men? And yet he is a god, and cannot lie; that
would be against his nature. After long consideration, I thought of a method
of trying the question. I reflected that if I could only find a man wiser
than myself, then I might go to the god with a refutation in my hand. I
should say to him, ‘Here is a man who is wiser than I am; but you said
that I was the wisest.’ Accordingly I went to one who had the reputation
of wisdom, and observed him—his name I need not mention; he was a politician
whom I selected for examination—and the result was as follows: When I began
to talk with him, I could not help thinking that he was not really wise,
although he was thought wise by many, and still wiser by himself; and thereupon
I tried to explain to him that he thought himself wise, but was not really
wise; and the consequence was that he hated me, and his enmity was shared
by several who were present and heard me. So I left him, saying to myself,
as I went away: Well, although I do not suppose that either of us knows
anything really beautiful and good, I am better off than he is,-- for he
knows nothing, and thinks that he knows; I neither know nor think that
I know. In this latter particular, then, I seem to have slightly the advantage
of him. Then I went to another who had still higher pretensions to wisdom,
and my conclusion was exactly the same. Whereupon I made another enemy
of him, and of many others besides him.
Then I went to one man after another, being not unconscious of the enmity
which I provoked, and I lamented and feared this: but necessity was laid
upon me,--the word of God, I thought, ought to be considered first. And
I said to myself, Go I must to all who appear to know, and find out the
meaning of the oracle. And I swear to you, Athenians, by the dog I swear!
• for I must tell you the truth—the result of my mission was just this:
I found that the men most in repute were all but the most foolish; and
that others less esteemed were really wiser and better. I will tell you
the tale of my wanderings and of the ‘Herculean’ labours, as I may call
them, which I endured only to find at last the oracle irrefutable. After
the politicians, I went to the poets; tragic, dithyrambic, and all sorts.
And there, I said to myself, you will be instantly detected; now you will
find out that you are more ignorant than they are. Accordingly, I took
them some of the most elaborate passages in their own writings, and asked
what was the meaning of them—thinking that they would teach me something.
Will you believe me? I am almost ashamed to confess the truth, but I must
say that there is hardly a person present who would not have talked better
about their poetry than they did themselves. Then I knew that not by wisdom
do poets write poetry, but by a sort of genius and inspiration; they are
like diviners or soothsayers who also say many fine things, but do not
understand the meaning of them. The poets appeared to me to be much in
the same case; and I further observed that upon the strength of their poetry
they believed themselves to be the wisest of men in other things in which
they were not wise. So I departed, conceiving myself to be superior to
them for the same reason that I was superior to the politicians.
At last I went to the artisans. I was conscious that I knew nothing
at all, as I may say, and I was sure that they knew many fine things; and
here I was not mistaken, for they did know many things of which I was ignorant,
and in this they certainly were wiser than I was. But I observed that even
the good artisans fell into the same error as the poets;--because they
were good workmen they thought that they also knew all sorts of high matters,
and this defect in them overshadowed their wisdom; and therefore I asked
myself on behalf of the oracle, whether I would like to be as I was, neither
having their knowledge nor their ignorance, or like them in both; and I
made answer to myself and to the oracle that I was better off as I was.
This inquisition has led to my having many enemies of the worst and
most dangerous kind, and has given occasion also to many calumnies. And
I am called wise, for my hearers always imagine that I myself possess the
wisdom which I find wanting in others: but the truth is, O men of Athens,
that God only is wise; and by his answer he intends to show that the wisdom
of men is worth little or nothing; he is not speaking of Socrates, he is
only using my name by way of illustration, as if he said, He, O men, is
the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that his wisdom is in truth worth
nothing. And so I go about the world, obedient to the god, and search and
make enquiry into the wisdom of any one, whether citizen or stranger, who
appears to be wise; and if he is not wise, then in vindication of the oracle
I show him that he is not wise; and my occupation quite absorbs me, and
I have no time to give either to any public matter of interest or to any
concern of my own, but I am in utter poverty by reason of my devotion to
the god.
There is another thing:--young men of the richer classes, who have not
much to do, come about me of their own accord; they like to hear the pretenders
examined, and they often imitate me, and proceed to examine others; there
are plenty of persons, as they quickly discover, who think that they know
something, but really know little or nothing; and then those who are examined
by them instead of being angry with themselves are angry with me:
This confounded Socrates, they say; this villainous misleader of youth!--
and then if somebody asks them, Why, what evil does he practise or teach?
they do not know, and cannot tell; but in order that they may not appear
to be at a loss, they repeat the ready-made charges which are used against
all philosophers about teaching things up in the clouds and under the earth,
and having no gods, and making the worse appear the better cause; for they
do not like to confess that their pretence of knowledge has been detected—
which is the truth; and as they are numerous and ambitious and energetic,
and are drawn up in battle array and have persuasive tongues, they have
filled your ears with their loud and inveterate calumnies. And this is
the reason why my three accusers, Meletus and Anytus and Lycon, have set
upon me; Meletus, who has a quarrel with me on behalf of the poets; Anytus,
on behalf of the craftsmen and politicians; Lycon, on behalf of the rhetoricians:
and as I said at the beginning, I cannot expect to get rid of such a mass
of calumny all in a moment. And this, O men of Athens, is the truth and
the whole truth; I have concealed nothing, I have dissembled nothing. And
yet, I know that my plainness of speech makes them hate me, and what is
their hatred but a proof that I am speaking the truth?--Hence has arisen
the prejudice against me; and this is the reason of it, as you will find
out either in this or in any future enquiry.
I have said enough in my defence against the first class of my accusers;
I turn to the second class. They are headed by Meletus, that good man and
true lover of his country, as he calls himself. Against these, too, I must
try to make a defence:--Let their affidavit be read: it contains something
of this kind: It says that Socrates is a doer of evil, who corrupts the
youth; and who does not believe in the gods of the state, but has other
new divinities of his own. Such is the charge; and now let us examine the
particular counts. He says that I am a doer of evil, and corrupt the youth;
but I say, O men of Athens, that Meletus is a doer of evil, in that he
pretends to be in earnest when he is only in jest, and is so eager to bring
men to trial from a pretended zeal and interest about matters in which
he really never had the smallest interest. And the truth of this I will
endeavour to prove to you.
Come hither, Meletus, and let me ask a question of you. You think a
great deal about the improvement of youth?
Yes, I do.
Tell the judges, then, who is their improver; for you must know, as
you have taken the pains to discover their corrupter, and are citing and
accusing me before them. Speak, then, and tell the judges who their improver
is.—Observe, Meletus, that you are silent, and have nothing to say. But
is not this rather disgraceful, and a very considerable proof of what I
was saying, that you have no interest in the matter? Speak up, friend,
and tell us who their improver is.
The laws.
But that, my good sir, is not my meaning. I want to know who the person
is, who, in the first place, knows the laws.
The judges, Socrates, who are present in court.
What, do you mean to say, Meletus, that they are able to instruct and
improve youth?
Certainly they are.
What, all of them, or some only and not others?
All of them.
By the goddess Here, that is good news! There are plenty of improvers,
then. And what do you say of the audience,--do they improve them?
Yes, they do.
And the senators?
Yes, the senators improve them.
But perhaps the members of the assembly corrupt them?--or do they too
improve them?
They improve them.
Then every Athenian improves and elevates them; all with the exception
of myself; and I alone am their corrupter? Is that what you affirm?
That is what I stoutly affirm.
I am very unfortunate if you are right. But suppose I ask you a question:
How about horses? Does one man do them harm and all the world good?
Is not the exact opposite the truth? One man is able to do them good, or
at least not many;--the trainer of horses, that is to say, does them good,
and others who have to do with them rather injure them? Is not that true,
Meletus, of horses, or of any other animals? Most assuredly it is; whether
you and Anytus say yes or no. Happy indeed would be the condition of youth
if they had one corrupter only, and all the rest of the world were their
improvers. But you, Meletus, have sufficiently shown that you never had
a thought about the young: your carelessness is seen in your not caring
about the very things which you bring against me.
And now, Meletus, I will ask you another question—by Zeus I will: Which
is better, to live among bad citizens, or among good ones? Answer, friend,
I say; the question is one which may be easily answered. Do not the good
do their neighbours good, and the bad do them evil?
Certainly.
And is there anyone who would rather be injured than benefited by those
who live with him? Answer, my good friend, the law requires you to answer—
does any one like to be injured?
Certainly not.
And when you accuse me of corrupting and deteriorating the youth, do
you allege that I corrupt them intentionally or unintentionally?
Intentionally, I say.
But you have just admitted that the good do their neighbours good,
and the evil do them evil. Now, is that a truth which your superior wisdom
has recognized thus early in life, and am I, at my age, in such darkness
and ignorance as not to know that if a man with whom I have to live is
corrupted by me, I am very likely to be harmed by him; and yet I corrupt
him, and intentionally, too—so you say, although neither I nor any other
human being is ever likely to be convinced by you. But either I do not
corrupt them, or I corrupt them unintentionally; and on either view of
the case you lie. If my offence is unintentional, the law has no cognizance
of unintentional offences: you ought to have taken me privately, and warned
and admonished me; for if I had been better advised, I should have left
off doing what I only did unintentionally—no doubt I should; but you would
have nothing to say to me and refused to teach me. And now you bring me
up in this court, which is a place not of instruction, but of punishment.
It will be very clear to you, Athenians, as I was saying, that Meletus
has no care at all, great or small, about the matter. But still I should
like to know, Meletus, in what I am affirmed to corrupt the young. I suppose
you mean, as I infer from your indictment, that I teach them not to acknowledge
the gods which the state acknowledges, but some other new divinities or
spiritual agencies in their stead. These are the lessons by which I corrupt
the youth, as you say.
Yes, that I say emphatically.
Then, by the gods, Meletus, of whom we are speaking, tell me and the
court, in somewhat plainer terms, what you mean! for I do not as yet understand
whether you affirm that I teach other men to acknowledge some gods, and
therefore that I do believe in gods, and am not an entire atheist—this
you do not lay to my charge,--but only you say that they are not the same
gods which the city recognizes—the charge is that they are different gods.
Or, do you mean that I am an atheist simply, and a teacher of atheism?
I mean the latter—that you are a complete atheist.
What an extraordinary statement! Why do you think so, Meletus? Do you
mean that I do not believe in the godhead of the sun or moon, like other
men?
I assure you, judges, that he does not: for he says that the sun is
stone, and the moon earth.
Friend Meletus, you think that you are accusing Anaxagoras: and you
have but a bad opinion of the judges, if you fancy them illiterate to such
a degree as not to know that these doctrines are found in the books of
Anaxagoras the Clazomenian, which are full of them. And so, forsooth, the
youth are said to be taught them by Socrates, when there are not unfrequently
exhibitions of them at the theatre (Probably in allusion to Aristophanes
who caricatured, and to Euripides who borrowed the notions of Anaxagoras,
as well as to other dramatic poets.) (price of admission one drachma at
the most); and they might pay their money, and laugh at Socrates if he
pretends to father these extraordinary views. And so, Meletus, you really
think that I do not believe in any god?
I swear by Zeus that you believe absolutely in none at all.
Nobody will believe you, Meletus, and I am pretty sure that you do
not believe yourself. I cannot help thinking, men of Athens, that Meletus
is reckless and impudent, and that he has written this indictment in a
spirit of mere wantonness and youthful bravado. Has he not compounded a
riddle, thinking to try me? He said to himself:--I shall see whether the
wise Socrates will discover my facetious contradiction, or whether I shall
be able to deceive him and the rest of them. For he certainly does appear
to me to contradict himself in the indictment as much as if he said that
Socrates is guilty of not believing in the gods, and yet of believing in
them—but this is not like a person who is in earnest.
I should like you, O men of Athens, to join me in examining what I
conceive to be his inconsistency; and do you, Meletus, answer. And I must
remind the audience of my request that they would not make a disturbance
if I speak in my accustomed manner:
Did ever man, Meletus, believe in the existence of human things, and
not of human beings?...I wish, men of Athens, that he would answer, and
not be always trying to get up an interruption. Did ever any man believe
in horsemanship, and not in horses? or in flute-playing, and not in flute-players?
No, my friend; I will answer to you and to the court, as you refuse to
answer for yourself. There is no man who ever did. But now please to answer
the next question: Can a man believe in spiritual and divine agencies,
and not in spirits or demigods?
He cannot.
How lucky I am to have extracted that answer, by the assistance of
the court! But then you swear in the indictment that I teach and believe
in divine or spiritual agencies (new or old, no matter for that); at any
rate, I believe in spiritual agencies,--so you say and swear in the affidavit;
and yet if I believe in divine beings, how can I help believing in spirits
or demigods;--must I not? To be sure I must; and therefore I may assume
that your silence gives consent. Now what are spirits or demigods? Are
they not either gods or the sons of gods?
Certainly they are.
But this is what I call the facetious riddle invented by you: the demigods
or spirits are gods, and you say first that I do not believe in gods, and
then again that I do believe in gods; that is, if I believe in demigods.
For if the demigods are the illegitimate sons of gods, whether by the nymphs
or by any other mothers, of whom they are said to be the sons—what human
being will ever believe that there are no gods if they are the sons of
gods? You might as well affirm the existence of mules, and deny that of
horses and asses. Such nonsense, Meletus, could only have been intended
by you to make trial of me. You have put this into the indictment because
you had nothing real of which to accuse me. But no one who has a particle
of understanding will ever be convinced by you that the same men can believe
in divine and superhuman things, and yet not believe that there are gods
and demigods and heroes.
I have said enough in answer to the charge of Meletus: any elaborate
defence is unnecessary, but I know only too well how many are the enmities
which I have incurred, and this is what will be my destruction if I am
destroyed;--not Meletus, nor yet Anytus, but the envy and detraction of
the world, which has been the death of many good men, and will probably
be the death of many more; there is no danger of my being the last of them.
Some one will say: And are you not ashamed, Socrates, of a course of
life which is likely to bring you to an untimely end? To him I may fairly
answer: There you are mistaken: a man who is good for anything ought not
to calculate the chance of living or dying; he ought only to consider whether
in doing anything he is doing right or wrong—acting the part of a good
man or of a bad. Whereas, upon your view, the heroes who fell at Troy were
not good for much, and the son of Thetis above all, who altogether despised
danger in comparison with disgrace; and when he was so eager to slay Hector,
his goddess mother said to him, that if he avenged his companion Patroclus,
and slew Hector, he would die himself—‘Fate,’ she said, in these or the
like words, ‘waits for you next after Hector;’ he, receiving this warning,
utterly despised danger and death, and instead of fearing them, feared
rather to live in dishonour, and not to avenge his friend. ‘Let me die
forthwith,’ he replies, ‘and be avenged of my enemy, rather than abide
here by the beaked ships, a laughing-stock and a burden of the earth.’
Had Achilles any thought of death and danger? For wherever a man’s place
is, whether the place which he has chosen or that in which he has been
placed by a commander, there he ought to remain in the hour of danger;
he should not think of death or of anything but of disgrace. And this,
O men of Athens, is a true saying.
Strange, indeed, would be my conduct, O men of Athens, if I who, when
I was ordered by the generals whom you chose to command me at Potidaea
and Amphipolis and Delium, remained where they placed me, like any other
man, facing death—if now, when, as I conceive and imagine, God orders me
to fulfil the philosopher’s mission of searching into myself and other
men, I were to desert my post through fear of death, or any other fear;
that would indeed be strange, and I might justly be arraigned in court
for denying the existence of the gods, if I disobeyed the oracle because
I was afraid of death, fancying that I was wise when I was not wise. For
the fear of death is indeed the pretence of wisdom, and not real wisdom,
being a pretence of knowing the unknown; and no one knows whether death,
which men in their fear apprehend to be the greatest evil, may not be the
greatest good. Is not this ignorance of a disgraceful sort, the ignorance
which is the conceit that a man knows what he does not know? And in this
respect only I believe myself to differ from men in general, and may perhaps
claim to be wiser than they are:--that whereas I know but little of the
world below, I do not suppose that I know: but I do know that injustice
and disobedience to a better, whether God or man, is evil and dishonourable,
and I will never fear or avoid a possible good rather than a certain evil.
And therefore if you let me go now, and are not convinced by Anytus, who
said that since I had been prosecuted I must be put to death; (or if not
that I ought never to have been prosecuted at all); and that if I escape
now, your sons will all be utterly ruined by listening to my words—if you
say to me, Socrates, this time we will not mind Anytus, and you shall be
let off, but upon one condition, that you are not to enquire and speculate
in this way any more, and that if you are caught doing so again you shall
die;--if this was the condition on which you let me go, I should reply:
Men of Athens, I honour and love you; but I shall obey God rather than
you, and while I have life and strength I shall never cease from the practice
and teaching of philosophy, exhorting any one whom I meet and saying to
him after my manner: You, my friend,--a citizen of the great and mighty
and wise city of Athens,--are you not ashamed of heaping up the greatest
amount of money and honour and reputation, and caring so little about wisdom
and truth and the greatest improvement of the soul, which you never regard
or heed at all? And if the person with whom I am arguing, says: Yes, but
I do care; then I do not leave him or let him go at once; but I proceed
to interrogate and examine and cross-examine him, and if I think that he
has no virtue in him, but only says that he has, I reproach him with undervaluing
the greater, and overvaluing the less. And I shall repeat the same words
to every one whom I meet, young and old, citizen and alien, but especially
to the citizens, inasmuch as they are my brethren. For know that this is
the command of God; and I believe that no greater good has ever happened
in the state than my service to the God. For I do nothing but go about
persuading you all, old and young alike, not to take thought for your persons
or your properties, but first and chiefly to care about the greatest improvement
of the soul. I tell you that virtue is not given by money, but that from
virtue comes money and every other good of man, public as well as private.
This is my teaching, and if this is the doctrine which corrupts the youth,
I am a mischievous person. But if any one says that this is not my teaching,
he is speaking an untruth. Wherefore, O men of Athens, I say to you, do
as Anytus bids or not as Anytus bids, and either acquit me or not; but
whichever you do, understand that I shall never alter my ways, not even
if I have to die many times.
Men of Athens, do not interrupt, but hear me; there was an understanding
between us that you should hear me to the end: I have something more to
say, at which you may be inclined to cry out; but I believe that to hear
me will be good for you, and therefore I beg that you will not cry out.
I would have you know, that if you kill such an one as I am, you will injure
yourselves more than you will injure me. Nothing will injure me, not Meletus
nor yet Anytus—they cannot, for a bad man is not permitted to injure a
better than himself. I do not deny that Anytus may, perhaps, kill him,
or drive him into exile, or deprive him of civil rights; and he may imagine,
and others may imagine, that he is inflicting a great injury upon him:
but there I do not agree. For the evil of doing as he is doing—the evil
of unjustly taking away the life of another—is greater far.
And now, Athenians, I am not going to argue for my own sake, as you
may think, but for yours, that you may not sin against the God by condemning
me, who am his gift to you. For if you kill me you will not easily find
a successor to me, who, if I may use such a ludicrous figure of speech,
am a sort of gadfly, given to the state by God; and the state is a great
and noble steed who is tardy in his motions owing to his very size, and
requires to be stirred into life. I am that gadfly which God has attached
to the state, and all day long and in all places am always fastening upon
you, arousing and persuading and reproaching you. You will not easily find
another like me, and therefore I would advise you to spare me. I dare say
that you may feel out of temper (like a person who is suddenly awakened
from sleep), and you think that you might easily strike me dead as Anytus
advises, and then you would sleep on for the remainder of your lives, unless
God in his care of you sent you another gadfly. When I say that I am given
to you by God, the proof of my mission is this:--if I had been like other
men, I should not have neglected all my own concerns or patiently seen
the neglect of them during all these years, and have been doing yours,
coming to you individually like a father or elder brother, exhorting you
to regard virtue; such conduct, I say, would be unlike human nature. If
I had gained anything, or if my exhortations had been paid, there would
have been some sense in my doing so; but now, as you will perceive, not
even the impudence of my accusers dares to say that I have ever exacted
or sought pay of any one; of that they have no witness. And I have a sufficient
witness to the truth of what I say—my poverty.
Some one may wonder why I go about in private giving advice and busying
myself with the concerns of others, but do not venture to come forward
in public and advise the state. I will tell you why. You have heard me
speak at sundry times and in divers places of an oracle or sign which comes
to me, and is the divinity which Meletus ridicules in the indictment. This
sign, which is a kind of voice, first began to come to me when I was a
child; it always forbids but never commands me to do anything which I am
going to do. This is what deters me from being a politician. And rightly,
as I think. For I am certain, O men of Athens, that if I had engaged in
politics, I should have perished long ago, and done no good either to you
or to myself. And do not be offended at my telling you the truth: for the
truth is, that no man who goes to war with you or any other multitude,
honestly striving against the many lawless and unrighteous deeds which
are done in a state, will save his life; he who will fight for the right,
if he would live even for a brief space, must have a private station and
not a public one.
I can give you convincing evidence of what I say, not words only, but
what you value far more—actions. Let me relate to you a passage of my own
life which will prove to you that I should never have yielded to injustice
from any fear of death, and that ‘as I should have refused to yield’ I
must have died at once. I will tell you a tale of the courts, not very
interesting perhaps, but nevertheless true. The only office of state which
I ever held, O men of Athens, was that of senator: the tribe Antiochis,
which is my tribe, had the presidency at the trial of the generals who
had not taken up the bodies of the slain after the battle of Arginusae;
and you proposed to try them in a body, contrary to law, as you all thought
afterwards; but at the time I was the only one of the Prytanes who was
opposed to the illegality, and I gave my vote against you; and when the
orators threatened to impeach and arrest me, and you called and shouted,
I made up my mind that I would run the risk, having law and justice with
me, rather than take part in your injustice because I feared imprisonment
and death. This happened in the days of the democracy. But when the oligarchy
of the Thirty was in power, they sent for me and four others into the rotunda,
and bade us bring Leon the Salaminian from Salamis, as they wanted to put
him to death. This was a specimen of the sort of commands which they were
always giving with the view of implicating as many as possible in their
crimes; and then I showed, not in word only but in deed, that, if I may
be allowed to use such an expression, I cared not a straw for death, and
that my great and only care was lest I should do an unrighteous or unholy
thing. For the strong arm of that oppressive power did not frighten
me into doing wrong; and when we came out of the rotunda the other four
went to Salamis and fetched Leon, but I went quietly home. For which I
might have lost my life, had not the power of the Thirty shortly afterwards
come to an end. And many will witness to my words.
Now do you really imagine that I could have survived all these years,
if I had led a public life, supposing that like a good man I had always
maintained the right and had made justice, as I ought, the first thing?
No indeed, men of Athens, neither I nor any other man. But I have been
always the same in all my actions, public as well as private, and never
have I yielded any base compliance to those who are slanderously termed
my disciples, or to any other. Not that I have any regular disciples. But
if any one likes to come and hear me while I am pursuing my mission, whether
he be young or old, he is not excluded. Nor do I converse only with those
who pay; but any one, whether he be rich or poor, may ask and answer me
and listen to my words; and whether he turns out to be a bad man or a good
one, neither result can be justly imputed to me; for I never taught or
professed to teach him anything. And if any one says that he has ever learned
or heard anything from me in private which all the world has not heard,
let me tell you that he is lying.
But I shall be asked, Why do people delight in continually conversing
with you? I have told you already, Athenians, the whole truth about this
matter: they like to hear the cross-examination of the pretenders to wisdom;
there is amusement in it. Now this duty of cross-examining other men has
been imposed upon me by God; and has been signified to me by oracles, visions,
and in every way in which the will of divine power was ever intimated to
any one. This is true, O Athenians, or, if not true, would be soon refuted.
If I am or have been corrupting the youth, those of them who are now grown
up and have become sensible that I gave them bad advice in the days of
their youth should come forward as accusers, and take their revenge; or
if they do not like to come themselves, some of their relatives, fathers,
brothers, or other kinsmen, should say what evil their families have suffered
at my hands. Now is their time. Many of them I see in the court. There
is Crito, who is of the same age and of the same deme with myself, and
there is Critobulus his son, whom I also see. Then again there is Lysanias
of Sphettus, who is the father of Aeschines—he is present; and also there
is Antiphon of Cephisus, who is the father of Epigenes; and there are the
brothers of several who have associated with me. There is Nicostratus the
son of Theosdotides, and the brother of Theodotus (now Theodotus himself
is dead, and therefore he, at any rate, will not seek to stop him); and
there is Paralus the son of Demodocus, who had a brother Theages; and Adeimantus
the son of Ariston, whose brother Plato is present; and Aeantodorus, who
is the brother of Apollodorus, whom I also see. I might mention a great
many others, some of whom Meletus should have produced as witnesses in
the course of his speech; and let him still produce them, if he has forgotten—I
will make way for him. And let him say, if he has any testimony of the
sort which he can produce. Nay, Athenians, the very opposite is the truth.
For all these are ready to witness on behalf of the corrupter, of the injurer
of their kindred, as Meletus and Anytus call me; not the corrupted youth
only—there might have been a motive for that—but their uncorrupted elder
relatives. Why should they too support me with their testimony? Why, indeed,
except for the sake of truth and justice, and because they know that I
am speaking the truth, and that Meletus is a liar.
Well, Athenians, this and the like of this is all the defence which
I have to offer. Yet a word more. Perhaps there may be some one who is
offended at me, when he calls to mind how he himself on a similar, or even
a less serious occasion, prayed and entreated the judges with many tears,
and how he produced his children in court, which was a moving spectacle,
together with a host of relations and friends; whereas I, who am probably
in danger of my life, will do none of these things. The contrast may occur
to his mind, and he may be set against me, and vote in anger because he
is displeased at me on this account. Now if there be such a person among
you,--mind, I do not say that there is,--to him I may fairly reply: My
friend, I am a man, and like other men, a creature of flesh and blood,
and not ‘of wood or stone,’ as Homer says; and I have a family, yes, and
sons, O Athenians, three in number, one almost a man, and two others who
are still young; and yet I will not bring any of them hither in order to
petition you for an acquittal. And why not? Not from any self-assertion
or want of respect for you. Whether I am or am not afraid of death is another
question, of which I will not now speak. But, having regard to public opinion,
I feel that such conduct would be discreditable to myself, and to you,
and to the whole state. One who has reached my years, and who has a name
for wisdom, ought not to demean himself. Whether this opinion of me be
deserved or not, at any rate the world has decided that Socrates is in
some way superior to other men. And if those among you who are said to
be superior in wisdom and courage, and any other virtue, demean themselves
in this way, how shameful is their conduct! I have seen men of reputation,
when they have been condemned, behaving in the strangest manner: they seemed
to fancy that they were going to suffer something dreadful if they died,
and that they could be immortal if you only allowed them to live; and I
think that such are a dishonour to the state, and that any stranger coming
in would have said of them that the most eminent men of Athens, to whom
the Athenians themselves give honour and command, are no better than women.
And I say that these things ought not to be done by those of us who have
a reputation; and if they are done, you ought not to permit them; you ought
rather to show that you are far more disposed to condemn the man who gets
up a doleful scene and makes the city ridiculous, than him who holds his
peace.
But, setting aside the question of public opinion, there seems to be
something wrong in asking a favour of a judge, and thus procuring an acquittal,
instead of informing and convincing him. For his duty is, not to make a
present of justice, but to give judgment; and he has sworn that he will
judge according to the laws, and not according to his own good pleasure;
and we ought not to encourage you, nor should you allow yourselves to be
encouraged, in this habit of perjury—there can be no piety in that. Do
not then require me to do what I consider dishonourable and impious and
wrong, especially now, when I am being tried for impiety on the indictment
of Meletus. For if, O men of Athens, by force of persuasion and entreaty
I could overpower your oaths, then I should be teaching you to believe
that there are no gods, and in defending should simply convict myself of
the charge of not believing in them. But that is not so—far otherwise.
For I do believe that there are gods, and in a sense higher than that in
which any of my accusers believe in them. And to you and to God I commit
my cause, to be determined by you as is best for you and me.
...
There are many reasons why I am not grieved, O men of Athens, at the
vote of condemnation. I expected it, and am only surprised that the votes
are so nearly equal; for I had thought that the majority against me would
have been far larger; but now, had thirty votes gone over to the other
side, I should have been acquitted. And I may say, I think, that I have
escaped Meletus. I may say more; for without the assistance of Anytus and
Lycon, any one may see that he would not have had a fifth part of the votes,
as the law requires, in which case he would have incurred a fine of a thousand
drachmae.
And so he proposes death as the penalty. And what shall I propose on
my part, O men of Athens? Clearly that which is my due. And what is my
due? What return shall be made to the man who has never had the wit
to be idle during his whole life; but has been careless of what the many
care for— wealth, and family interests, and military offices, and speaking
in the assembly, and magistracies, and plots, and parties. Reflecting that
I was really too honest a man to be a politician and live, I did not go
where I could do no good to you or to myself; but where I could do the
greatest good privately to every one of you, thither I went, and sought
to persuade every man among you that he must look to himself, and seek
virtue and wisdom before he looks to his private interests, and look to
the state before he looks to the interests of the state; and that this
should be the order which he observes in all his actions. What shall be
done to such an one? Doubtless some good thing, O men of Athens, if he
has his reward; and the good should be of a kind suitable to him. What
would be a reward suitable to a poor man who is your benefactor, and who
desires leisure that he may instruct you? There can be no reward so fitting
as maintenance in the Prytaneum, O men of Athens, a reward which he deserves
far more than the citizen who has won the prize at Olympia in the horse
or chariot race, whether the chariots were drawn by two horses or by many.
For I am in want, and he has enough; and he only gives you the appearance
of happiness, and I give you the reality. And if I am to estimate the penalty
fairly, I should say that maintenance in the Prytaneum is the just return.
Perhaps you think that I am braving you in what I am saying now, as
in what I said before about the tears and prayers. But this is not so.
I speak rather because I am convinced that I never intentionally wronged
any one, although I cannot convince you—the time has been too short; if
there were a law at Athens, as there is in other cities, that a capital
cause should not be decided in one day, then I believe that I should have
convinced you. But I cannot in a moment refute great slanders; and,
as I am convinced that I never wronged another, I will assuredly not wrong
myself. I will not say of myself that I deserve any evil, or propose any
penalty. Why should I? because I am afraid of the penalty of death
which Meletus proposes? When I do not know whether death is a good or an
evil, why should I propose a penalty which would certainly be an evil?
Shall I say imprisonment? And why should I live in prison, and be the slave
of the magistrates of the year—of the Eleven? Or shall the penalty be a
fine, and imprisonment until the fine is paid? There is the same objection.
I should have to lie in prison, for money I have none, and cannot pay.
And if I say exile (and this may possibly be the penalty which you will
affix), I must indeed be blinded by the love of life, if I am so irrational
as to expect that when you, who are my own citizens, cannot endure my discourses
and words, and have found them so grievous and odious that you will have
no more of them, others are likely to endure me. No indeed, men of Athens,
that is not very likely. And what a life should I lead, at my age, wandering
from city to city, ever changing my place of exile, and always being driven
out! For I am quite sure that wherever I go, there, as here, the young
men will flock to me; and if I drive them away, their elders will drive
me out at their request; and if I let them come, their fathers and friends
will drive me out for their sakes.
Some one will say: Yes, Socrates, but cannot you hold your tongue, and
then you may go into a foreign city, and no one will interfere with you?
Now I have great difficulty in making you understand my answer to this.
For if I tell you that to do as you say would be a disobedience to the
God, and therefore that I cannot hold my tongue, you will not believe that
I am serious; and if I say again that daily to discourse about virtue,
and of those other things about which you hear me examining myself and
others, is the greatest good of man, and that the unexamined life is not
worth living, you are still less likely to believe me. Yet I say what is
true, although a thing of which it is hard for me to persuade you. Also,
I have never been accustomed to think that I deserve to suffer any harm.
Had I money I might have estimated the offence at what I was able to pay,
and not have been much the worse. But I have none, and therefore I must
ask you to proportion the fine to my means. Well, perhaps I could afford
a mina, and therefore I propose that penalty: Plato, Crito, Critobulus,
and Apollodorus, my friends here, bid me say thirty minae, and they will
be the sureties. Let thirty minae be the penalty; for which sum they will
be ample security to you.
...
Not much time will be gained, O Athenians, in return for the evil name
which you will get from the detractors of the city, who will say that you
killed Socrates, a wise man; for they will call me wise, even although
I am not wise, when they want to reproach you. If you had waited a little
while, your desire would have been fulfilled in the course of nature. For
I am far advanced in years, as you may perceive, and not far from death.
I am speaking now not to all of you, but only to those who have condemned
me to death. And I have another thing to say to them: you think that I
was convicted because I had no words of the sort which would have procured
my acquittal—I mean, if I had thought fit to leave nothing undone or unsaid.
Not so; the deficiency which led to my conviction was not of words— certainly
not. But I had not the boldness or impudence or inclination to address
you as you would have liked me to do, weeping and wailing and lamenting,
and saying and doing many things which you have been accustomed to hear
from others, and which, as I maintain, are unworthy of me. I thought at
the time that I ought not to do anything common or mean when in danger:
nor do I now repent of the style of my defence; I would rather die having
spoken after my manner, than speak in your manner and live. For neither
in war nor yet at law ought I or any man to use every way of escaping death.
Often in battle there can be no doubt that if a man will throw away his
arms, and fall on his knees before his pursuers, he may escape death; and
in other dangers there are other ways of escaping death, if a man is willing
to say and do anything. The difficulty, my friends, is not to avoid death,
but to avoid unrighteousness; for that runs faster than death. I am old
and move slowly, and the slower runner has overtaken me, and my accusers
are keen and quick, and the faster runner, who is unrighteousness, has
overtaken them. And now I depart hence condemned by you to suffer the penalty
of death,--they too go their ways condemned by the truth to suffer the
penalty of villainy and wrong; and I must abide by my award—let them abide
by theirs. I suppose that these things may be regarded as fated,--and I
think that they are well.
And now, O men who have condemned me, I would fain prophesy to you;
for I am about to die, and in the hour of death men are gifted with prophetic
power. And I prophesy to you who are my murderers, that immediately after
my departure punishment far heavier than you have inflicted on me will
surely await you. Me you have killed because you wanted to escape the accuser,
and not to give an account of your lives. But that will not be as you suppose:
far otherwise. For I say that there will be more accusers of you than there
are now; accusers whom hitherto I have restrained: and as they are younger
they will be more inconsiderate with you, and you will be more offended
at them. If you think that by killing men you can prevent some one from
censuring your evil lives, you are mistaken; that is not a way of escape
which is either possible or honourable; the easiest and the noblest way
is not to be disabling others, but to be improving yourselves. This
is the prophecy which I utter before my departure to the judges who have
condemned me.
Friends, who would have acquitted me, I would like also to talk with
you about the thing which has come to pass, while the magistrates are busy,
and before I go to the place at which I must die. Stay then a little, for
we may as well talk with one another while there is time. You are my friends,
and I should like to show you the meaning of this event which has happened
to me. O my judges—for you I may truly call judges—I should like to tell
you of a wonderful circumstance. Hitherto the divine faculty of which the
internal oracle is the source has constantly been in the habit of opposing
me even about trifles, if I was going to make a slip or error in any matter;
and now as you see there has come upon me that which may be thought, and
is generally believed to be, the last and worst evil. But the oracle made
no sign of opposition, either when I was leaving my house in the morning,
or when I was on my way to the court, or while I was speaking, at anything
which I was going to say; and yet I have often been stopped in the middle
of a speech, but now in nothing I either said or did touching the matter
in hand has the oracle opposed me. What do I take to be the explanation
of this silence? I will tell you. It is an intimation that what has happened
to me is a good, and that those of us who think that death is an evil are
in error. For the customary sign would surely have opposed me had I been
going to evil and not to good.
Let us reflect in another way, and we shall see that there is great
reason to hope that death is a good; for one of two things—either death
is a state of nothingness and utter unconsciousness, or, as men say, there
is a change and migration of the soul from this world to another. Now if
you suppose that there is no consciousness, but a sleep like the sleep
of him who is undisturbed even by dreams, death will be an unspeakable
gain. For if a person were to select the night in which his sleep was undisturbed
even by dreams, and were to compare with this the other days and nights
of his life, and then were to tell us how many days and nights he had passed
in the course of his life better and more pleasantly than this one, I think
that any man, I will not say a private man, but even the great king will
not find many such days or nights, when compared with the others. Now if
death be of such a nature, I say that to die is gain; for eternity is then
only a single night. But if death is the journey to another place, and
there, as men say, all the dead abide, what good, O my friends and judges,
can be greater than this? If indeed when the pilgrim arrives in the world
below, he is delivered from the professors of justice in this world, and
finds the true judges who are said to give judgment there, Minos and Rhadamanthus
and Aeacus and Triptolemus, and other sons of God who were righteous in
their own life, that pilgrimage will be worth making. What would not a
man give if he might converse with Orpheus and Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer?
Nay, if this be true, let me die again and again. I myself, too, shall
have a wonderful interest in there meeting and conversing with Palamedes,
and Ajax the son of Telamon, and any other ancient hero who has suffered
death through an unjust judgment; and there will be no small pleasure,
as I think, in comparing my own sufferings with theirs. Above all, I shall
then be able to continue my search into true and false knowledge; as in
this world, so also in the next; and I shall find out who is wise, and
who pretends to be wise, and is not. What would not a man give, O judges,
to be able to examine the leader of the great Trojan expedition; or Odysseus
or Sisyphus, or numberless others, men and women too! What infinite delight
would there be in conversing with them and asking them questions! In another
world they do not put a man to death for asking questions: assuredly not.
For besides being happier than we are, they will be immortal, if what is
said is true.
Wherefore, O judges, be of good cheer about death, and know of a certainty,
that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death. He
and his are not neglected by the gods; nor has my own approaching end happened
by mere chance. But I see clearly that the time had arrived when it was
better for me to die and be released from trouble; wherefore the oracle
gave no sign. For which reason, also, I am not angry with my condemners,
or with my accusers; they have done me no harm, although they did not mean
to do me any good; and for this I may gently blame them.
Still I have a favour to ask of them. When my sons are grown up, I
would ask you, O my friends, to punish them; and I would have you trouble
them, as I have troubled you, if they seem to care about riches, or anything,
more than about virtue; or if they pretend to be something when they are
really nothing,--then reprove them, as I have reproved you, for not caring
about that for which they ought to care, and thinking that they are something
when they are really nothing. And if you do this, both I and my sons will
have received justice at your hands.
The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways—I to die, and
you to live. Which is better God only knows.