Authors born between
500 and 400 BCE
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Contents
Introduction
The
Trial
The
Search for Wisdom
Acting
the Part of the Good Man
The
Sentence
The
Greatest Good
Death
Source
Socrates is said to have been born in 469 BCE and died
in 399 BCE. Whether this information and his whole life are fictional
creations or not is unclear. There are experts who argue for a historical
Socrates; there are other experts who claim that he was a fictional character
created independently by Plato, Aristophanes, and Xenophon—each of whom
fashioned a different type of Socrates. Nevertheless, philosophers are
generally agreed that if Socrates did not exist, it would be necessary for
Plato to create him, because of Socrates' remarkable contribution to philosophy.
He argued that by subjecting our moral beliefs to logical scrutiny we
could gain a better understanding of ourselves and of the proper way of
life. To him, the life that is unexamined is not worth living.
Socrates was said to enter daily into public argument with anyone who
would consent to talk with him, examining a person's beliefs by a series of
questions directed towards bringing internal contradictions to light. His
scrutiny of beliefs underlying suppositions of moral superiority probably made
him enemies in the political and religious hierarchies of his time. At the age
of 70 he was brought to trial on the charges that he refused to recognize the
gods of the city, proposed other new divinities, and corrupted the youth of
the city. He was found guilty by a small margin among about 500 jurors, and
was sentenced to death by poison. He was a pious man, professing belief in the
Athenian gods. However, he claimed that a divine voice gave him guidance.
People receiving direct guidance from a deity are always a threat to
established political and religious institutions; so, by undermining his
city's exclusive control over religious matters, Socrates may have
precipitated the charges against him.
Plato is said to have been a pupil of Socrates, and his descriptions of
the dialogues between Socrates and various eminent Athenians are considered in
some cases to based on fact. This is a tenable supposition for the early
dialogues, but not for later dialogues written some fifteen years after the
death of Socrates. In the latter there is a clear development of Plato's
theory of ideas and ideal forms, in which Socrates showed little interest,
even when he was alive. So that in the later dialogues, Plato appears to be
using Socrates' reputation to promote his own agenda. In the earlier
dialogues,
The Apology is a record of Socrates' testimony at his trial, and
provides one of the best descriptions of his beliefs. Extracts from this
follow.
1 How you have
felt, men of Athens, at hearing the speeches of my accusers, I cannot tell;
but 1 know that their persuasive words almost made me forget who I was, such
was the effect of them. And yet they have hardly spoken a word of truth. But
many as their falsehoods were, there was one of them that quite amazed me. I
mean when they told you to be upon your guard, and not to let yourselves be
deceived by the force of my eloquence. They ought to have been ashamed of
saying this, because they were sure to be detected as soon as I opened my lips
and displayed my deficiency. They certainly did appear to be most shameless in
saying this, unless by the force of eloquence they mean the force of truth;
for then I do indeed admit that I am eloquent. But in how different a way from
theirs!
Well, as I was saying, they have hardly uttered a word, or not more
than a word, of truth; but you shall hear from me the whole truth: not,
however, delivered after their manner, in a set oration duly ornamented with
words and phrases. No, indeed! I shall use the words and arguments which occur
to me at the moment; for I am certain that this is right, and that at my time
of life I ought not to be appearing before you, men of Athens, in the
character of a juvenile orator—let no one expect this of me.
And
I must beg of you to grant me one favor, which is this. If you hear me using
the same words in my defense which I have been in the habit of using, and
which most of you may have heard in the agora, and at the tables of the
money-changers, or anywhere else, I would ask you not to be surprised at this,
and not to interrupt me. For I am more than seventy years of age, and this is
the first time that I have ever appeared in a court of law, and I am quite a
stranger to the ways 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.
2 I will begin at
the beginning, and ask what the accusation is which has given rise to this
slander of me, and which has encouraged Meletus to proceed against me. 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.
3 That is the
nature of the accusation, and that is what you have seen yourselves in the
comedy of Aristophanes, who has introduced a man whom he calls Socrates, going
about and saying that he can walk in the 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 say anything disparaging of any one who is a student of
natural philosophy. I should be very sorry if Meletus could lay that to my
charge. But the simple truth is, Athenians, that I have nothing to do with
these studies. 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
neighbors whether any of you have ever known me hold forth in few words or in
many upon matters of this sort . . . You hear their answer. And from what they
say of this you will be able to judge of the truth of the rest.
4
There is as little foundation for the report that I am a teacher, and
take money; that is no more true than the other. Although, if a man is able to
teach, I honor him for being paid. There is Gorgias of Leontium, and Prodieus
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
actually a Parian philosopher residing in Athens, of whom I have heard; and I
came to hear of him in this way. I met Callias, the son of Hipponieus, a man
who has spent a world of money on the sophists, and knowing that he had sons,
I asked him: “Callias, if your two sons were foals or calves, there would be
no difficulty in finding some one to put over them; we would 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 this as you have sons; is there
any one?”
“There is,”
he said.
“Who is he?”
I asked, “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 thought, if he really has this wisdom, and teaches at such a modest 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, men of Athens.
5 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 there was any one
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 this story.
6
After long consideration, I at last 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 oracle with a refutation in my hand. I would say to him, “Here
is a man who is wiser than I am; but you said that I was the wisest.”
7
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 wiser still by himself; and I went
and 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.
8
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 philosophical pretensions, and my conclusion was exactly the same. I
made another enemy of him, and of many others besides him.
9 After this I went
to one man after another, being not unconscious of the enmity that I
provoked, and I lamented and feared this: but necessity was laid upon me. . .
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 of
highest repute were all but the most foolish; and that some inferior men were
really wiser and better.
10
When I left the politicians, I went to the poets; tragic, dithyrambic,
and all sorts. And there, I said to myself, you will be 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 speak of this, but still I must say that
there is hardly a person present who would not have talked better about their
poetry than they did themselves. That showed me in an instant 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. And the poets appeared to me to be much in the
same situation; 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.
11
At last I went to the artisans, for I was conscious that I knew nothing
at all, as I may say, and I was sure that they knew many fine things; and in
this 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—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 the oracle that I was better off as I was.
This
investigation 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. . .
12
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 examine others themselves.
There are plenty of persons, as they soon enough 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 practice or teach? They do
not know, and can not 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 of 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
all in battle array and have persuasive tongues, they have filled your
ears
with their loud and inveterate calumnies.
13
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.
14
For this fear of death is indeed the pretence of wisdom, and not real
wisdom, being the appearance of knowing the unknown; since no one knows
whether death, which they in their fear apprehend to be the greatest evil, may
not be the greatest good. Is there not here false display of knowledge, which
is a disgraceful sort of ignorance?
15
Men of Athens, do not interrupt, but hear me; there was an agreement
between us that you should hear me out. And I think that what I am going to
say will do you good: for I have something more to say at which you may be
inclined to cry out; but I beg that you will not do this. 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. Meletus and Anytus will not injure me: they can not;
for it is not in the nature of things that a bad man should injure a better
than himself. I do not deny that he 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 doing him a great injury. But in that I do not agree with
him; for the evil of doing as Anytus is doing—of unjustly taking away
another man's life—is greater far.
16
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
supported the right party and had made justice for them, as I ought, the first
thing? No indeed, men of Athens, neither I nor any other. 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. For the truth is that I have no 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 may freely come. Nor do I converse
only with those who pay, and not with those who do not 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, that can not be justly
laid to my charge, as I never taught 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, I should like you to know that he is speaking an untruth.
17
Well, Athenians, this and the like of this is nearly all the defense
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 on
a less serious occasion, had recourse to prayers and supplications with many
tears, and how he produced his children in court, which was a moving
spectacle, together with a posse of his relations and friends; whereas I,
who am probably in danger of my life, will do none of these things. Perhaps
this may come into his mind, and he may be set against me, and vote in anger
because he is displeased at this. Now if there be such a person among you, which I am far from affirming,
I may fairly reply to him: My friend, I am a man, and like other men, a
creature of flesh and blood and not, as Homer says, of wood or stone; and I
have a family, yes, and sons, men of Athens, three in number, one of whom is
growing up, and the two others 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-will or disregard of you. Whether 1 am
or am not afraid of death is another question, of which I will not now speak.
But my reason simply is, that I feel such conduct to be discreditable to
myself, and you, and the whole state. One who has reached my years, and who
has a name for wisdom, whether deserved or not, ought not to demean himself.
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!
18
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 they were a dishonor to the
state, and that any stranger coming in would say of them that the most eminent
men of Athens, to whom the Athenians themselves give honor and command, are no
better than women. And I say that these things ought not to be done by those
of us who are of reputation; and if they are done, you ought not to permit
them; you ought rather to show that you are more inclined to condemn, not the
man who is quiet, but the man who gets up a doleful scene, and makes the city
ridiculous.
19
But, setting aside the question of dishonor, there seems to be
something wrong in petitioning 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 neither he nor we
should get into the habit of perjuring ourselves—there can be no piety in
that. Do not then require me to do what I consider dishonorable and impious
and wrong, especially now, when I am being tried for impiety on the indictment
of Meletus.
20
There are many reasons why I am not grieved, men of Athens, at the vote
of condemnation. I expected this, 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 would be able to say that I have escaped Meletus.
And I may say more; for without the assistance of Anytus and Lyeon, he would
not have had a fifth part of the votes, as the law requires, in which ease
he would have incurred a fine of a thousand drachmae, as is evident.
21
And so he proposes death as the penalty. And what shall I propose on my
part, men of Athens? Clearly that which is my due. And what is that which I
ought to pay or to receive? What shall be done 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 about—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 follow in this way 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, there 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.
22
What shall be done to such an one? Doubtless some good thing, 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, who
desires leisure that he may instruct you? There can be no more fitting reward,
men of Athens, than maintenance in the Prytaneum [the religious and political
center where dignitaries were entertained at the expense of the state]—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 justly, I say that maintenance in the Prytaneum is the
just return.
23
Perhaps you may think that I am braving you in saying this, as in what
I said before about the tears and prayers. But that is not the ease. I speak
rather because I am convinced that I never intentionally wronged any one,
although I can not convince you of that—for we have had a short conversation
only; but if there were a law at Athens, such as there is in other cities,
that a capital cause should not be decided in one day, then I believe that I would have convinced you; but now the time is too short. I can not 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 can not
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 do not consider
that when you, who are my own citizens, can not endure my discourses and
words, and have found them so grievous and odious that you would fain have
done with them, others are unlikely to endure me. No indeed, men of Athens,
that is not very likely.
24
And what a life should I lead, at my age, wandering from city to city,
living in ever-changing exile, and always being driven out! For I am quite
sure that into whatever place I go, as here so also there, the young men will
come to me; and if I drive them away, their elders will drive me out at their
desire; and if I let them come, their fathers and friends will drive me out
for their sakes.
25
Some one will say: Yes, Socrates, but can you not 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 this would be a disobedience to a divine command, and
therefore that I can not hold my tongue, you will not believe that I am
serious; and if I say again that the greatest good of man is daily to converse
about virtue, and all that, concerning which you hear me examining myself and
others, and that the life which is unexamined is not worth living—that you
are still less likely to believe. And yet what I say is true, although a thing
of which it is hard for me to persuade you.
26
Moreover, I am not accustomed to think that I deserve any punishment.
Had I money I might have proposed to give you what I had, and have been none
the worse. But you see that I have none, and can only ask you to proportion
the fine to my means. However, I think that 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. Well,
then, say thirty minae, let that be the penalty; for that they will be ample
security to you.
27
Not much time will be gained, 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 only to those of you who have condemned me to death. And I have another
thing to say to them: You think that I was convicted through deficiency of
words—I mean, that if I had thought fit to leave nothing undone, nothing
unsaid, I might have gained an acquittal. 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 address
you, weeping mid wailing and lamenting, and saying and doing many things which
you have been accustomed to hear from others, and which, as I say, are
unworthy of me.
28
But I thought that I ought not to do anything common or mean in the
hour of danger: nor do I now repent of the manner of my defense, and 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 any man to use every way of
escaping death. For often in battle there is 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 in avoiding death, but in avoiding
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, and they too go
their ways condemned by the truth to suffer the penalty of villainy and wrong.
And as 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.
29
And now, you men who have condemned me, I would like to prophesy to you;
for I am about to die, and that is the hour in which men are gifted with
prophetic power. And I prophesy to you who are my murderers that immediately
after my death 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 severe with you, and you will be more offended at
them. For if you think that by killing men you can avoid the accusers
censuring your lives, you are mistaken. That is not a way of escape which is
either possible or honorable. The easiest and the noblest way is not to be
crushing others, but to by improving yourselves. This is the prophecy which I
utter before my departure to the judges who have condemned me.
30
Friends who would have acquitted me, I would like also to talk with you
about this thing which has happened, while the magistrates are busy, and
before I go to the place at which I must die. Stay then awhile, for we may as
well talk with one another while there is time. . .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 the sight of 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 just a private man, but even the great king—will not
find many such days or nights, when compared with the others. Now if death is
like this, 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 are,
what good, 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 . . .What would not a man give if he might converse with Orpheus and
Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer?
31
Wherefore, my judges, be of good cheer about death, and know this of a
truth—that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death.
32
When my sons are grown up, I would ask you, my friends, to punish them
(and I would have you trouble them, as I have troubled you) if they seem to
care more about riches, or anything else, 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, I and my sons will have received justice at your hands.
Adapted from The Works of Plato, translated by
Benjamin Jowett, Vol. 2, Tudor
Publishing Company, New York, N.Y. p 101 et seq. An electronic text version is available from Project
Gutenberg via FTP.
Selection and adaptation Copyright © Rex Pay 2000