柏拉图《申辩篇》(英文本)Plato Apology

Apology

By Plato

Translated witn an introduction by Benjamin Jowett

Introduction

In what relation the Apology of Plato stands to the real defence of Socrates, there are

no means of determining. It certainly agrees in tone and character with the description

of Xenophon, who says in the Memorabilia that Socrates might have been acquitted

‘if in any moderate degree he would have conciliated the favour of the dicasts;’ and

who

informs

us

in

another

passage,

on

the

testimony

of

Hermogenes,

the

friend

of

Socrates, that he had no wish to live; and that the divine sign refused to allow him to

prepare a defence, and also that Socrates himself declared this to be unnecessary, on

the

ground

that

all

his

life

long

he

had

been

preparing

against

that

hour.

For

the

speech breathes throughout a spirit of defiance, (ut non supplex aut reus sed magister

aut dominus videretur esse judicum’ (Cic. de Orat.); and the loose and desultory style

is an imitation of the ‘accustomed manner’ in which Socrates spoke in ‘the agora and

among the tables of the money-

changers.’ The allusion in the Crito may, perhaps, be

adduced as a further evidence of the literal accuracy of some parts. But in the main it

must

be

regarded

as

the

ideal

of

Socrates,

according

to

Plato’s

conception

of

him,

appearing in

the

greatest

and most public scene

of his

life, and in

the height

of his

triumph, when he is weakest, and

yet his mastery over mankind is greatest, and his

habitual irony acquires a new meaning and a sort of tragic pathos in the face of death.

The facts of his life are summed up, and the features of his character are brought out

as if by accident in the course of the defence. The conversational manner, the seeming

want of arrangement, the ironical simplicity, are found to result in a perfect work of

art, which is the portrait of Socrates.

Yet some of the topics may have been actually used by Socrates; and the recollection

of his very words may have rung in the ears of his disciple. The Apology of Plato may

be compared generally with those speeches of Thucydides in which he has embodied

his conception of the lofty character and policy of the great Pericles, and which at the

same time furnish a commentary on the situation of affairs from the point of view of

the historian. So in the Apology there is an ideal rather than a literal truth; much is

said which was not said, and is only Plato’s view of the situation. Plato was not, like

Xenophon,

a

chronicler

of

facts;

he

does

not

appear

in

any

of

his

writings

to

have

aimed

at

literal

accuracy.

He

is

not

therefore

to

be

supplemented

from

the

Memorabilia and Symposium of Xenophon, who belongs to an entirely different class

of

writers.

The

Apology

of

Plato

is

not

the

report

of

what

Socrates

said,

but

an

elaborate composition, quite as much so in fact as one of the Dialogues. And we may

perhaps

even

indulge

in

the

fancy

that

the

actual

defence

of

Socrates

was

as

much

greater than the Platonic defence as the master was greater than the disciple. But in

any case, some of the words used by him must have been remembered, and some of

the facts

recorded must have actually occurred. It

is

significant

that Plato is

said

to

have been present at the defence (Apol.), as he is also said to have been absent at the

last scene in the Phaedo. Is it fanciful to suppose that he meant to give the stamp of

authenticity to the one and not to the other?

—

especially when we consider that these

two

passages

are

the

only

ones

in

which

Plato

makes

mention

of

himself.

The

circumstance that Plato was to be one of his sureties for the payment of the fine which

he

proposed

has

the

appearance

of

truth.

More

suspicious

is

the

statement

that

Socrates

received

the

first

impulse

to

his

favourite

calling

of

cross- examining

the

world

from

the

Oracle

of

Delphi;

for

he

must

already

have

been

famous

before

Chaerephon went to consult the Oracle (Riddell), and the story is of a kind which is

very likely to have been invented. On the whole we arrive at the conclusion that the

Apology

is

true

to

the

character

of

Socrates,

but

we

cannot

show

that

any

single

sentence in it was actually spoken by him. It breathes the spirit of Socrates, but has

been cast anew in the mould of Plato.

There is not much in the other Dialogues which can be compared with the Apology.

The same recollection of his master may have been present to the mind of Plato when

depicting the sufferings of the Just in the Republic. The Crito may also be regarded as

a sort of appendage to the Apology, in which Socrates, who has defied the judges, is

nevertheless represented as scrupulously obedient to the laws. The idealization of the

sufferer is carried still further in the Gorgias, in which the thesis is maintained, that

‘to suffer is better than to do evil;’ and the art of rhetoric is described as only useful

for

the

purpose

of

self-accusation.

The

parallelisms

which

occur

in

the

so-called

Apology of Xenophon are not worth noticing, because the writing in which they are

contained

is

manifestly

spurious.

The

statements

of

the

Memorabilia

respecting

the

trial and death of Socrates agree generally with Plato; but they have lost the flavour of

Socratic irony in the narrative of Xenophon.

The

Apology

or

Platonic

defence

of

Socrates

is

divided

into

three

parts:

1st.

The

defence properly so called; 2nd. The shorter address in mitigation of the penalty; 3rd.

The last words of prophetic rebuke and exhortation.

The

first

part

commences

with

an

apology

for

his

colloquial

style;

he

is,

as

he

has

always been, the enemy of rhetoric, and knows of no rhetoric but truth; he will not

falsify his character by making a speech. Then he proceeds to divide his accusers into

two classes; first, there is the nameless accuser

—

public opinion. All the world from

their

earliest

years

had

heard

that

he

was

a

corrupter

of

youth,

and

had

seen

him

caricatured in the Clouds of Aristophanes. Secondly, there are the professed accusers,

who are but the mouth-piece of the others. The accusations of both might be summed

up

in

a

formula.

The

first

say,

‘Socrates

is

an

evil

-doer

and

a

curious

person,

searching

into

things

under

the

earth

and

above

the

heaven;

and

making

the

worse

appear the better cause, and teaching all this to others.’ The second, ‘Socrates is an

evil-doer and corrupter of the youth, who does not receive the gods whom the state

receives, but introduces other new divinities.’

These last words appear to have been

the

actual

indictment

(compare

Xen.

Mem.);

and

the

previous

formula,

which

is

a

summary of public opinion, assumes the same legal style.

The

answer

begins

by

clearing

up

a

confusion.

In

the

representations

of

the

Comic

poets, and in the opinion of the multitude, he had been identified with the teachers of

physical

science

and

with

the

Sophists.

But

this

was

an

error.

For

both

of

them

he

professes

a

respect

in

the

open

court,

which

contrasts

with

his

manner

of

speaking

about them in other places. (Compare for Anaxagoras, Phaedo, Laws; for the Sophists,

Meno, Republic, Tim., Theaet., Soph., etc.) But at the same time he shows that he is

not one of them. Of natural philosophy he knows nothing; not that he despises such

pursuits, but the fact is that he is ignorant of them, and never says a word about them.

Nor

is

he

paid

for

giving

instruction

—

that

is

another

mistaken

notion:

—

he

has

nothing to teach. But he commends Evenus for teaching virtue at such a ‘moderate’

rate

as

five

minae.

Something

of

the

‘accustomed

irony,’

which

may

perhaps

be

expected to sleep in the ear of the multitude, is lurking here.

He then goes on to explain the reason why he is in such an evil name. That had arisen

out

of

a

peculiar

mission

which

he

had

taken

upon

himself.

The

enthusiastic

Chaerephon (probably in anticipation of the answer which he received) had gone to

Delphi and asked the oracle if there was any man wiser than Socrates; and the answer

was, that there was no man wiser. What could be the meaning of this

—

that he who

knew nothing, and knew that he knew nothing, should be declared by the oracle to be

the wisest of men? Reflecting upon the answer, he determined to refute it by finding

‘a wiser;’ and first he went to the politicians, and then to

the poets, and then to the

craftsmen,

but

always

with

the

same

result

—

he

found

that

they

knew

nothing,

or

hardly anything more than himself; and that the little advantage which in some cases

they

possessed

was

more

than

counter-balanced

by

their

conceit

of

knowledge.

He

knew

nothing,

and

knew

that

he

knew

nothing:

they

knew

little

or

nothing,

and

imagined that they knew all things. Thus he had passed his life as a sort of missionary

in

detecting

the

pretended

wisdom

of

mankind;

and

this

occupation

had

quite

absorbed him and taken him away both from public and private affairs. Young men of

the richer sort had made a pastime of the same pursuit, ‘which was not unamusing.’

And

hence

bitter

enmities

had

arisen;

the

professors

of

knowledge

had

revenged

themselves

by

calling

him

a

villainous

corrupter

of

youth,

and

by

repeating

the

commonplaces

about

atheism

and

materialism

and

sophistry,

which

are

the

stock- accusations

against

all

philosophers

when

there

is

nothing

else

to

be

said

of

them.

The second accusation he meets by interrogating Meletus, who is present and can be

interrogated. ‘If he is the corrupter, who is the improver of the citizens?’ (Compare

Meno.) ‘All men everywhere.’ But how absurd, how contrary to analogy is this! How

inconceivable too, that he should make the citizens worse when he has to live with

them. This surely cannot be intentional; and if unintentional, he ought to have been

instructed by Meletus, and not accused in the court.

But

there

is

another

part

of

the

indictment

which

says

that

he

teaches

men

not

to

receive the gods whom the city receives, and has other new gods. ‘Is that the way in

which he is supposed to corrupt the youth?’ ‘Yes, it is.’ ‘Has he only new gods, or

none at all?’ ‘None at all.’ ‘What, not even the sun and moon?’ ‘No;

why, he says that

the sun is

a stone, and the moon

earth.’ That,

replies Socrates, is

the old confusion

about

Anaxagoras;

the

Athenian

people

are

not

so

ignorant

as

to

attribute

to

the

influence of Socrates notions which have found their way into the drama, and may be

learned at the theatre. Socrates undertakes to show that Meletus (rather unjustifiably)

has been compounding a riddle in this part of the indictment: ‘There are no gods, but

Socrates believes in the existence of the sons of gods, which is abs

urd.’

Leaving

Meletus,

who

has

had

enough

words

spent

upon

him,

he

returns

to

the

original accusation. The question may be asked, Why will he persist in following a

profession

which

leads

him

to

death?

Why?

—

because

he

must

remain

at

his

post

where

the

god

has

placed

him,

as

he

remained

at

Potidaea,

and

Amphipolis,

and

Delium, where the generals placed him. Besides, he is not so overwise as to imagine

that he knows whether death is a good or an evil; and he is certain that desertion of his

duty is an evil. Anytus is quite right in saying that they should never have indicted

him if they meant to let him go. For he will certainly obey God rather than man; and

will continue to preach to all men of all ages the necessity of virtue and improvement;

and if they refuse to listen to him he will still persevere and reprove them. This is his

way of corrupting the youth, which he will not cease to follow in obedience to the god,

even if a thousand deaths await him.

He

is

desirous

that

they

should

let

him

live

—

not

for

his

own

sake,

but

for

theirs;

because he is their heaven-sent friend (and they will never have such another), or, as

he may be ludicrously

described, he is

the

gadfly

who stirs the

generous steed into

motion.

Why

then

has

he

never

taken

part

in

public

affairs?

Because

the

familiar

divine voice has hindered him; if he had been a public man, and had fought for the

right, as he would certainly have fought against the many, he would not have lived,

and could therefore have done no good. Twice in public matters he has risked his life

for the sake of justice

—

once at the trial of the generals; and again in resistance to the

tyrannical commands of the Thirty.

But,

though

not

a

public

man,

he

has

passed

his

days

in

instructing

the

citizens

without fee or reward

—

this was his mission. Whether his disciples have turned out

well or ill, he cannot justly be charged with the result, for he never promised to teach

them anything. They might come if they liked, and they might stay away if they liked:

and

they

did

come,

because

they

found

an

amusement

in

hearing

the

pretenders

to

wisdom detected. If they have been corrupted, their elder relatives (if not themselves)

might surely come into court and witness against him, and there is an opportunity still

for them to appear. But their

fathers and brothers all appear in court (including ‘this’

Plato), to witness on his behalf; and if their relatives are corrupted, at least they are

uncorrupted; ‘and they are my witnesses. For they know that I am speaking the truth,

and that Meletus is l

ying.’

This

is

about all that he has

to

say. He will not

entreat

the judges to

spare his

life;

neither will he present a spectacle of weeping children, although he, too, is not made

of ‘rock or oak.’ Some of the judges themselves may have complied with thi

s practice

on

similar

occasions,

and

he

trusts

that

they

will

not

be

angry

with

him

for

not

following their example. But he feels that such conduct brings discredit on the name

of

Athens:

he

feels

too,

that

the

judge

has

sworn

not

to

give

away

justice;

and

he

cannot

be

guilty

of

the

impiety

of

asking

the

judge

to

break

his

oath,

when

he

is

himself being tried for impiety.

As

he

expected,

and

probably

intended,

he

is

convicted.

And

now

the

tone

of

the

speech,

instead

of

being

more

conciliatory,

becomes

more

lofty

and

commanding.

Anytus proposes death

as the penalty:

and what

counter-proposition shall he make?

He, the benefactor of the Athenian people, whose whole life has been spent in doing

them good, should at

least

have the Olympic victor’s reward of maint

enance in

the

Prytaneum. Or why should he propose any counter-penalty when he does not know

whether death,

which Anytus proposes, is a good or an evil? And he is

certain that

imprisonment is an evil, exile is an evil. Loss of money might be an evil, but then he

has none to give; perhaps he can make up a mina. Let that be the penalty, or, if his

friends wish, thirty minae; for which they will be excellent securities.

(He is condemned to death.)

He

is

an

old

man

already,

and

the

Athenians

will

gain

nothing

but

disgrace

by

depriving him of a few years of life. Perhaps he could have escaped, if he had chosen

to throw down his arms and entreat for his life. But he does not at all repent of the

manner of his defence; he would rather die in his own fashion than live in theirs. For

the

penalty

of

unrighteousness

is

swifter

than

death;

that

penalty

has

already

overtaken his accusers as death will soon overtake him.

And now, as one who is about to die, he will prophesy to them. They have put him to

death in order to escape the necessity of giving an account of their lives. But his death

‘will be the seed’ of many disciples who will convince them of their evil ways, and

will come forth to reprove them in harsher terms, because they are younger and more

inconsiderate.

He

would

like

to

say

a

few

words,

while

there

is

time,

to

those

who

would

have

acquitted him. He wishes them to know that the divine sign never interrupted him in

the course of his defence; the reason of which, as he conjectures, is that the death to

which he is going is a good and not an evil. For either death is a long sleep, the best of

sleeps,

or

a

journey

to

another

world

in

which

the

souls

of

the

dead

are

gathered

together, and in which there may be a hope of seeing the heroes of old

—

in which, too,

there are just judges; and as all are immortal, there can be no fear of any one suffering

death for his opinions.

Nothing evil can happen to the good man either in life or death, and his own death has

been permitted by the gods, because it was better for him to depart; and therefore he

forgives his judges because they have done him no harm, although they never meant

to do him any good.

He

has

a

last

request

to

make

to

them

—

that

they

will

trouble

his

sons

as

he

has

troubled

them,

if

they

appear

to

prefer

riches

to

virtue,

or

to

think

themselves

something when they are nothing.

...

‘Few

persons

will

be

found

to

wish

that

Socrates

should

have

defended

himself

otherwise,’—

if, as we must add, his defence was that with which Plato has provided

him. But leaving this question, which does not admit of a precise solution, we may go

on to ask what was the impression which Plato in the Apology intended to give of the

character and conduct of his master in the last great scene? Did he intend to represent

him (1) as employing sophistries; (2) as designedly irritating the judges? Or are these

sophistries

to

be

regarded

as

belonging

to

the

age

in

which

he

lived

and

to

his

personal

character,

and

this

apparent

haughtiness

as

flowing

from

the

natural

elevation of his position?

For example, when he says that it is absurd to suppose that one man is the corrupter

and all the rest of the world the improvers of the youth; or, when he argues that he

never could have corrupted the men with whom he had to live; or, when he proves his

belief in the gods because he believes in the sons of gods, is he serious or jesting? It

may be observed that these sophisms all occur in his cross-examination of Meletus,

who is

easily foiled and mastered in

the hands

of the great

dialectician. Perhaps he

regarded these answers as good enough for his accuser, of whom he makes very light.

Also

there

is

a

touch

of

irony

in

them,

which

takes

them

out

of

the

category

of

sophistry. (Compare Euthyph.)

That

the manner in

which he defends

himself about

the lives of his disciples

is

not

satisfactory,

can

hardly

be

denied.

Fresh

in

the

memory

of

the

Athenians,

and

detestable as they deserved to be to the newly restored democracy, were the names of

Alcibiades,

Critias,

Charmides.

It

is

obviously

not

a

sufficient

answer

that

Socrates

had

never

professed

to

teach

them

anything,

and

is

therefore

not

justly

chargeable

with their crimes. Yet the defence, when taken out of this ironical form, is doubtless

sound:

that

his

teaching

had

nothing

to

do

with

their

evil

lives.

Here,

then,

the

sophistry is rather in form than in substance, though we might desire that to such a

serious charge Socrates had given a more serious answer.

Truly

characteristic

of

Socrates

is

another

point

in

his

answer,

which

may

also

be

regarded

as

sophistical.

H

e

says

that

‘if

he

has

corrupted

the

youth,

he

must

have

corrupted them involuntarily.’ But if, as Socrates argues, all evil is involuntary, then

all criminals ought to be admonished and not punished. In these words the Socratic

doctrine of the involuntariness of evil is clearly intended to be conveyed. Here again,

as in the former instance, the defence of Socrates is untrue practically, but may be true

in

some

ideal

or

transcendental

sense.

The

commonplace

reply,

that

if

he

had

been

guilty of corrupting the youth their relations would surely have witnessed against him,

with which he concludes this part of his defence, is more satisfactory.

Again, when Socrates argues that he must believe in the gods because he believes in

the

sons

of

gods,

we

must

remember

that

this

is

a

refutation

not

of

the

original

indictment,

which is

consistent enough

—‘Socrates

does not

receive the

gods

whom

the city receives, and has other new divinities’ —

but of the interpretation put upon the

words by Meletus, who has affirmed that he is a downright atheist. To this Socrates

fairly

answers,

in

accordance

with

the

ideas

of

the

time,

that

a

downright

atheist

cannot

believe

in

the

sons

of

gods

or

in

divine

things.

The

notion

that

demons

or

lesser divinities are the sons of gods is not to be regarded as ironical or sceptical. He

is arguing ‘ad hominem’ according to the notions of mythology current in his age. Yet

he

abstains

from

saying

that

he

believed

in

the

gods

whom

the

State

approved.

He

does not defend himself, as Xenophon has defended him, by appealing to his practice

of religion. Probably he neither wholly believed, nor disbelieved, in the existence of

the

popular

gods;

he

had

no

means

of

knowing

about

them.

According

to

Plato

(compare

Phaedo;

Symp.),

as

well

as

Xenophon

(Memor.),

he

was

punctual

in

the

performance

of

the

least

religious

duties;

and

he

must

have

believed

in

his

own

oracular sign, of which he seemed to have an internal witness. But the existence of

Apollo or Zeus, or the other gods whom the State approves, would have appeared to

him

both

uncertain

and

unimportant

in

comparison

of

the

duty

of

self-examination,

and of those principles

of truth

and right

which he deemed to

be the

foundation of

religion. (Compare Phaedr.; Euthyph.; Republic.)

The

second

question,

whether

Plato

meant

to

represent

Socrates

as

braving

or

irritating his judges, must also be answered in the negative. His irony, his superiority,

his audacity, ‘regarding not the person of man,’ necessarily flow out of the loftiness of

his situation. He is not acting a part upon a great occasion, but he is what he has been

all

his

life

long,

‘a

king

of

men.’

He

would

rather

not

appear

insolent,

if

he

could

avoid it (ouch os authadizomenos touto lego). Neither is he desirous of hastening his

own end, for life and death are simply indifferent to him. But such a defence as would

be acceptable to his judges and might procure an acquittal, it is not in his nature to

make.

He

will

not

say

or

do

anything

that

might

pervert

the

course

of

justice;

he

cannot have his tongue bo

und even ‘in the throat of death.’ With his accusers he will

only fence and play, as he had fenced with other ‘improvers of youth,’ answering the

Sophist according to his sophistry all his life long. He is serious when he is speaking

of

his

own

mission,

which

seems

to

distinguish

him

from

all

other

reformers

of

mankind, and originates in an accident. The dedication of himself to the improvement

of his fellow-citizens is not so remarkable as the ironical spirit in which he goes about

doing

good

only

in

vindication

of

the

credit

of

the

oracle,

and

in

the

vain

hope

of

finding a wiser man than himself. Yet this singular and almost accidental character of

his

mission

agrees

with

the

divine

sign

which,

according

to

our

notions,

is

equally

accidental and irrational, and is nevertheless accepted by him as the guiding principle

of his life. Socrates is nowhere represented to us as a freethinker or sceptic. There is

no reason to doubt his sincerity when he speculates on the possibility of seeing and

knowing the heroes of the Trojan war in another world. On the other hand, his hope of

immortality is uncertain;

—

he also conceives of death as a long sleep (in this respect

differing from the Phaedo), and at last falls back on resignation to the divine will, and

the

certainty

that

no

evil

can

happen

to

the

good

man

either

in

life

or

death.

His

absolute

truthfulness

seems

to

hinder

him

from

asserting

positively

more

than

this;

and he makes no attempt to

veil his

ignorance in

mythology and figures of speech.

The

gentleness

of

the

first

part

of

the

speech

contrasts

with

the

aggravated,

almost

threatening,

tone

of

the

conclusion.

He

characteristically

remarks

that

he

will

not

speak as a rhetorician, that is to say, he will not make a regular defence such as Lysias

or one of the orators might have composed for him, or, according to some accounts,

did compose for him. But he first procures himself a hearing by conciliatory words.

He does not attack the Sophists; for they were open to the same charges as himself;

they were equally ridiculed by the Comic poets, and almost equally hateful to Anytus

and

Meletus.

Yet

incidentally

the

antagonism

between

Socrates

and

the

Sophists

is

allowed to appear. He is poor and they are rich; his profession that he teaches nothing

is opposed to their readiness to teach all things; his talking in the marketplace to their

private

instructions;

his

tarry-at-home

life

to

their

wandering

from

city

to

city.

The

tone which he assumes towards them is one of real friendliness, but also of concealed

irony. Towards Anaxagoras, who had disappointed him in his hopes of learning about

mind and nature, he shows a less kindly feeling, which is also the feeling of Plato in

other passages (Laws). But Anaxagoras had been dead thirty years, and was beyond

the reach of persecution.

It has been remarked that the prophecy of a new generation of teachers who would

rebuke and exhort the Athenian people in harsher and more violent terms was, as far

as we know, never fulfilled. No inference can be drawn from this circumstance as to

the

probability

of

the

words

attributed

to

him

having

been

actually

uttered.

They

express

the aspiration of the first

martyr of philosophy, that he

would leave behind

him

many

followers,

accompanied

by

the

not

unnatural

feeling

that

they

would

be

fiercer and more inconsiderate in their words when emancipated from his control.

The above remarks must be understood as applying with any degree of certainty to the

Platonic Socrates only. For, although these or similar words may have been spoken by

Socrates himself, we

cannot

exclude the possibility, that

like so much else, e.g. the

wisdom of Critias, the poem of Solon, the virtues of Charmides, they may have been

due only to the imagination of Plato. The arguments of those who maintain that the

Apology was composed during the process, resting on no evidence, do not require a

serious

refutation.

Nor

are

the

reasonings

of

Schleiermacher,

who

argues

that

the

Platonic

defence

is

an

exact

or

nearly

exact

reproduction

of

the

words

of

Socrates,

partly because Plato would not have been guilty of the impiety of altering them, and

also because many points of the defence might have been improved and strengthened,

at all more conclusive. (See English Translation.) What effect the death

of Socrates

produced on the mind of Plato, we cannot certainly determine; nor can we say how he

would or must have written under the circumstances. We observe that the enmity of

Aristophanes to Socrates does not prevent Plato from introducing them together in the

Symposium engaged in friendly intercourse. Nor is there any trace in the Dialogues of

an attempt to make Anytus or Meletus personally odious in the eyes of the Athenian

public.

Socrates

’

Defense

How you have felt, O men of Athens, at hearing the speeches of my accusers, I cannot

tell; but I 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 which 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! but 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, O 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 defence 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; - that I think is not an unfair request. Never mind the manner,

which may or may not be good; but think only of the justice of my cause, and give

heed to that: let the judge decide justly and the speaker speak truly.

And first, I have to reply to the older charges and to my first accusers, and then I will

go to the later ones. For I have had many accusers, who accused me of old, and their

false charges have continued 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 these, 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.

These

are

the

accusers

whom

I

dread;

for

they

are

the

circulators of this rumor, and their hearers are too apt to fancy that speculators of this

sort do not believe in the gods. And they are many, and their charges against me are of

ancient date, and they made them in days when you were impressible - in childhood,

or perhaps in youth - and the cause when heard went by default, for there was none to

answer. And, hardest of all, their names I do not know and cannot tell; unless in the

chance of a comic poet.

But

the main body of these slanderers who from

envy

and

malice

have

wrought

upon

you

-

and

there

are

some

of

them

who

are

convinced

themselves, and impart their convictions to others - all these, I say, are most difficult

to deal with; for I cannot have them up here, and examine them, and therefore I must

simply fight with shadows in my own defence, and examine 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

will make

my defence, and

I will

endeavor in

the short time which is

allowed to do away with this evil opinion of me which you have held for such a long

time; and I hope I may succeed,

if this be well for you and me, and that my words

may find favor with you. But I know that to accomplish this is not easy - I quite see

the nature of the task. Let the event be as God wills: in obedience to the law I make

my defence.

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.

”

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 anyone 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,

O

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.

As little foundation is there 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 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 actually a

Parian philosopher residing in Athens, of whom I have heard; and I came to hear of

him

in

this

way:

-

I

met

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

someone 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 anyone

who understands human and political virtue? You must have thought about this as you

have sons; is there anyone?

”

“

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

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.

I dare say, Athenians, that someone among you will reply,

“

Why is this, Socrates, and

what

is

the origin of these accusations of

you:

for there must have been something

strange

which

you

have

been

doing?

All

this

great

fame

and

talk

about

you

would

never

have

arisen

if

you

had

been

like

other

men:

tell

us,

then,

why

this

is,

as

we

should be sorry to judge hastily of you.

”

Now I regard this as a fair challenge, and I

will endeavor to explain to you the origin of this name of

< br>“

wise,

”

and of this evil fame.

Please to attend then. And although some of you may think 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,

such wisdom as is attainable 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, and will tell you about my wisdom - whether I have any, and of what sort - and

that witness shall be the god of Delphi. You must have known Chaerephon; he was

early

a

friend

of

mine,

and

also

a

friend

of

yours,

for

he

shared

in

the

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 there was anyone 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.

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

this

riddle?

for

I

know

that

I

have

no

wisdom,

small

or

great.

What 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

a

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 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 to 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. 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.

After this 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

some

inferior

men

were

really

wiser

and

better.

I

will

tell

you

the

tale

of

my

wanderings and of the

“

”

labors, as I may call them, which I endured only

to find at last the oracle irrefutable. 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

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, 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: but the truth is, O men of Athens, that God only is wise; and in this oracle

he

means

to

say

that

the

wisdom

of

men

is

little

or

nothing;

he

is

not

speaking

of

Socrates, he is only using my name as an 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

my

way,

obedient

to

the

god,

and

make

inquisition

into

the

wisdom

of

anyone,

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

this

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 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 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 all 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; Lycon, on behalf of the rhetoricians: and as I said at the beginning, I

cannot expect to get rid of this 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 this plainness of speech makes them hate me, and what

is

their

hatred

but

a

proof

that

I

am

speaking

the

truth?

-

this

is

the

occasion

and

reason of their slander of me, as you will find out either in this or in any future inquiry.