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.” i. 54); 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” (45 B) may, perhaps, be adduced as a further evidence of the literal accuracy of some parts (37 C, D). 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.
There is no way to determine how Plato’s “Apology” relates to the real defense of Socrates. It certainly agrees in tone and character with Xenophon’s description. In the “Memorabilia,” Xenophon says that Socrates might have been acquitted “if in any moderate degree he would have conciliated the favour of the dicasts” (the jurors). In another passage he tells us, on the testimony of Hermogenes, the friend of Socrates, that Socrates had no wish to live. He adds that the divine sign refused to let him prepare a defense. Socrates himself also declared a defense unnecessary, because he had spent his whole life preparing for that hour. This fits, for the speech breathes a spirit of defiance throughout. As Cicero puts it, “ut non supplex aut reus sed magister aut dominus videretur esse judicum” (Cic. “de Orat.” i. 54): Socrates seemed not a suppliant or a defendant, but the master or lord of his judges. Its loose, rambling style imitates the “accustomed manner” in which Socrates spoke in “the agora and among the tables of the money-changers.” The allusion in the “Crito” (45 B) may perhaps be offered as further evidence that some parts (37 C, D) are literally accurate. But in the main it must be seen as the ideal Socrates, as Plato conceived him. He appears in the greatest and most public scene of his life. It is the height of his triumph. He is at his weakest, and yet his mastery over mankind is at its greatest. In the face of death, his habitual irony takes on a new meaning and a kind of tragic pathos. The facts of his life are summed up. The features of his character come out as if by accident during the defense. The conversational manner, the apparent lack of arrangement, and the ironic simplicity turn out to produce a perfect work of art: 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 “Phædo”. 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.
Yet Socrates may really have used some of these topics, and his very words may have rung in his disciple’s ears. Plato’s “Apology” may be compared generally with those speeches in Thucydides in which the historian embodied his idea of the lofty character and policy of the great Pericles. Those speeches also comment on the state of affairs from the historian’s own point of view. In the same way, the “Apology” gives an ideal truth rather than a literal one. Much is said in it that was not said, and is only Plato’s view of the situation. Plato was not a chronicler of facts, as Xenophon was. In none of his writings does he seem to have aimed at literal accuracy. So we should not fill out his account from Xenophon’s Memorabilia and Symposium, for Xenophon belongs to an entirely different class of writers. Plato’s Apology is not a report of what Socrates said. It is an elaborate composition, just as much as one of the Dialogues. We may perhaps even indulge the fancy that Socrates’ actual defense was as much greater than Plato’s version as the master was greater than the disciple. But in any case, some of the words he used must have been remembered, and some of the facts recorded must really have happened. It is significant that Plato is said to have been present at the defense (Apol.), just as he is said to have been absent at the last scene in the “Phædo”. Is it fanciful to suppose that he meant to stamp the one as authentic and not the other? The thought is all the more tempting when we consider that these two passages are the only ones in which Plato mentions himself. The detail that Plato was to be one of the sureties for the fine Socrates proposed looks true. More suspicious is the claim that the Oracle of Delphi first prompted Socrates to his favorite calling of cross-examining the world. He must already have been famous before Chaerephon went to consult the Oracle (Riddell), and the story is of a kind very likely to have been invented. On the whole, we conclude that the “Apology” is true to the character of Socrates, but we cannot show that he actually spoke any single sentence of it. It breathes the spirit of Socrates, but it has been recast in Plato’s mold.
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 “Georgias”, 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.
Little in the other Dialogues compares to the “Apology”. Plato may have had the same memory of his teacher. He may have had this in mind in the “Republic” when describing the sufferings of the Just. The “Crito” can be seen as an appendix to the “Apology”. In it, Socrates, who had defied the judges, is still shown as scrupulously obedient to the laws. The idealization of the sufferer goes further in the “Georgias”. There the argument is that “to suffer is better than to do evil”. It also describes rhetoric as useful only for self-accusation. The similarities in the so-called “Apology” of Xenophon are not worth noting. The work that contains them is manifestly spurious. The statements in the “Memorabilia” about Socrates' trial and death generally agree with Plato. But Xenophon's account has lost the flavour of Socratic irony.
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 “Apology,” or Platonic defense of Socrates, is divided into three parts: 1st. The defense proper. 2nd. The shorter address asking for a lighter 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 first part begins with an apology for his plain, conversational style. He has always been opposed to rhetoric. He knows of no rhetoric but truth. He says he will not falsify his character by making a polished speech. He then divides his accusers into two groups. First is the nameless accuser, public opinion. People had heard from childhood that he was a corrupter of youth. They had seen him caricatured in Aristophanes' "Clouds." Second are the formal accusers, who are only the mouthpieces of the others. The accusations of both groups can be summed up in one formula. The first say, "Socrates is an evil-doer and a curious person. He searches into things under the earth and above the heavens. He makes the worse appear the better cause, and he teaches these things to others." The second say, "Socrates is an evil-doer and corrupter of the youth. He does not accept the gods the state acknowledges, but introduces other new divinities." These last words appear to have been the actual indictment (compare Xen. Mem.). The earlier formula, a summary of public opinion, uses 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, Phædo, 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 minæ. Something of the “accustomed irony,” which may perhaps be expected to sleep in the ear of the multitude, is lurking here.
The answer begins by clearing up a confusion. In the Comic poets' portrayals and in popular opinion, people identified him with teachers of physical science. They also identified him with the Sophists. But this was an error. In the open court he professes respect for both groups, which contrasts with how he speaks of them elsewhere. (Compare for Anaxagoras, Phædo, Laws, and for the Sophists, Meno, Republic, Tim., Theaet., Soph., etc.) At the same time he shows that he is not one of them. He knows nothing of natural philosophy. This does not mean he despises such pursuits. The fact is he is ignorant of them and never says a word about them. Nor is he paid for giving instruction, which is another mistaken notion. He has nothing to teach. Yet he commends Evenus for teaching virtue at a "moderate" rate of five minæ. A trace of his customary irony, which the many may fail to hear, 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.
He then goes on to explain why he has such a bad name. It came from a peculiar mission he had taken on himself. The enthusiastic Chaerephon had gone to Delphi (probably expecting the answer he received). He asked the oracle if there was any man wiser than Socrates, and the answer was that there was no man wiser. What could this mean? He knew nothing, and knew that he knew nothing. Why should the oracle declare him the wisest of men? Reflecting on the answer, he resolved to refute it by finding “a wiser.” He went first to the politicians, then to the poets, and then to the craftsmen. The result was always the same. He found that they knew nothing, or hardly anything more than he did. The little advantage some of them had was more than outweighed 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. So he had spent his life as a sort of missionary, exposing the pretended wisdom of mankind. This work had wholly absorbed him and taken him away from both public and private affairs. Young men of the richer class had made a pastime of the same pursuit, “which was not unamusing.” This is how bitter enmities arose. The professors of knowledge took their revenge by calling him a villainous corrupter of youth. They repeated the commonplaces about atheism, materialism, and sophistry, which are the stock accusations against all philosophers when there is nothing else to say against 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.
He meets the second accusation by questioning Meletus, who is present and can be questioned. “If he is the corrupter, who is the improver of the citizens?” (Compare Meno.) The answer is, “All men everywhere.” But how absurd this is, and how contrary to analogy with every other case! How inconceivable, too, that he should make the citizens worse when he has to live among them. This surely cannot be intentional. And if it is unintentional, Meletus ought to have instructed him, not accused him in 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 absurd.”
But another part of the indictment says that he teaches men not to accept the gods the city accepts, and that he has other, new gods. “Is that the way 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, Socrates replies, is the old confusion with Anaxagoras. The Athenian people are not so ignorant as to credit Socrates with notions that have found their way into the drama and can be learned at the theater. Socrates undertakes to show that Meletus (rather unjustifiably) has been making up 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 absurd.”
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.
Leaving Meletus, who has already been spoken about enough, he returns to the original accusation. One might ask, why will he keep following a course that leads to his death? Why? Because he must stay at the post where the god has placed him. He did the same at Potidaea, Amphipolis, and Delium when the generals put him there. He is not so arrogant as to pretend he knows whether death is good or bad. He is sure that abandoning his duty would be wrong. Anytus is correct to say they should never have prosecuted him if they meant to let him go. He will obey God rather than men. He will keep telling people of every age that they must pursue virtue and improvement. If they refuse to listen, he will still persist and rebuke them. This is how he supposedly corrupts the youth. He will not stop doing this while obeying 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.
He wants them to let him live, not for his own sake but for theirs. He is their heaven-sent friend, and they will never have another like him. Or, as he might be laughably described, he is the gadfly who stirs the generous steed into motion. Why then has he never taken part in public affairs? The familiar divine voice has stopped him. If he had become a public man and fought for what is right, he would have opposed the many. He would not have survived and so could not have done any good. Twice in public matters he has risked his life for the sake of justice. Once at the trial of the generals, and once resisting 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 lying.”
But though he is not a public man, he has spent his days instructing the citizens without fee or reward. This was his mission. Whether his disciples have turned out well or badly, he cannot fairly be blamed for the result, because he never promised to teach them anything. They could come if they liked, and stay away if they liked. And they did come, because they found it amusing to hear the pretenders to wisdom exposed. If they have been corrupted, their older relatives (if not they themselves) could surely come into court and testify against him, and they still have the chance to appear. But their fathers and brothers all appear in court (including “this” Plato) to testify on his behalf. Even if their young relatives are corrupted, at least they themselves are uncorrupted, “and they are my witnesses. For they know that I am speaking the truth, and that Meletus is lying.”
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 this 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.
This is about all he has to say. He will not beg the judges to spare his life. He will not make a show of weeping children, although he, too, is not made of "rock or oak." Some of the judges may have followed that practice on other occasions, and he trusts they will not be angry with him for not doing the same. He feels such behavior harms the name of Athens. He also feels the judge has sworn not to give away justice. 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 maintenance 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 minæ; for which they will be excellent securities.
As he expected, and probably intended, he is found guilty. Now the tone of his speech does not become more conciliatory. It grows loftier and more commanding. Anytus proposes death as the penalty. What counter-proposal should he make? He is a benefactor of the Athenian people. He has spent his whole life doing them good. He should at least receive the Olympic victor’s reward. That reward is maintenance in the Prytaneum. Or why suggest any counter-penalty when he does not know whether the death Anytus proposes is good or bad? He is sure that imprisonment is bad. Exile is bad as well. Losing money might be bad, but he has none to give. Perhaps he could find a single mina. Let that be the penalty. Or, if his friends prefer, thirty minae, for which they will be excellent securities.
[He is condemned to death.]
[He has been sentenced 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.
He is already an old man. The Athenians will gain only disgrace if they take a few years from his life. He could perhaps have escaped if he had chosen to lay down his arms and beg for his life. But he does not at all regret the way he defended himself. He would rather die his own way than live by theirs. The punishment for wrongdoing comes sooner than death. That punishment has already come for his accusers, and death will soon come for 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.
And now, like someone about to die, he will prophesy to them. They have put him to death to avoid the need to answer for their lives. But his death “will be the seed” of many disciples. Those disciples will convince them of their evil ways. They will come forward and rebuke them more harshly 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.
He would like to say a few words, while there is time, to those who would have acquitted him. He wants them to know that the divine sign never stopped him during his defense. He guesses that the reason is that the death he is going to is a good, not an evil. For death is either a long sleep, the best of sleeps, or a journey to another world. There the souls of the dead are gathered together, and there one may hope to see the heroes of old. There, too, are just judges. And since all there are immortal, no one there need fear being put to 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.
Nothing evil can happen to a good man, either in life or in death. The gods allowed his death because it was better for him to go. Therefore he forgives his judges. They did him no harm, even though they never intended 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.
He has one last request to make of them. If his sons seem to prefer riches to virtue, or think themselves something when they are nothing, he asks the judges to trouble his sons as he has troubled the judges.
“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?
“Few persons will be found to wish that Socrates should have defended himself otherwise,” if, as we must add, his defense was the one Plato has given him. But let us leave this question, which cannot be settled precisely. We may go on to ask what impression of his master’s character and conduct in the last great scene Plato meant to give in the “Apology.” Did he mean to show him (1) as using sophistries, or (2) as deliberately irritating the judges? Or should these sophistries be seen as belonging to the age he lived in and to his personal character? And should this apparent haughtiness be seen 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.)
For example, he says it is absurd to suppose that one man is the corrupter of the youth and all the rest of the world their improvers. He argues that he could never have corrupted the men he had to live with. He proves that he believes in the gods because he believes in the sons of gods. In these cases, is he serious or jesting? Notice that these sophisms all occur in his cross-examination of Meletus, who is easily foiled and mastered by the great dialectician. Perhaps Socrates thought these answers good enough for his accuser, whom he takes very lightly. There is also 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.
It can hardly be denied that his defense regarding the lives of his disciples is unsatisfactory. The names of Alcibiades, Critias, and Charmides were fresh in the Athenians’ memory. The newly restored democracy detested them, as they deserved. It is plainly not a sufficient answer to say that Socrates never claimed to teach them anything, and therefore cannot fairly be charged with their crimes. Yet once the defense is taken out of this ironic form, it is no doubt sound: his teaching had nothing to do with their evil lives. So here the sophistry lies in the form rather than the substance. Still, we might wish that Socrates had given a more serious answer to so serious a charge.
Truly characteristic of Socrates is another point in his answer, which may also be regarded as sophistical. He 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.
Another point in his answer is truly characteristic of Socrates. It may also be called sophistical. He says that “if he has corrupted the youth, he must have corrupted them involuntarily.” But if, as he argues, all evil is involuntary, then criminals should be warned, not punished. His words clearly express the Socratic doctrine that evil is involuntary. Again, as before, Socrates' defense is practically untrue. It might be true in some ideal or transcendental sense. A more satisfactory reply is the ordinary one he uses to end this part of his defense. He says that if he had corrupted the youth, their relatives would surely have testified against him.
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 Phædo; 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.)
Again, consider when Socrates argues that he must believe in the gods because he believes in the sons of gods. We should remember he is not answering the original charge. The original charge is reasonably consistent. It says, "Socrates does not receive the gods whom the city receives, and has other new divinities." Instead, he is answering Meletus’s interpretation of those words. Meletus had claimed that Socrates was an outright atheist. Socrates replies fairly, using the ideas of his time. He says a downright atheist could not believe in the sons of gods or in divine things. The idea that demons or lesser divinities are the sons of gods is not meant to be ironic or skeptical. He is arguing ad hominem, based on the common mythology of his age. Yet he stops short of saying he believed in the gods the State approved. He does not defend himself, as Xenophon later did, by pointing to his religious practices. He probably neither fully believed nor fully disbelieved in the popular gods. He had no way of knowing about them for certain. According to Plato (compare Phaedo; Symp.), and according to Xenophon (Memor.), he was punctual in performing even the smallest religious duties. He must have believed in his own oracular sign, which he seemed to feel inwardly. But the existence of Apollo or Zeus, or of the other gods the State approved, would have seemed to him both uncertain and unimportant. He regarded them as less important than the duty of self-examination and than the principles of truth and right that he considered 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 bound 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 Phædo), 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.
The second question is whether Plato meant to show Socrates as defying or irritating his judges. This too must be answered no. His irony, his superiority, and his audacity, “regarding not the person of man,” flow necessarily from the loftiness of his situation. He is not playing a part on a great occasion. He is what he has been all his life, “a king of men.” He would rather not seem insolent, if he could avoid it (ouch os authadizomenos touto lego). Nor does he wish to hasten his own end, for life and death are simply indifferent to him. But it is not in his nature to make the kind of defense that would please his judges and might win an acquittal. He will not say or do anything that might pervert the course of justice. He cannot have his tongue bound even “in the throat of death.” With his accusers he will only fence and play, as he had fenced with other “improvers of youth.” All his life long he had answered the Sophist according to his sophistry. He is serious when he speaks of his own mission. This mission seems to set him apart from all other reformers of mankind, and it began by accident. His dedication to improving his fellow citizens is not so remarkable in itself. More remarkable is the ironic spirit in which he goes about doing good only to vindicate the credit of the oracle, and in the vain hope of finding a man wiser than himself. Yet this strange and almost accidental character of his mission fits with the divine sign. By our notions the sign is just as accidental and irrational, and yet he accepts it as the guiding principle of his life. Socrates is nowhere presented to us as a freethinker or skeptic. There is no reason to doubt his sincerity when he speculates about seeing and knowing the heroes of the Trojan War in another world. On the other hand, his hope of immortality is uncertain. He also thinks of death as a long sleep (in this he differs from the Phædo). In the end he falls back on resignation to the divine will, and on the certainty that no evil can happen to the good man in life or in death. His absolute truthfulness seems to keep him from asserting more than this positively. 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 sharper, almost threatening, tone of the conclusion. He characteristically remarks that he will not speak as a rhetorician. That is, he will not make a regular defense such as Lysias or one of the orators might have composed for him, or, by some accounts, did compose for him. But first he wins a hearing with conciliatory words. He does not attack the Sophists, for they were open to the same charges as he was. The Comic poets ridiculed them just as much, and Anytus and Meletus hated them almost as much. Yet the antagonism between Socrates and the Sophists is allowed to show in passing. He is poor and they are rich. He professes to teach nothing, while they are ready to teach all things. He talks in the marketplace, while they give private lessons. He stays at home, while they wander from city to city. His tone toward them is genuinely friendly, but also quietly ironic. Toward Anaxagoras, who had disappointed his hopes of learning about mind and nature, he shows a less kindly feeling. Plato shows the same feeling 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.
People have noted that the prophecy predicted a new generation of teachers. They would rebuke and urge the Athenians in harsher, more violent terms. As far as we know, this did not come true. We cannot conclude from that fact whether he actually said those words. Those words express the first martyr of philosophy's hope that he would leave behind many followers. They also reflect the natural feeling that these followers would be fiercer. They would be less restrained in speech once freed 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.
The above remarks should be understood as applying, with any real certainty, only to the Platonic Socrates. Although Socrates himself may have spoken these or similar words, we cannot be sure. Like many other things, e.g. the wisdom of Critias, the poem of Solon, and the virtues of Charmides, they may have come only from Plato's imagination. The arguments of those who claim the Apology was written during the trial rest on no evidence. They do not need a serious refutation. Nor are Schleiermacher's arguments more convincing. He claims the Platonic defence is an exact or nearly exact reproduction of Socrates' words. He reasons that Plato would not have been guilty of the impiety of altering them, and he also thinks Plato could have improved and strengthened many points of the defence. (See English Translation.) We cannot surely determine what effect Socrates' death had on Plato's mind. Nor can we say how he would or must have written in those circumstances. We observe that Aristophanes' hostility to Socrates did not stop Plato from placing them together in the Symposium. There they are shown in friendly conversation. Nor is there any trace in the Dialogues of an attempt to make Anytus or Meletus personally odious to the Athenian public.