Apology
worthy of credit; that witness shall be the God of Delphi—he will tell
you about my wisdom, if I have any, and of what sort it is. You must
have known Chaerephon; he was early a friend of mine, and also a friend
of yours, for he shared in the recent exile of the people, and returned
with you. Well, Chaerephon, as you know, was very impetuous in all his
doings, and he went to Delphi and boldly asked the oracle to tell him
whether—as I was saying, I must beg you not to interrupt—he asked the
oracle to tell him whether anyone was wiser than I was, and the Pythian
prophetess answered, that there was no man wiser. Chaerephon is dead
himself; but his brother, who is in court, will confirm the truth of
what I am saying.
Why do I mention this? Because I am going to explain to you why I have
such an evil name. When I heard the answer, I said to myself, What can
the god mean? and what is the interpretation of his riddle? for I know
that I have no wisdom, small or great. What then can he mean when he
says that I am the wisest of men? And yet he is a god, and cannot lie;
that would be against his nature. After long consideration, I thought
of a method of trying the question. I reflected that if I could only
find a man wiser than myself, then I might go to the god with a
refutation in my hand. I should say to him, “Here is a man who is wiser
than I am; but you said that I was the wisest.” Accordingly I went to
one who had the reputation of wisdom, and observed him—his name I need
not mention; he was a politician whom I selected for examination—and
the result was as follows: When I began to talk with him, I could not
help thinking that he was not really wise, although he was thought wise
by many, and still wiser by himself; and thereupon I tried to explain
to him that he thought himself wise, but was not really wise; and the
consequence was that he hated me, and his enmity was shared by several
who were present and heard me. So I left him, saying to myself, as I
went away: Well, although I do not suppose that either of us knows
anything really beautiful and good, I am better off than he is,—for he
knows nothing, and thinks that he knows; I neither know nor think that
I know. In this latter particular, then, I seem to have slightly the
advantage of him. Then I went to another who had still higher
pretensions to wisdom, and my conclusion was exactly the same.
Whereupon I made another enemy of him, and of many others besides him.
Then I went to one man after another, being not unconscious of the
enmity which I provoked, and I lamented and feared this: but necessity
was laid upon me,—the word of God, I thought, ought to be considered
first. And I said to myself, Go I must to all who appear to know, and
find out the meaning of the oracle. And I swear to you, Athenians, by
the dog I swear!—for I must tell you the truth—the result of my mission
was just this: I found that the men most in repute were all but the
most foolish; and that others less esteemed were really wiser and
better. I will tell you the tale of my wanderings and of the
“Herculean” labours, as I may call them, which I endured only to find
at last the oracle irrefutable. After the politicians, I went to the
poets; tragic, dithyrambic, and all sorts. And there, I said to myself,
you will be instantly detected; now you will find out that you are more
ignorant than they are. Accordingly, I took them some of the most
elaborate passages in their own writings, and asked what was the
meaning of them—thinking that they would teach me something. Will you
believe me? I am almost ashamed to confess the truth, but I must say
that there is hardly a person present who would not have talked better
about their poetry than they did themselves. Then I knew that not by
wisdom do poets write poetry, but by a sort of genius and inspiration;
they are like diviners or soothsayers who also say many fine things,
but do not understand the meaning of them. The poets appeared to me to
be much in the same case; and I further observed that upon the strength
of their poetry they believed themselves to be the wisest of men in
other things in which they were not wise. So I departed, conceiving
myself to be superior to them for the same reason that I was superior
to the politicians.
At last I went to the artisans. I was conscious that I knew nothing at
all, as I may say, and I was sure that they knew many fine things; and
here I was not mistaken, for they did know many things of which I was
ignorant, and in this they certainly were wiser than I was. But I
observed that even the good artisans fell into the same error as the
poets;—because they were good workmen they thought that they also knew
all sorts of high matters, and this defect in them overshadowed their
wisdom; and therefore I asked myself on behalf of the oracle, whether I
would like to be as I was, neither having their knowledge nor their
ignorance, or like them in both; and I made answer to myself and to the
oracle that I was better off as I was.
This inquisition has led to my having many enemies of the worst and
most dangerous kind, and has given occasion also to many calumnies. And
I am called wise, for my hearers always imagine that I myself possess
the wisdom which I find wanting in others: but the truth is, O men of
Athens, that God only is wise; and by his answer he intends to show
that the wisdom of men is worth little or nothing; he is not speaking
of Socrates, he is only using my name by way of illustration, as if he
said, He, O men, is the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that his
wisdom is in truth worth nothing. And so I go about the world, obedient
to the god, and search and make enquiry into the wisdom of any one,
whether citizen or stranger, who appears to be wise; and if he is not
wise, then in vindication of the oracle I show him that he is not wise;
and my occupation quite absorbs me, and I have no time to give either
to any public matter of interest or to any concern of my own, but I am
in utter poverty by reason of my devotion to the god.
There is another thing:—young men of the richer classes, who have not
much to do, come about me of their own accord; they like to hear the
pretenders examined, and they often imitate me, and proceed to examine
others; there are plenty of persons, as they quickly discover, who
think that they know something, but really know little or nothing; and
then those who are examined by them instead of being angry with
themselves are angry with me: This confounded Socrates, they say; this
villainous misleader of youth!—and then if somebody asks them, Why,
what evil does he practise or teach? they do not know, and cannot tell;
but in order that they may not appear to be at a loss, they repeat the
ready-made charges which are used against all philosophers about
teaching things up in the clouds and under the earth, and having no
gods, and making the worse appear the better cause; for they do not
like to confess that their pretence of knowledge has been
detected—which is the truth; and as they are numerous and ambitious and
energetic, and are drawn up in battle array and have persuasive
tongues, they have filled your ears with their loud and inveterate
calumnies. And this is the reason why my three accusers, Meletus and
Anytus and Lycon, have set upon me; Meletus, who has a quarrel with me
on behalf of the poets; Anytus, on behalf of the craftsmen and
politicians; Lycon, on behalf of the rhetoricians: and as I said at the
beginning, I cannot expect to get rid of such a mass of calumny all in
a moment. And this, O men of Athens, is the truth and the whole truth;
I have concealed nothing, I have dissembled nothing. And yet, I know
that my plainness of speech makes them hate me, and what is their
hatred but a proof that I am speaking the truth?—Hence has arisen the
prejudice against me; and this is the reason of it, as you will find
out either in this or in any future enquiry.
I have said enough in my defence against the first class of my
accusers; I turn to the second class. They are headed by Meletus, that
good man and true lover of his country, as he calls himself. Against
these, too, I must try to make a defence:—Let their affidavit be read:
it contains something of this kind: It says that Socrates is a doer of
evil, who corrupts the youth; and who does not believe in the gods of
the state, but has other new divinities of his own. Such is the charge;
and now let us examine the particular counts. He says that I am a doer
of evil, and corrupt the youth; but I say, O men of Athens, that
Meletus is a doer of evil, in that he pretends to be in earnest when he
is only in jest, and is so eager to bring men to trial from a pretended
zeal and interest about matters in which he really never had the
smallest interest. And the truth of this I will endeavour to prove to
you.
Come hither, Meletus, and let me ask a question of you. You think a
great deal about the improvement of youth?
Yes, I do.
Tell the judges, then, who is their improver; for you must know, as you
have taken the pains to discover their corrupter, and are citing and
accusing me before them. Speak, then, and tell the judges who their
improver is.—Observe, Meletus, that you are silent, and have nothing to
say. But is not this rather disgraceful, and a very considerable proof
of what I was saying, that you have no interest in the matter? Speak
up, friend, and tell us who their improver is.
The laws.
But that, my good sir, is not my meaning. I want to know who the person
is, who, in the first place, knows the laws.
The judges, Socrates, who are present in court.
What, do you mean to say, Meletus, that they are able to instruct and
improve youth?
Certainly they are.
What, all of them, or some only and not others?
All of them.
By the goddess Here, that is good news! There are plenty of improvers,
then. And what do you say of the audience,—do they improve them?
Yes, they do.
And the senators?
Yes, the senators improve them.
But perhaps the members of the assembly corrupt them?—or do they too
improve them?
They improve them.
Then every Athenian improves and elevates them; all with the exception
of myself; and I alone am their corrupter? Is that what you affirm?
That is what I stoutly affirm.
I am very unfortunate if you are right. But suppose I ask you a
question: How about horses? Does one man do them harm and all the world
good? Is not the exact opposite the truth? One man is able to do them
good, or at least not many;—the trainer of horses, that is to say, does
them good, and others who have to do with them rather injure them? Is
not that true, Meletus, of horses, or of any other animals? Most
assuredly it is; whether you and Anytus say yes or no. Happy indeed
would be the condition of youth if they had one corrupter only, and all
the rest of the world were their improvers. But you, Meletus, have
sufficiently shown that you never had a thought about the young: your
carelessness is seen in your not caring about the very things which you
bring against me.
And now, Meletus, I will ask you another question—by Zeus I will: Which
is better, to live among bad citizens, or among good ones? Answer,
friend, I say; the question is one which may be easily answered. Do not
the good do their neighbours good, and the bad do them evil?
Certainly.
And is there anyone who would rather be injured than benefited by those
who live with him? Answer, my good friend, the law requires you to
answer—does any one like to be injured?
Certainly not.
And when you accuse me of corrupting and deteriorating the youth, do
you allege that I corrupt them intentionally or unintentionally?
Intentionally, I say.
But you have just admitted that the good do their neighbours good, and