LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 /?.
 
 (Boffcen 
 
 THE TRIAL & DEATH OF SOCRATES
 
 *O 5' dve^Tcurroj /3toj ov /Siwrds cu>0p(j!nrip 
 ' An unexamined life is not worth living.' 
 
 (PLATO, Apol. 38 A. )
 
 THE TRIAL AND DEATH 
 OF SOCRATES 
 
 BEING 
 
 THE EUTHYPHRON, APOLOGY, CRITO, 
 AND PH^EDO OF PLATO 
 
 TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH 
 
 BY 
 
 F. J. CHURCH, M.A. 
 
 LONDON 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK 
 1895 
 
 [ All rights reserved.]
 
 First Edition printed 1880 
 
 Second Edition, Golden Treasury Series, 1886 
 
 Reprinted 1887, 1888, 1890, 1891, 1892, March and September 1895
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THIS book, which is intended principally for 
 the large and increasing class of readers who 
 wish to learn something of the masterpieces 
 of Greek literature, and who cannot easily 
 read them in Greek, was originally published 
 by Messrs. Macmillan in a different form. 
 Since its first appearance it has been revised 
 and corrected throughout, and largely re- 
 written. The chief part of the Introduction 
 is new. It is not intended to be a general 
 essay on Socrates, but only an attempt to 
 explain and illustrate such points in his life 
 and teaching as are referred to in these 
 dialogues, which, taken by themselves, con- 
 tain Plato's description of his great master's 
 life, and work, and death. 
 
 The books which were most useful to me 
 in writing it are Professor Zeller's Socrates and 
 the Socratic Schools, and the edition of the
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 Apology by the late Rev. James Riddell, 
 published after his death by the delegates 
 of the Clarendon Press. His account of 
 Socrates is singularly striking. I found the 
 very exact and literal translation of the Phcedo 
 into colloquial English by the late Mr. E. M. 
 Cope often very useful in revising that dia- 
 logue. I have also to thank various friends 
 for the patience with which they have looked 
 over parts of my work in manuscript, and 
 for the many valuable hints and suggestions 
 which they have given me. 
 
 As a rule I have used the text of the 
 Zurich editors. Twice or thrice, in the Phczdo, 
 I have taken a reading from the text of 
 Schanz : but it seems to me that what makes 
 his edition valuable is its apparatus criticus 
 rather than its text. 
 
 F. J. C.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 ix 
 
 EUTHYPHRON ..... 
 
 i 
 
 APOLOGY 
 
 33 
 
 CRITO 
 
 79 
 
 PH/EDO 
 
 . 103
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THESE dialogues contain a unique picture of 
 Socrates in the closing scenes of his life, his 
 trial, his imprisonment, and his death. And 
 they contain a description also of that unflagging 
 search after truth, that persistent and merciless 
 examination and sifting of men who were wise 
 only in their own conceit, to which his latter 
 years were devoted. Within these limits he 
 is the most familiar figure of ancient Greek 
 history. No one else stands out before us with 
 so individual and distinct a personality of his 
 own. Of the rest of Socrates' life, however, we 
 are almost completely ignorant. All that we 
 know of it consists of a few scattered and 
 isolated facts, most of which are referred to in 
 these dialogues. A considerable number of 
 stories are told about him by late writers : but 
 to scarcely any of them can credit be given. 
 Plato and Xenophon are almost the only trust- 
 worthy authorities about him who remain ; and 
 they describe him almost altogether as an old 
 man. The earlier part of his life is to us 
 scarcely more than a blank. 
 
 Socrates was born very shortly before the
 
 X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 year 469 B.C. 1 His father, Sophroniscus, was 
 a sculptor : his mother, Phaenarete, a midwife. 
 Nothing definite is known of his moral and 
 intellectual development. There is no specific 
 record of him at all until he served at the siege 
 of Potidaea (432 8.0429 B.c.) when he was 
 nearly forty years old. All that we can say is 
 that his youth and manhood were passed in the 
 most splendid period of Athenian or Greek his- 
 tory. 2 It was the time of that wonderful outburst 
 of genius in art, and literature, and thought, 
 and statesmanship, which was so sudden and 
 yet so unique. Athens was full of the keenest 
 intellectual and political activity. Among her 
 citizens between the years 460 B.C. and 420 
 B.C. were men who in poetry, in history, in 
 sculpture, in architecture, are our masters still. 
 ^Eschylus' great Trilogy was brought out in the 
 year 458 B.C., and the poet died two years later, 
 when Socrates was about fifteen years old. 
 Sophocles was born in 495 B.C., Euripides in 
 481 B.C. They both died about 406 B.C., some 
 seven years before Socrates. Pheidias, the 
 great sculptor, the artist of the Elgin marbles, 
 which are now in the British Museum, died in 
 432 B.C. Pericles, the supreme statesman and 
 orator, 3 whose name marks an epoch in the 
 history of civilisation, died in 429 B.C. Thucy- 
 dides, the historian, whose history is ' a posses- 
 
 1 Apol. 17 D. Crito, 52 E. 
 
 3 See the account of this period given by Professor 
 Curtius in his History of Greece, Bk. iii. ch. 3. 
 3 6 ir&vv. Xen. Mem. iii. 5. i.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 sion for all ages,' 1 was born in 471 B.C., about 
 the same time as Socrates, and died probably 
 between 401 B.C. and 395 B.C. Ictinus, the 
 architect, completed the Parthenon in 438 B.C. 
 There have never been finer instruments of 
 culture than the art and poetry and thought of 
 such men as these. Socrates, who in 420 B.C. 
 was about fifty years old, was contemporary 
 with them all. He must have known and con- 
 versed with some of them : for Athens was not 
 very large, 2 and the Athenians spent almost 
 the whole of their day in public. To live in 
 such a city was in itself no mean training for 
 a man, though he might not be conscious of it. 
 The great object of Pericles' policy had been 
 to make Athens the acknowledged intellectual 
 capital and centre of Greece, ' the Prytaneum 
 of all Greek wisdom.' 3 Socrates himself speaks 
 with pride in the Apology of her renown for ' wis- 
 dom and power of mind. ' 4 And Athens gave her 
 citizens another kind of training also, through 
 her political institutions. From having been 
 the head of the confederacy of Delos, she had 
 grown to be an Imperial, or, as her enemies 
 
 1 Krfjfj.0. es dei. Thucyd. i. 22, 5. 
 
 2 In 441 B.C. there was a scrutiny of citizenship, and 
 some 5000 men who were unable to prove their descent 
 from Athenian parents on both sides were disfranchised. 
 The qualified citizens were found to number a little 
 over 14,000. 
 
 3 Protagoras, 337 D. Pericles' funeral oration (Thucyd. 
 ii. 35-46) deserves careful study in this connection. It 
 is a statement of the Athenian ideal in the best days of 
 Athens. 4 Apol. 29 D. 
 
 b
 
 xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 called her, a tyrant city. She was the mistress 
 of a great empire, ruled and administered by 
 law. The Sovereign Power in the State was 
 the Assembly, of which every citizen, not under 
 disability, was a member, and at which attend- 
 ance was by law compulsory. There was 
 no representative government, no intervening 
 responsibility of ministers. The Sovereign 
 people in their Assembly directly administered 
 the Athenian empire. Each individual citizen 
 was thus brought every day into immediate 
 contact with matters of Imperial importance. 
 His political powers and responsibilities were 
 very great. He was accustomed to hear ques- 
 tions of domestic administration, of legislation, 
 of peace and war, of alliances, of foreign and 
 colonial policy, keenly and ably argued on 
 either side. He was accustomed to hear argu- 
 ments on one side of a question attacked and 
 dissected and answered by opponents with the 
 greatest acuteness and pertinacity. He himself 
 had to examine, weigh, and decide between 
 rival arguments. The Athenian judicial system 
 gave the same kind of training in another 
 direction by its juries, on which every citizen 
 was liable to be selected by lot to serve. The 
 result was to create at Athens an extremely 
 high level of general intelligence, such as cannot 
 be looked for in a modern state. And it may 
 well be that in the debates of the Assembly 
 and the discussions of the courts of law Socrates 
 first became aware of the necessity of sifting 
 and examining plausible arguments.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xin 
 
 Such, shortly, were the influences under 
 which Socrates passed the first fifty years of 
 his life. It is evident that they were most 
 powerful and efficient as instruments of educa- 
 tion, in the wider sense of that word. Very 
 little evidence remains of the formal training 
 which he received, or of the nature and extent. 
 of his positive knowledge : and the history of 
 his intellectual development is practically a 
 matter of pure conjecture. As a boy he received 
 the usual Athenian liberal education in music 
 and gymnastic, 1 an education, that is to say, 
 mental and physical. He was fond of quoting 
 from the existing Greek literature, and he seems 
 to have been familiar with it, especially with 
 Homer. He is represented by Xenophon as 
 repeating Prodicus' fable of the choice of 
 Heracles at length. 2 He says that he was in 
 the habit of studying with his friends ' the 
 treasures which the wise men of old have left 
 us in their books :' 3 collections, that is, of the 
 short and pithy sayings of the seven sages, such 
 as 'know thyself; a saying, it maybe noticed, 
 which lay at the root of his whole teaching. 
 And he had some knowledge of mathematics, 
 and of science, as it existed in those days. He 
 understood something of astronomy and of 
 
 1 Crito, 50 D. , and for an account of such an educa- 
 tion see Protagoras, 325 E. seq. , and Rep. ii. 376 E. to 
 412 A., an account of Plato's ideal reformed system of 
 education. 
 
 - Xen. Mem. ii. i. 21. 
 
 3 Xen. Mem. i. 6. 14 ; cf. Protag. 343 A.
 
 XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 advanced geometry : l and he was acquainted 
 with certain, at any rate, of the theories of his 
 predecessors in philosophy, the Physical or 
 Cosmical philosophers, such as Heraclitus and 
 Parmenides, and, especially, with those of 
 Anaxagoras. 2 But there is no trustworthy 
 evidence which enables us to go beyond the 
 bare fact that he had such knowledge. We 
 cannot tell whether he ever studied Physical 
 Philosophy seriously, or from whom, or how, 
 or even, certainly, when, he learnt what he 
 knew about it. It is perhaps most likely that 
 his mathematical and scientific studies are to be 
 assigned to the earlier period of his life. There 
 is a passage in the Phcedo in which he says 
 (or rather is made to say) that in his youth he 
 had had a passion for the study of Nature. 3 
 The historical value of this passage, however, 
 which Occurs in the philosophical or Platonic 
 part of the dialogue, is very doubtful. Socrates 
 is represented as passing on from the study of 
 Nature to the doctrine of Ideas, a doctrine 
 which was put forward for the first time by 
 Plato after his death, and which he never 
 heard of. The statement must be taken for 
 what it is worth. The fact that Aristophanes 
 in the Clouds (423 B.C.) represents Socrates as 
 a natural philosopher, who teaches his pupils, 
 among other things, astronomy and geometry, 
 proves nothing. Aristophanes' misrepresenta- 
 
 1 Xen. Mem. iv. 7. 3. 5. Meno, 82, seq. 
 
 2 Xen. Mem. i. i. 14. Apol. 26 D. Phcedo, 96 A. 
 
 3 Phcedo, 96 A.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xv 
 
 tions about Socrates are so gross that his unsup- 
 ported testimony deserves no credit : and there 
 is absolutely no evidence to confirm the state- 
 ment that Socrates ever taught Natural Science. 
 It is quite certain that latterly he refused to 
 have anything to do with such speculations. 1 
 He admitted Natural Science only in so far as 
 it is practically useful, in the way in which 
 astronomy is useful to a sailor, or geometry to 
 a land-surveyor. 2 Natural philosophers, he 
 says, are like madmen : their conclusions are 
 hopelessly contradictory, and their science un- 
 productive, impossible, and impious ; for the 
 gods are not pleased with those who seek to 
 discover what they do not wish to reveal. The 
 time which is wasted on such subjects might 
 be much more profitably employed in the pur- 
 suit of useful knowledge. 3 
 
 All then that we can say of the first forty 
 years of Socrates' life, consists of general 
 statements like these. During these years 
 there is no specific record of him. Between 
 432 B.C. and 429 B.C. he served as a common 
 soldier at the siege of Potidasa, an Athenian 
 dependency which had revolted, and surpassed 
 every one in his powers of enduring hunger, 
 thirst, and cold, and all the hardships of a 
 severe Thracian winter. At this siege we hear 
 of him for the first time in connection with 
 Alcibiades, whose life he saved in a skirmish, 
 
 1 Apol. 19 C. D. Xen. Mem. i. i. n. 
 
 2 Xen. Mem. iv. 7. 2. 4. 
 
 3 Xen. Mem. \. i. 13. 15 ; iv, 7. 3. 5. 6.
 
 XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and to whom he eagerly relinquished the prize 
 of valour. In 431 B.C. the Peloponnesian War 
 broke out, and in 424 B.C. the Athenians were 
 disastrously defeated and routed by the Thebans 
 at the battle of Delium. Socrates and Laches 
 were among the few who did not yield to panic. 
 They retreated together steadily, and the 
 resolute bearing of Socrates was conspicuous to 
 friend and foe alike. Had all the Athenians 
 behaved as he did, says Laches, in the dialogue 
 of that name, the defeat would have been a 
 victory. 1 Socrates fought bravely a third time 
 at the battle of Amphipolis [422 B.C.] against 
 the Peloponnesian forces, in which the com- 
 manders on both sides, Cleon and Brasidas, 
 were killed : but there is no record of his 
 specific services on that occasion. 
 
 About the same time that Socrates was 
 displaying conspicuous courage in the cause of 
 Athens at Delium and Amphipolis, Aristo- 
 phanes was holding him up to hatred, contempt, 
 and ridicule in the comedy of the Clouds. The 
 Clouds was first acted in 423 B.C., the year 
 between the battles of Delium and Amphipolis, 
 and was afterwards recast in the form in which 
 we have it. It was a fierce and bitter attack 
 on what Aristophanes, a staunch " laudato? 
 temporis acti Se puero" considered the corrup- 
 tion and degeneracy of the age. Since the 
 middle of the Fifth Century B.C. a new intel- 
 lectual movement, in which the Sophists were 
 the most prominent figures, had set in. Men 
 1 Laches, 181 B. Sympos. 219 E.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xvil 
 
 had begun to examine and to call in question 
 the old-fashioned commonplaces of morality and 
 religion. Independent thought and individual 
 judgment were coming to be substituted for im- 
 memorial tradition and authority. Aristophanes 
 hated the spirit of the age with his whole soul. 
 It appeared to him to be impious and immoral. 
 He looked back with unmixed regret to the 
 simplicity of ancient manners, to the glories of 
 Athens in the Persian wars, to the men of 
 Marathon who obeyed orders without discuss- 
 ing them, and ' only knew how to call for their 
 barley-cake, and sing yo-ho ! ' l The Clouds 
 is his protest against the immorality of free 
 thought and the Sophists. He chose Socrates 
 for his central figure, chiefly, no doubt on 
 account of Socrates' well-known and strange 
 personal appearance. The grotesque ugliness, 
 and flat nose, and prominent eyes, and Silenus- 
 like face, and shabby dress, might be seen every 
 day in the streets, and were familiar to every 
 Athenian. Aristophanes cared little prob- 
 ably he did not take the trouble to find out 
 that Socrates' whole life was spent in fighting 
 against the Sophists. It was enough for him 
 that Socrates did not accept the traditional 
 beliefs, 2 and was a good centre-piece for a 
 comedy. The account of the Clouds given in 
 the Apology 3 is substantially correct. There is 
 a caricature of a natural philosopher, and then 
 a caricature of a Sophist. Roll the two together, 
 
 1 Aristoph. Frogs, 1071. - Cf. Euth. 6. A. 
 
 ^ Apol. z8 B. C., 19 C.
 
 XVlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and we have Aristophanes' picture of Socrates. 
 Socrates is described as a miserable recluse, 
 and is made to talk a great deal of very absurd 
 and very amusing nonsense about ' Physics.' 
 He announces that Zeus has been dethroned, 
 and that Rotation reigns in his stead. 
 
 Aivos /3(wiX(vei TOV At" e^cA^Aa/cws. 1 
 
 The new divinities are Air, which holds the 
 earth suspended, and Ether, and the Clouds, 
 and the Tongue people always think 'that 
 natural philosophers do not believe in the 
 gods.' 2 He professes to have Belial's power to 
 'make the worse Appear the better reason;' 3 
 and with it he helps a debtor to swindle his 
 creditors by means of the most paltry quibbles. 
 Under his tuition the son learns to beat his 
 father, and threatens to beat his mother ; and 
 justifies himself on the ground that it is 
 merely a matter of convention that the father 
 has the right of beating his son. In the con- 
 cluding lines of the play the chorus say that 
 Socrates' chief crime is that he has sinned 
 against the gods with his eyes open. The 
 Natural Philosopher was unpopular at Athens 
 on religious grounds : he was associated with 
 atheism. The Sophist was unpopular on 
 moral grounds : he was supposed to corrupt 
 young men, to make falsehood plausible, to be 
 ' a clever fellow who could make other people 
 clever too.' 4 The natural philosopher was not 
 
 1 Clouds, 828. 380. 2 Apol. 18 C. 
 
 3 Milton, Par. Lost, ii. 113. 4 Euth. 3 D.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XIX 
 
 a Sophist, and the Sophist was not a natural 
 philosopher. Aristophanes mixes them up to- 
 gether, and ascribes the sins of both of them 
 to Socrates. The Clouds, it is needless to say, 
 is a gross and absurd libel from beginning to 
 end i 1 but Aristophanes hit the popular con- 
 ception. The charges which he made in 423 
 B.C. stuck to Socrates to the end of his life. 
 They are exactly the charges made by popular 
 prejudice, against which Socrates defends him- 
 self in the first ten chapters of the Apology, and 
 which he says have been so long ' in the air.' 
 He formulates them as follows : " Socrates is an 
 evil-doer who busies himself with investigating 
 things beneath the earth and in the sky, and 
 who makes the worse appear the better 
 reason, and who teaches others these same 
 things." 2 If we allow for the exaggerations of 
 a burlesque, the Clouds is not a bad com- 
 
 1 Crete's argument {Hist, of Greece, vol. vi. p. 260) 
 that if we reject Aristophanes' evidence as against 
 Socrates, we must reject it as against Cleon, ignores an 
 essential distinction between the two cases. Aristo- 
 phanes, like the majority of his countrymen, was totally 
 incapable of understanding or fathoming Socrates' 
 character. It was utterly strange and unintelligible to 
 him. But he could understand the character of an 
 ordinary man of the world and politician, like Cleon, 
 perfectly well. His portraits of both Socrates and Cleon 
 are broad caricatures ; and no absolute rule can be laid 
 down for determining the historical value of a caricature. 
 In each case the value depends on circumstances. 
 
 2 Apol. 19 B. He was also accused at his trial of 
 making children undutiful to their parents. Xen. Mem. 
 \. 2. 49. Cf. Clouds, 1322 seq.
 
 xx INTRODUCTION. 
 
 mentary on the beginning of the Apology. 
 And it establishes a definite and important 
 historical fact namely, that as early as 423 
 B.C. Socrates' system of cross-examination had 
 made him a marked man. 
 
 For sixteen years after the battle of Amphi- 
 polis we hear nothing of Socrates. The next 
 events in his life, of which there is a specific 
 record, are those narrated by himself in the 
 twentieth chapter of the Apology. They 
 illustrate, as he meant them to illustrate, his 
 invincible moral courage. They show, as he 
 intended that they should, that there was no 
 power on earth, whether it were an angry 
 popular assembly, or a murdering oligarchy, 
 which could force him to do wrong. In 406 
 B.c. the Athenian fleet defeated the Lacedae- 
 monians at the battle of Arginusae, so called 
 from some small islands off the south-east 
 point of Lesbos. After the battle the Athenian 
 commanders omitted to recover the bodies of 
 their dead, and to save the living from off their 
 disabled triremes. The Athenians at home, 
 on hearing of this, were furious. The due 
 performance of funeral rites was a very sacred 
 duty with the Greeks ; 1 and many citizens 
 mourned for friends and relatives who had 
 been left to drown. The commanders were 
 immediately recalled, and an assembly was 
 held in which they were accused of neglect of 
 duty. They defended themselves by saying 
 that they had ordered certain inferior officers 
 1 Cf. the Antigone of Sophocles.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXI 
 
 (amongst others, their accuser Theramenes) to 
 perform the duty, but that a storm had come 
 on which had rendered the performance impos- 
 sible. The debate was adjourned, and it was 
 resolved that the Senate should decide in what 
 way the commanders should be tried. The 
 Senate resolved that the Athenian people, 
 having heard the accusation and the defence, 
 should proceed to vote forthwith for the 
 acquittal or condemnation of the eight com- 
 manders collectively. The resolution was 
 grossly unjust, and it was illegal. It sub- 
 stituted a popular vote for a fair and formal 
 trial. And it contravened one of the laws of 
 Athens, which provided that at every trial a 
 separate verdict should be found in the case of 
 each person accused. 
 
 Socrates was at that time a member of the 
 Senate, the only office that he ever filled. The 
 Senate was composed of five hundred citizens, 
 elected by lot, fifty from each of the ten tribes, 
 and holding office for one year. The members 
 of each tribe held the Prytany, that is, were 
 responsible for the conduct of business, for 
 thirty-five days at a time, and ten out of the 
 fifty were proedri or presidents every seven 
 days in succession. Every bill or motion was 
 examined by the proedri before it was sub- 
 mitted to the Assembly, to see if it were in 
 accordance with law : if it was not, it was 
 quashed : one of the proedri presided over 
 the Senate and the Assembly each day, and 
 for one day only : he was called the Epistates :
 
 XX11 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 it was his duty to put the question to the vote. 
 In short, he was the Speaker. 
 
 These details are necessary for the under- 
 standing of the passage in the Apology. On 
 the day on which it was proposed to take a 
 collective vote on the acquittal or condemna- 
 tion of the eight commanders, Socrates was 
 Epistates. The proposal was, as we have seen, 
 illegal : but the people were furious against the 
 accused, and it was a very popular one. Some 
 of the proedri opposed it before it was sub- 
 mitted to the Assembly, on the ground of its 
 illegality ; but they were silenced by threats 
 and subsided. Socrates alone refused to give 
 way. He would not put a question, which he 
 knew to be illegal, to the vote. Threats of 
 suspension and arrest, the clamour of an angry 
 people, the fear of imprisonment or death, could 
 not move him. ' I thought it my duty to face 
 the danger out in the cause of law and justice, 
 and not to be an accomplice in your unjust 
 proposal.' 1 But his authority lasted only for 
 a day ; the proceedings were adjourned, a 
 more pliant Epistates succeeded him, and the 
 generals were condemned and executed. 
 
 Two years later Socrates again showed by 
 his conduct that he would endure anything 
 rather than do wrong. In 404 B.C. Athens 
 was captured by the Lacedaemonian forces, and 
 the long walls were thrown down. 2 The great 
 
 1 Apol. 32 B. C. Cf. Mr. Riddell's note, ad loc. 
 Xen. Mem. i. i. 18. 
 
 2 See the description at the beginning of Mr. Brown- 
 ing's Aristophanes' Apology.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxiil 
 
 Athenian democracy was destroyed, and an 
 oligarchy of thirty set up in its place by Critias 
 (who in former days had been much in Socrates' 
 company) with the help of the Spartan general 
 Lysander. The rule of the Thirty lasted for 
 rather less than a year : in the spring of 403 
 B.C. the democracy was restored. The reign of 
 Critias and his friends was a Reign of Terror. 
 Political opponents and private enemies were 
 murdered as a matter of course. So were 
 respectable citizens, and wealthy citizens for 
 the sake of their wealth. All kinds of men 
 were used as assassins, for the oligarchs wished 
 to implicate as many as possible in their crimes. 
 With this object they sent for Socrates and 
 four others to the Council Chamber, a building 
 where formerly the Prytanies, and now they 
 themselves, took their meals and sacrificed, and 
 ordered them to bring one Leon over from 
 Salamis to Athens, to be murdered. The other 
 four feared to disobey an order, disobedience 
 to which probably meant death. They went 
 over to Salamis, and brought Leon back with 
 them. Socrates disregarded the order and the 
 danger, and went home. ' I showed,' he says, 
 ' not by mere words, but by my actions, that I 
 did not care a straw for death : but that I did 
 care very much indeed about doing wrong.' l 
 He had previously incurred the anger of Critias 
 and the other oligarchs by publicly condemning 
 their political murders in language which caused 
 them to send for him, and forbid him to 
 1 Apol. 32 D.
 
 xxiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 converse with young men as he was accustomed 
 to do, and to threaten him with death. 1 
 
 There are two events in the life of Socrates 
 to which no date can be assigned. The first 
 of them is his marriage with Xanthippe. By 
 her he had three sons, Lamprocles, Sophron- 
 iscus, and Menexenus. The two latter are 
 called ' children ' in the Apology, which was 
 delivered in 399 B.C., and the former /*et- 
 pa.Kiov -t]8->) ; 2 a phrase which implies that he 
 was some fifteen years old. The name 
 Xanthippe has come to mean a shrew. Her 
 son Lamprocles found her bitter tongue and 
 her violent temper intolerable, and his father 
 told him that she meant all her harsh- 
 ness for his good, and read him a lecture on 
 filial duty. 3 The parting between Socrates 
 and Xanthippe, as described in the Phado, is 
 not marked by any great tenderness. His last 
 day was spent, not with his wife, but with his 
 friends, and she was not present at his death. 
 No trustworthy details of his married life have 
 been preserved ; but there is a consensus of 
 testimony by late authors that it was not happy. 
 Indeed the strong probability is that he had no 
 home life at all. 
 
 Again, no date can be assigned to the answer 
 of the Delphic oracle, spoken of in the fifth 
 chapter of the Apology. There it is said that 
 Chaerephon went to Delphi and asked if fthere 
 was any man who was wiser than Socrates, and 
 
 1 Xen. Mem, i. z. 32, seq. " Apol. 34 D. 
 
 3 Xen. Mem. ii. 2.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXV 
 
 the priestess answered that there was no man. 
 Socrates offers to prove the truth of his state- 
 ment by the evidence of Chaerephon's brother, 
 Chserephon himself being dead. In the next 
 chapter he represents the duty of testing the 
 oracle as the motive of that unceasing examina- 
 tion of men which is described in the Apology, 
 and which gained him so much hatred. He 
 says that he thought himself bound to sift 
 every one whom he met, in order that the truth 
 of the oracle might be thoroughly tested and 
 proved. There is no reason to doubt that the 
 answer of the oracle was actually given ; but, 
 as Zeller observes, Socrates must have been a 
 well-known and marked man before Chaerephon 
 could have asked his question, or the oracle 
 have given such an answer. ' It may have 
 done a similar service to Socrates as (sic) his 
 doctor's degree did to Luther, assuring him of 
 his inward call ; but it had just as little to do 
 with making him a philosophical reformer as 
 the doctor's degree had with making Luther a 
 religious reformer.' 1 The use which he makes 
 of the oracle, therefore, must be regarded as 
 ' a device of a semi-rhetorical character under 
 cover of which he was enabled to avoid an 
 avowal of the real purpose which had animated 
 him in his tour of examination.'- His real 
 purpose was not to test the truth of the Delphic 
 oracle. It was to expose the hollowness of 
 
 1 Zeller's Socrates and the Socratic Schools, translated 
 by the Rev. O. J. Reichel, sd edition, p. 60, note 3. 
 
 2 Riddell, p. xxiv.
 
 xxvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 what passed for knowledge, and to substitute, 
 or rather, to lay the foundations of true and 
 scientific knowledge. Such an explanation of 
 his mission would scarcely have been under- 
 stood, and it would certainly have offended the 
 judges deeply. But he never hesitates or 
 scruples to avow the original cause of his 
 examination of men. He regarded it as a 
 duty undertaken in obedience to the command 
 of God. ' God has commanded me to examine 
 men,' he says, ' in oracles, and in dreams, and 
 in every way in which His will was ever declared 
 to man. ' l ( I cannot hold my peace, for that 
 would be to disobey God.' 2 The Apology is full 
 of such passages. With this belief he did not 
 shrink from the unpopularity and hatred which a 
 man, who exposes the ignorance of persons who 
 imagine themselves to be wise, when they are 
 not wise, is sure to incur. At what time he 
 became convinced of the hollowness of what 
 then commonly passed for knowledge, and be- 
 gan to examine men, and to make them give an 
 account of their words, cannot be exactly deter- 
 mined, any more than the date of the oracle. 
 We cannot tell to how many years of his life 
 the account of it given in the Apology applies. 
 All that is certain is that, as early as 423 B.C., 
 twenty-four years before his death, he was a 
 sufficiently conspicuous man for Aristophanes 
 to select him as the type and representative of 
 the new school, and to parody his famous 
 Elenchos. There is, therefore, no reason to 
 1 Apol. 33 C. 2 Apol. 37 E. See 29 D. ; 30 B.
 
 INTRODUCTION, xxvii 
 
 doubt that he must have begun to cross-exa- 
 mine men before 423 B.C. He had begun to 
 examine himself as early as the siege of Potidaea 
 (432 B.C.-429 B.C.). l But when he once set about 
 this work he devoted himself to it entirely. He 
 was a strange contrast to professional teachers 
 like the Sophists. He took no pay : he had 
 no classes : he taught no positive knowledge. 
 But his whole life was spent in examining 
 himself and others. He was ' the great cross- 
 examiner.' He was ready to question and talk 
 to any one who would listen. His life and con- 
 versation were absolutely public. He conversed 
 now with men like Alcibiades, or Gorgias, or 
 Protagoras, and then with a common mechanic. 
 In the morning he was to be seen in the 
 promenades and the gymnasia : when the 
 Agora was filling, he was there : he was to 
 be found wherever he thought that he should 
 meet most people. 2 He scarcely ever went 
 away from the city. 3 ' I am a lover of know- 
 ledge,' he says in the PJuzdrusf ' and in the 
 city I can learn from men, but the fields and 
 the trees can teach me nothing.' He gave his 
 life wholly and entirely to the service of God, 
 neglecting his private affairs, until he came to 
 be in very great poverty. 5 A mina of silver 6 
 is all that he can offer for his life at the trial. 
 He formed no school, but there grew up round 
 
 1 Symp. 220 C. See post, p. xxxii. 
 
 2 Xen. Mem. i. i. 10. 3 Crito, 52 B. 
 4 Phcedrus, 230 D. 5 Apol. 23 C. 
 6 Equivalent then to about ,4 : i : 3. 
 
 C
 
 xxvin INTRODUCTION, 
 
 him a circle of admiring friends, united, not by 
 any community of doctrines, but by love for 
 their great master, with whom he seems not 
 unfrequently to have had common meals. 1 
 
 Plato has left a most striking description of 
 Socrates in the Symposium? put into the mouth 
 of Alcibiades. I quote it almost at length from 
 Shelley's translation, which, though not always 
 correct, is graceful : ' I will begin the praise 
 of Socrates by comparing him to a certain 
 statue. Perhaps he will think that this statue 
 is introduced for the sake of ridicule, but I 
 assure you it is necessary for the illustration of 
 truth. I assert, then, that Socrates is exactly 
 like those Silenuses that sit in the sculptor's 
 shops, and which are holding carved flutes or 
 pipes, but which when divided in two are found 
 to contain the images of the gods. I assert 
 that Socrates is like the satyr Marsyas. That 
 your form and appearance are like these 
 satyrs, I think that even you will not venture 
 to deny ; and how like you are to them in all 
 other things, now hear. Are you not scornful 
 and petulant ? If you deny this, I will bring 
 witnesses. Are you not a piper, and far more 
 wonderful a one than he ? For Marsyas, and 
 whoever now pipes the music that he taught, 
 (for it was Marsyas who taught Olympus his 
 music), enchants men through the power of the 
 mouth. 3 For if any musician, be he skilful or 
 
 1 Xen. Mem. iii. 14. i. seq. 2 Symp. 215 A. 
 
 3 The sentence as it stands in Shelley is quite unin- 
 telligible. I have corrected it.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxix 
 
 not, awakens this music, it alone enables him 
 to retain the minds of men, and from the 
 divinity of its nature makes evident those who 
 are in want of the gods and initiation : you 
 differ only from Marsyas in this circumstance, 
 that you effect without instruments, by mere 
 words, all that he can do. For when we hear 
 Pericles, 1 or any other accomplished orator, 
 deliver a discourse, no one, as it were, cares 
 anything about it. But when any one hears 
 you, or even your words related by another, 
 though ever so rude and unskilful a speaker, 
 be that person a woman, man, or child, we are 
 struck and retained, as it were, by the discourse 
 clinging to our mind. 
 
 ' If I was not afraid that I am a great deal 
 too drunk, I would confirm to you by an oath 
 the strange effects which I assure you I have 
 suffered from his words, and suffer still ; for 
 when I hear him speak my heart leaps up far 
 more than the hearts of those who celebrate 
 the Corybantic mysteries ; my tears are poured 
 out as he talks, a thing I have often seen happen 
 to many others besides myself. I have heard 
 Pericles and other excellent orators, and have 
 been pleased with their discourses, but I suf- 
 fered nothing of this kind ; nor was my soul 
 ever on those occasions disturbed and filled 
 with self-reproach, as if it were slavishly laid 
 prostrate. But this Marsyas here has often 
 affected me in the way I describe, until the life 
 
 1 Pericles is not named in the original ; he had been 
 dead some years.
 
 xxx INTRODUCTION. 
 
 which I lived seemed hardly worth living. Do 
 not deny it, Socrates ; for I know well that if 
 even now I chose to listen to you, I could not 
 resist, but should again suffer the same effects. 
 For, my friends, he forces me to confess that 
 while I myself am still in need of many things, 
 I neglect my own necessities and attend to 
 those of the Athenians. I stop my ears, 
 therefore, as from the Syrens, and flee away 
 as fast as possible, that I may not sit down 
 beside him, and grow old in listening to his 
 talk. For this man has reduced me to feel 
 the sentiment of shame, which I imagine no 
 one would readily believe was in me. For I 
 feel in his presence my incapacity of refuting 
 what he says or of refusing to do that which 
 he directs : but when I depart from him the 
 glory which the multitude confers overwhelms 
 me. I escape therefore and hide myself from 
 him, and when I see him I am overwhelmed 
 with humiliation, because I have neglected to 
 do what I have confessed to him ought to be 
 done : and often and often have I wished that 
 he were no longer to be seen among men. 
 But if that were to happen I well know that I 
 should suffer far greater pain ; so that where 
 I can turn, or what I can do with this man I 
 know not. All this have I and many others 
 suffered from the pipings of this satyr. 
 
 ' And observe how like he is to what I said, 
 and what a wonderful power he possesses. 
 Know that there is not one of you who is 
 aware of the real nature of Socrates ; but since
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxxi 
 
 I have begun, I will make him plain to you. 
 You observe how passionately Socrates affects 
 the intimacy of those who are beautiful, and 
 how ignorant he professes himself to be ; 
 appearances in themselves excessively Silenic. 
 This, my friends, is the external form with 
 which, like one of the sculptured Sileni, he has 
 clothed himself; for if you open him you will 
 find within admirable temperance and wisdom. 
 For he cares not for mere beauty, but despises 
 more than any one can imagine all external 
 possessions, whether it be beauty, or wealth, 
 or glory, or any other thing for which the mul- 
 titude felicitates the possessor. He esteems 
 these things, and us who honour them, as 
 nothing, and lives among men, making all the 
 objects of their admiration the playthings of 
 his irony. But I know not if any one of you 
 have ever seen the divine images which are 
 within, when he has been opened, and is 
 serious. I have seen them, and they are so 
 supremely beautiful, so golden, so divine, and 
 wonderful, that everything that Socrates com- 
 mands surely ought to be obeyed, even like 
 the voice of a god. 
 
 'At one time we were fellow -soldiers, and 
 had our mess together in the camp before 
 Potidaea. Socrates there overcame not only 
 me, but every one beside, in endurance of evils : 
 when, as often happens in a campaign, we were 
 reduced to few provisions, there were none who 
 could sustain hunger like Socrates ; and when
 
 xxxn INTRODUCTION, 
 
 we had plenty, he alone seemed to enjoy our 
 military fare. He never drank much willingly, 
 but when he was compelled, he conquered all 
 even in that to which he was least accustomed : 
 and, what is most astonishing, no person ever 
 saw Socrates drunk either then or at any other 
 time. In the depth of winter (and the winters 
 there are excessively rigid) he sustained calmly 
 incredible hardships: and amongst other things, 
 whilst the frost was intolerably severe, and no 
 one went out of their tents, or if they went out, 
 wrapped themselves up carefully, and put fleeces 
 under their feet, and bound their legs with hairy 
 skins, Socrates went out only with the same 
 cloak on that he usually wore, and walked 
 barefoot upon the ice : more easily, indeed, 
 than those who had sandalled themselves so 
 delicately : so that the soldiers thought that he 
 did it to mock their want of fortitude. It 
 would indeed be worth while to commemorate 
 all that this brave man did and endured in that 
 expedition. In one instance he was seen early 
 in the morning, standing in one place, wrapt in 
 meditation ; and as he seemed unable to un- 
 ravel the subject of his thoughts, he still con- 
 tinued to stand as inquiring and discussing 
 within himself, and when noon came, the 
 soldiers observed him, and said to one another 
 " Socrates has been standing there thinking, 
 ever since the morning." At last some lonians 
 came to the spot, and having supped, as it was 
 summer, they lay down to sleep in the cool : 
 they observed that Socrates continued to stand
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxxiu 
 
 there the whole night until morning, and that, 
 when the sun rose, he saluted it with a prayer 
 and departed. 
 
 ' I ought not to omit what Socrates is in battle. 
 For in that battle l after which the generals 
 decreed to me the prize of courage, Socrates 
 alone of all men was the saviour of my life, 
 standing by me when I had fallen and was 
 wounded, and preserving both myself and my 
 arms from the hands of the enemy. On that 
 occasion I entreated the generals to decree the 
 prize, as it was most due, to him. And this, 
 
 Socrates, you cannot deny, that when the 
 generals, wishing to conciliate a person of my 
 rank, desired to give me the prize, you were 
 far more earnestly desirous than the generals 
 that this glory should be attributed not to your- 
 self, but me. 
 
 ' But to see Socrates when our army was 
 defeated and scattered in flight at Delium 2 was 
 a spectacle worthy to behold. On that occasion 
 
 1 was among the cavalry, and he on foot, 
 heavily armed. After the total rout of our 
 troops, he and Laches retreated together ; I 
 came up by chance, and seeing them, bade 
 them be of good cheer, for that I would not 
 leave them. As I was on horseback, and 
 therefore less occupied by a regard of my own 
 situation, I could better observe than at Potidaea 
 the beautiful spectacle exhibited by Socrates on 
 this emergency. How superior was he to 
 
 1 Sc. at Potidaea. 
 
 2 Shelley writes ' Delius,' wrongly.
 
 xxxiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Laches in presence of mind and courage ! Your 
 representation of him on the stage, O Aristo- 
 phanes, was not wholly unlike his real self on 
 this occasion, for he walked and darted his 
 regards around with a majestic composure, 
 looking tranquilly both on his friends and 
 enemies : so that it was evident to every one, 
 even from afar, that whoever should venture to 
 attack him would encounter a desperate resist- 
 ance. He and his companions thus departed 
 in safety: for those who are scattered in flight 
 are pursued and killed, whilst men hesitate to 
 touch those who exhibit such a countenance as 
 that of Socrates even in defeat. 
 
 ' Many other and most wonderful qualities 
 might well be praised in Socrates, but such as 
 these might singly be attributed to others. 
 But that which is unparalleled in Socrates is 
 that he is unlike and above comparison with 
 all other men, whether those who have lived in 
 ancient times, or those who exist now. For it 
 may be conjectured that Brasidas and many 
 others are such as was Achilles. Pericles 
 deserves comparison with Nestor and Antenor ; 
 and other excellent persons of various times 
 may, with probability, be drawn into comparison 
 with each other. But to such a singular man 
 as this, both himself and his discourses are so 
 uncommon, no one, should he seek, would find 
 a parallel among the present or past generations 
 of mankind ; unless they should say that he 
 resembled those with whom I lately compared 
 him, for assuredly he and his discourses are
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxxv 
 
 like nothing but the Sileni and the Satyrs. At 
 first I forgot to make you observe how like his 
 discourses are to those Satyrs when they are 
 opened, for if any one will listen to the talk of 
 Socrates, it will appear to him at first extremely 
 ridiculous : the phrases and expressions which 
 he employs, fold round his exterior the skin, as 
 it were, of a rude and wanton Satyr. He is 
 always talking about great market-asses, and 
 brass-founders, and leather-cutters, and skin- 
 dressers ; and this is his perpetual custom, so 
 that any dull and unobservant person might 
 easily laugh at his discourse. But if any one 
 should see it opened, as it were, and get within 
 the sense of his words, he would then find that 
 they alone of all that enters into the mind of 
 men to utter, had a profound and persuasive 
 meaning, and that they were most divine ; and 
 that they presented to the mind innumerable 
 images of every excellence, and that they tended 
 towards objects of the highest moment, or rather 
 towards all that he, who seeks the possession of 
 what is supremely excellent and good, need 
 regard as essential to the accomplishment of 
 his ambition. 
 
 ' These are the things, my friends, for which 
 I praise Socrates.' 
 
 After that, Socrates, Aristophanes and Agathon 
 sat the night out in conversation, till Socrates 
 made the other two, who were very tired and 
 sleepy, admit that a man who could write 
 tragedy could write comedy, and that the 
 foundations of the tragic and comic arts were
 
 xxxvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the same. Then Aristophanes and Agathon fell 
 asleep in the early morning, and Socrates went 
 away and washed himself at the Lyceum, ' and 
 having spent the day there in his accustomed 
 manner, went home in the evening.' 
 
 We have now reached the events recorded 
 in our dialogues. In 399 B.C. Socrates was put 
 on his trial for corrupting young men and for not 
 believing in the gods of Athens ; and on these 
 charges he was found guilty and condemned 
 to death. His death was delayed by a State 
 religious ceremonial, and he lay in prison for 
 thirty days. 1 His friends implored him to escape, 
 which he might easily have done, but he refused 
 to listen to them ; and when the time came he 
 cheerfully drank the poison and died. It is 
 convenient to pause here for a little, before we 
 go on to speak of these events in detail, in order 
 to get some idea of Socrates as a thinker. With 
 a very large number of questions concerning his 
 philosophy we have nothing to do. But it is 
 essential, if we are to understand these dialogues 
 at all, that we should know something about 
 certain points of it. 
 
 The pre-Socratic philosophers had been occu- 
 pied almost exclusively with Physics and Meta- 
 physics. They had tried to solve the problem 
 of the Universe regarded as an undistinguish- 
 able whole. They had inquired into the nature 
 of the Cosmos, and had sought to find some 
 universal first principle, such as Air, Fire, or 
 Water, to explain it. They had asked such 
 1 Xen. Mem. iv. 8. 2.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxxvil 
 
 questions as How do things come into being ? 
 How do they exist ? Why do they decay ? 1 
 But in the middle of the fifth century B.C. they 
 had failed to satisfy men, and were falling into 
 discredit. In a city like Athens, which had 
 suddenly shot up into an imperial democracy, 
 and which was full of such keen and varied 
 intellectual activity, it was simply inevitable 
 that ethical and political inquiries should take 
 the place of those vague physical speculations. 
 The questions which interested the Athenians 
 of the time were questions relating to the indi- 
 vidual and society, not to the Cosmos. Men 
 had begun to dispute in an unscientific way 
 about justice and injustice, right and wrong, 
 the good and the expedient. 2 They had begun 
 to ask, What is justice and right, and the good ? 
 Why is a thing said to be just, or right, or 
 good? The pre-Socratic philosophers could 
 give no answer to such questions. They had 
 been conversant not with conduct, but with 
 Physics and Metaphysics. The demand for 
 ethical and political discussion (or disputation) 
 was to some extent met by their successors, the 
 Sophists, who were paid teachers (generally 
 foreigners), and who professed to educate men 
 for public and private life at Athens. 3 There 
 
 1 See Phcedo, 96 A. Of course it must be understood 
 that the above is a broad statement, to which exceptions 
 may be found. 
 
 2 The pre-Socratic treatment of these questions may 
 be illustrated by the speeches of Thucydides. 
 
 3 See Apol. 19 E. seq.
 
 xxxviil INTRODUCTION. 
 
 is a good deal of controversy about their exact 
 character and teaching, with which we are not 
 concerned. We need not ask whether they 
 were a sect or a profession ; whether or no 
 their teaching was immoral ; how far they were 
 the cause, and how far the effect of the new 
 intellectual movement at Athens. 1 The point 
 on which I wish to lay stress is that the morality 
 which they were content to accept and teach was 
 merely the mass of confused and inconsistent 
 ideas about ethics and politics which were cur- 
 rent at Athens. The whole of their ethical and 
 political education was based on those often re- 
 peated and unexamined commonplaces, against 
 which Socrates waged unceasing war. They 
 were not scientific. They had no sense at all 
 of the inherent vice of the popular thought and 
 morality, and they did not aim at any reform. 
 VTheir object was not to teach their pupils the 
 truth, but to qualify them for social and political 
 success. All that they did was to formulate 
 popular ideas. There is an extremely remark- 
 able passage in the Republic, in which Plato 
 describes their teaching. 2 These mercenary 
 adventurers, he says, who are called Sophists, 
 teach in fact merely popular opinions, and call 
 them wisdom : and he goes on to compare them 
 with a man who has learnt by experience to 
 understand the temper and wants of some huge 
 
 1 See Mr. Sedgwick in the Journal of Philology, Nos. 
 8 and 9. 
 
 2 Rep. vi. 493 A. seq. The whole passage is well 
 worth reading.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxxix 
 
 and dangerous wild beast, and has found out 
 when it is safe to approach it, and what sounds 
 irritate it and soothe it, and what its various 
 cries mean, and who, having acquired this know- 
 ledge, calls it wisdom, and systematises it into 
 an art, and proceeds to teach it. What pleases 
 the beast he calls right, and what displeases it 
 he calls wrong ; though he is utterly ignorant 
 which of its desires and wants are, in fact, right 
 and good, and which are the reverse. In exactly 
 the same way, says Plato, the Sophist makes 
 wisdom consist in understanding the fancies and 
 temper of that ' many-headed beast,' the multi- 
 tude, though he has not an argument that is 
 not supremely ridiculous to show that what the 
 multitude approves of is, in fact, right and good. 
 In short the Sophists dealt, it is true, with 
 ethical and political questions, but they dealt 
 with them in the most superficial way. Often 
 enough they were contemptible charlatans. 
 
 At this point, some time after the Sophists 
 had begun to educate men, and when the new 
 intellectual and critical movement was in full 
 swing, came Socrates. Like the Sophists he 
 dealt with ethical and political questions : to 
 such questions (rot avdptairfia) he strictly and 
 exclusively confined himself. ' He conversed,' 
 says Xenophon, 1 ' only about matters relating 
 to men. He was always inquiring What is 
 piety ? What is impiety ? What is honour- 
 able ? What is base ? What is justice ? What 
 is injustice ? What is temperance ? What 
 1 Xen. Mem. i. i. 16 ; cf. Rep. ii. 367 D. E.
 
 xl , INTRODUCTION. 
 
 is madness ? What is courage ? What is 
 cowardice ? What is a state ? What is a 
 statesman ? What is government ? What 
 makes a man fit to govern ? and so on ; and 
 he used to say that those who could answer 
 such questions were good men, and that those 
 who could not, were no better than slaves.' So, 
 in the Laches of Plato, he asks, What is courage ? 
 In the Charmides, What is temperance ? In the 
 first of our dialogues, the Euthyphron^ What 
 are holiness and piety ? In the Lysis, What 
 is friendship ? The difference between Socrates 
 and preceding philosophers, in regard to the 
 subject matter of their respective philosophies, 
 is complete. They were occupied with Nature : 
 he was occupied with man. And the difference 
 between him and the Sophists, in regard to 
 method, and to the point of view from which they 
 respectively dealt with ethical and political ques- 
 tions, is not less complete. His object was to re- 
 form what they were content simply to formulate. 
 He was thoroughly convinced of the inherent 
 vice and hollowness of what passed for know- 
 ledge at that time. In .the Apology we shall 
 constantly hear of men who thought themselves 
 wise, though they were not wise ; who fancied 
 that they knew what they did not know. They 
 used general terms which implied classification. 
 They said that this or that act was just or unjust, 
 right or wrong. They were ready on every 
 occasion to state propositions about man and 
 society with unhesitating confidence. The mean- 
 ing of such common words as justice, piety,
 
 INTR OD UCTION. xli 
 
 democracy, government, seemed so familiar, 
 that it never for a moment occurred to them 
 to doubt whether they knew what 'justice,' 
 or ' piety,' or < democracy,' or ' government ' 
 exactly meant. But in fact they had never 
 taken the trouble to analyse and make clear to 
 themselves the meaning of their words. They 
 had been content ' to feel and affirm.' General 
 words had come to comprehend in their mean- 
 ing a very complex multitude of vague and ill- 
 assorted attributes, and to represent in the minds 
 of those who used them nothing more than a 
 floating collection of confused and indefinite 
 ideas. 1 It is a fact, which it is not quite easy 
 for us to realise, that Socrates was practically 
 the first man to frame a definition. ' Two 
 things,' says Aristotle, 2 ' may fairly be ascribed 
 to Socrates, namely Induction, and the Defini- 
 tion of general Terms.' Until his time the 
 meaning of words, which were used every day 
 in connection with the commonest, and the 
 greatest and the gravest duties of life, had never 
 once been tested, revised, examined. It had 
 grown up gradually and unconsciously, never 
 distinct and clearly defined. It was the creation 
 of years of sentiment, poetry, authority, and 
 tradition : it had never been corrected or 
 analysed by reason. There is a sentence in 
 Bacon which describes very felicitously the 
 intellectual condition of the Athenians of that 
 time : ' Itaque ratio ilia humana quam habe- 
 
 1 See J. S. Mill's Logic, Bk. iv.,ch. 4. 
 
 2 Arist. Metaph. xiii. 4, 6.
 
 xlii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 mus, ex multa fide, et multo etiam casu, necnon 
 ex puerilibus quas primo hausimus notionibus, 
 farrago quaedam est et congeries.' l ' This 
 human reason of ours is a confused multitude 
 and mixture of ideas, made up, very largely by 
 accident, of much credulity and of the opinions 
 which we inherited long ago in our childhood." 
 Such inaccurate use of language led, as it was 
 bound to lead, to inaccurate and loose reasoning. 
 ' Every (process of reasoning) consists of pro- 
 positions, and propositions consist of words 
 which are the symbols of notions ; and there- 
 fore if our notions are confused and badly 
 abstracted from things, there is no stability in 
 the structure which is built upon them.' 2 As 
 Socrates puts it in the Phado? ( to use words 
 wrongly and indefinitely is not merely an error 
 in itself: it also creates an evil in the soul.' 
 That is to say, it not only makes exact thought, 
 and therefore knowledge, impossible : it also 
 creates careless and slovenly habits of mind. 
 And this inaccurate use of language, and the con- 
 sequent intellectual confusion, were not confined 
 to any one class at Athens. They were almost 
 universal. It was not merely among the noted 
 men with a great reputation that Socrates found 
 the ' conceit of knowledge ' without the reality. 
 The poets could not explain their own poems, 
 and further, because they were famous as poets, 
 they claimed to understand other matters of 
 
 1 Bacon, Nov. Org. i. 97. 
 
 2 Bacon, Nov. Org. i. 14. I have substituted ' pro- 
 cess of reasoning' for 'syllogism.' 3 Phado, 115 E.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xliii 
 
 which they were, in fact, profoundly ignorant. 
 The skilled artizans were able, it is true, to give 
 an account, each of the rules of his own art ; 
 but they too, like the poets, claimed to possess 
 knowledge in matters of the greatest importance 
 (i.e. questions affecting man and society), which 
 they did not possess, on account of their techni- 
 cal skill : and ' this fault of theirs,' says 
 Socrates, l ' threw their real wisdom into the 
 shade.' And men of all classes were profoundly 
 ignorant that they were ignorant. They did not 
 understand defining words. It appeared to 
 them to be contemptible hair-splitting. ' What 
 is piety ?' asks Socrates of Euthyphron, a man 
 who had thought a great deal about religious 
 questions. ' Piety,' replies Euthyphron, ' means 
 acting as I am acting.' - He had never analysed 
 or defined his words. He did not in the least 
 understand what definition meant, or the neces- 
 sity for it. Such and such an act was pious ; 
 but he could not justify his proposition by 
 bringing it under the universal proposition, the 
 definition of piety, or tell why his act was pious. 
 Cross-examination makes him contradict him- 
 self over and over again. The simplest way of 
 comprehending the confusion of thought and 
 language which Socrates found on every side, 
 is to read the Euthyphron. And if we examine 
 ourselves I think that we shall find that even 
 we, like Euthyphron, not uncommonly use 
 general terms of the greatest importance with- 
 out affixing a very definite meaning to them. 
 1 Apol. 22 D. 2 Euth. 5 A. D. 
 
 d
 
 xliv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In our times the Press has become the public 
 instructor. We have only to take up a news- 
 paper, and read a religious, or political, or ethical 
 debate or argument, to have a very fair chance 
 of seeing repeated examples of general and ab- 
 stract terms used in the loosest and vaguest way 
 possible. Such words as ' patriotism,' ' super- 
 stition,' 'justice,' 'right,' 'wrong,' ' honour,' are 
 not uncommonly used by us, in public, and in 
 private, with no more distinct or definite a mean- 
 ing given to them, than that which Euthyphron 
 gave to ' piety.' 
 
 On this basis rested Athenian opinion. We 
 are now in a position to understand so much 
 of Socrates' philosophical reforms as concerns 
 us. He was filled with the most intense con- 
 viction of the supreme and overwhelming 
 importance of truth : of the paramount duty of 
 doing right, because it is right, on every 
 occasion, be the consequences what they may. 
 ' My friend,' he says, in his defence, to a 
 supposed objector, ' if you think that a man of 
 any worth at all ought, when he acts, to take 
 into account the risk of death, or that he ought 
 to think of anything but whether he is doing 
 right or wrong, you make a mistake.' l ' I 
 spend my whole time in going about, persuad- 
 ing you all, both old and young, to give your 
 first and chiefest care to the perfection of your 
 souls, and, not till you have done that to care 
 for your bodies or your wealth : and telling 
 you that virtue does not come from wealth, but 
 1 Apol. 28 B.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xlv 
 
 that wealth, and every good thing which men 
 have, comes from virtue.' 1 'We are guided 
 by reason,' is his answer when Crito was 
 imploring him to escape from prison, after he 
 had been condemned to death, ' and reason 
 shows us that the only question which we 
 have to consider is, Shall I be doing right, or 
 shall I be doing wrong, if I escape ? And if 
 we find that I should be doing wrong, then we 
 must not take any account of death, or of any 
 other evil which may be the consequence of 
 staying here, but only of doing wrong.' 2 That 
 
 1 Apol. 30 A. a 
 
 2 Crito, 48 C. I am speaking only of the Platonic 
 Socrates, and primarily of the Socrates of these dialogues. 
 The Socrates of Xenophon takes generally a very dif- 
 ferent view of morality. To him the measure of the 
 goodness or badness of an act is almost always its 
 expediency or inexpediency. He is made to say that the 
 good and the useful are the same thing {Mem. iv. 6. 8. 
 9). Virtue is therefore the knowledge of consequences. 
 A similar doctrine is put into Socrates' mouth by Plato 
 (Protag. 333 D. , 358 B.), and Socrates uses it in his 
 examination of Meletus in the Apology (25 C. D.) ; 
 though I do not think that any stress can be laid on 
 that passage, for the whole argument there (as is Ikrgely 
 the case also in the Protagoras) is simply dialectical. 
 It is of course inconsistent to say that a man should do 
 right because right is right, and that he should do right 
 because it is expedient to do right. Zeller thinks that 
 Socrates was in fact inconsistent (p. 154, seq. ) Grote 
 accepts the account of Xenophon, ' the best witness about 
 his master' {History of Greece, vol. viii., p. 262, note i). 
 He thinks also that the Apology ' may reasonably be 
 taken as a reproduction by Plato of what Socrates 
 actually said to the Dikasts on his trial' (p. 214, note 
 2). These two statements are inconsistent.
 
 xlvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 such a man should feel the deepest dissatisfac- 
 tion with what passed for thought and morality 
 at Athens, was simply inevitable. ' The 
 current opinions drawn from men's practical 
 exigencies, imperfect observation, and debased 
 morality, were no sounder than their sources.' 
 And with this dissatisfaction was joined a con- 
 viction that God had given him a duty to 
 reform ' this mass of error and conventionality, 
 which meanwhile the Sophists were accepting 
 as the material of their system : ' l a duty from 
 which he never shrank, although he knew that 
 it might, as in fact it did, cost him his life. 
 In order to comprehend the Euthyphron, 
 Apology, and Crito, we must ask and answer 
 two questions. First, What was Socrates' con- 
 ception of reform ? Secondly, What was his 
 method ? 
 
 i. The principle of Socrates' reform may 
 be stated in a single sentence. It was ' to 
 reconstruct human opinion on a basis of 
 " reasoned truth."' Conduct which proceeded 
 from emotion, enthusiasm, impulse, habit, and 
 not from reason, he would not allow to be 
 virtuous. His whole teaching rested on the 
 paradox that 'virtue is knowledge.' 2 This 
 
 1 These sentences are quoted from Mr. Riddell's most 
 striking note on the words 6 5 di/e^Too-ros ^Si'oj 01) 
 ftiwrbs ivOpdnrq ( ' an unexamined life is not worth 
 living'), Apol. 38 A. 
 
 2 Xen. Mem. iii. 9. 5 ; Arist. Ethics, vi. 13 ; see 
 Zeller, p. 106, seq. 'Virtue' is a very inadequate 
 representative of dperrj, but I know of no other. By the
 
 INTRODUCTION. xlvii 
 
 is the leading idea of his attempt to reform 
 morality, and it must always be borne in 
 mind. It is perpetually alluded to in our 
 dialogues. He describes his ceaseless cross- 
 examination of men as undertaken with 
 the object of testing their knowledge, and of 
 preaching the supreme importance of virtue, 
 indifferently. 1 And conversely, if Virtue is 
 Knowledge, Vice is Ignorance, and conse- 
 quently involuntary. He always assumes 
 that the crime of corrupting young men 
 of which he was accused was caused, if he 
 had committed it, not by moral depravity, 
 in the ordinary sense of the word, but by 
 ignorance. 2 ' You are a liar, Meletus, and 
 you know it,' he retorts, on being told that 
 he was in the habit of corrupting the youth 
 intentionally ; ' either I do not corrupt young 
 men at all, or I corrupt them unintentionally, 
 and by reason of my ignorance. As soon as I 
 know that I am committing a crime, of course 
 I shall cease from committing it.' 3 A man 
 who knows what is right, must always do right : 
 a man who does not know what is right, cannot 
 do right. ' We needs must love the highest 
 when we see it.' Knowledge is not a part, 
 it is not even an indispensable condition of 
 virtue. It is virtue. The two things are the 
 
 apery of a man, Socrates meant the excellence and per- 
 fection of a man as such. Protag. 325 A. Cf. Arnold's 
 note to Thucydides, ii. 40. 6. 
 
 1 Apol. 2 1 D. , 22 E. , 29 E. seq. , 3 1 B. 
 
 -' Euth. 5 A., 1 6 A. 3 Apol. 25 E.
 
 xlviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 same. We draw a distinction between Know- 
 ledge and Wisdom. The former 
 
 ' is earthly, of the mind, 
 But Wisdom, heavenly, of the soul.' l 
 
 But Socrates drew no distinction between them. 
 To him they were identical. It is needless to 
 point out that this doctrine, which takes no 
 account of that most essential side of virtue 
 which is non-intellectual, is defective, in that 
 it puts a part for the whole. But from this 
 doctrine Socrates started. He wished to re- 
 form morality from the intellectual side. Above 
 all things a preacher of ' Virtue,' he devoted 
 his life to a search after knowledge. Knowledge 
 to him was the same as morality. 
 
 2. In order to understand the method of 
 Socrates' reform, it is necessary to recall the 
 fact that he found himself confronted with a 
 general absence, not of knowledge only, but of 
 the very idea of knowledge. The result of his 
 constant examination and sifting of men was 
 to prove that his contemporaries of every class, 
 and above all those of them who were most 
 satisfied with themselves, and whose reputation 
 for wisdom was highest, were generally in a 
 state of that ' shameful ignorance which consists 
 in thinking that we know what we do not know.' 2 
 And the gravest symptom of this state of things 
 was that the Athenians were perfectly well 
 satisfied with it. It never crossed their minds 
 for a moment to doubt the complete adequacy of 
 
 1 Tennyson, In Memoriam, cxiv. - Apol. 29 B
 
 INTRODUCTION. xlix 
 
 what they considered to be knowledge, though 
 in fact it was merely a hollow sham. Socrates' 
 first object then was to clear the ground, to 
 get rid of men's ignorance of their ignorance, 
 to reveal to them their actual short -coming. 
 Like Bacon, he set himself the task of ' throw- 
 ing entirely aside received theories and concep- 
 tions, and of applying his mind, so cleansed, 
 afresh to facts.' l The first step in his method 
 was destructive. It was to convict and 
 convince men of their ignorance by means of 
 his wonderful cross-examination. He was for 
 ever bringing to the test the current common- 
 places, the unexpressed popular judgments 
 about life, which were never examined or 
 revised, and the truth of which was taken for 
 granted by every one. He spent his days in 
 talking to any one who would talk to him. A 
 man in the course of conversation used a 
 general or abstract term, such as ' courage,' 
 'justice,' 'the state.' Socrates asked for a 
 definition of it. The other, never doubting 
 that he knew all about it, gave an answer at 
 once. The word seemed familiar enough to 
 him : he constantly used it, though he had 
 never taken the trouble to ask himself what it 
 exactly meant. Then Socrates proceeded to 
 test the definition offered him, by applying it 
 to particular cases, by putting questions about 
 it, by analysing it. 2 He probably found with- 
 out much difficulty that it was defective : either 
 
 1 Bacon, Nov. Or/, i. 97. 
 
 2 See Bacon, Nov. Org. i. 105.
 
 1 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 too narrow, or too broad, or contradictory of 
 some other general proposition which had been 
 laid down. Then the respondent amended his 
 definition : but a fresh series of similar questions 
 soon led him into hopeless difficulties ; and he 
 was forced at last to confess, or at least to feel, 
 that he was ignorant where he had thought 
 that he was wise, that he had nothing like clear 
 knowledge of what the word in question really 
 and exactly meant. The Euthyphron is a 
 perfect specimen of the Socratic examination 
 or elenchos. Let me give another very good 
 example from Xenophon. Euthydemus, who is 
 taking great pains to qualify himself for political 
 life, has no doubt that justice is an essential 
 attribute of a good citizen. He scorns the 
 idea that he does not know what justice and 
 injustice are, when he can see so many examples 
 of them every day. It is unjust to lie, to deceive, 
 to rob, to do harm, to enslave. But, objects 
 Socrates, it is not unjust to deceive, or to 
 enslave, or to injure your enemies. Euthy- 
 demus then says that it is unjust to treat your 
 friends so. It is just to deal thus with your 
 enemies. Well, rejoins Socrates, is a general 
 who inspirits his army with a lie, or a father 
 who gets his son to take necessary medicine 
 by means of a lie, or a man who takes away 
 a sword from his friend who is attempting to 
 commit suicide in a fit of insanity, unjust ? 
 Euthydemus admits that such acts are just, and 
 wishes to alter the definition. Then does 
 injustice mean deceiving one's friends for their
 
 INTRODUCTION. li 
 
 harm ? ' Indeed, Socrates,' replies Euthy- 
 demus, ' I no longer believe in my answers : 
 everything seems to me different from what it 
 used to seem ' (cf. Euth. 1 1 B.) A further 
 question, namely, Are you unjust if you injure 
 your friends unintentionally ? is discussed 
 with a similar result, which Socrates attributes 
 to the fact that Euthydemus perhaps has never 
 considered these points, because they seemed 
 so familiar to him (810. TO fr<f>68pa TritrTtveiv 
 d&fvai). Then Socrates asks him what a 
 democracy is (of course Euthydemus knows 
 that, for he is going to lead a political life 
 in a democracy). Euthydemus replies that 
 democracy means government by the people, 
 i.e. by the poor. He defines the poor as 
 those who have not enough, and the rich as 
 those who have more than enough. ' Enough,' 
 it is pointed out, is a relative term. His defini- 
 tion would include tyrants among the poor, and 
 many men with quite small means among the 
 rich. At this point Euthydemus who had began 
 the discussion with complete self-complacency, 
 goes away greatly dejected. ' Socrates makes 
 me acknowledge my own worthlessness. I had 
 best be silent, for it seems that I know nothing 
 at all.' 1 To produce this painful and un- 
 expected consciousness of ignorance in the 
 minds of men who thought that they were 
 wise, when they were not wise, and who were 
 
 1 Xen. Mem. iv. 2. n.-39. Cf. Meno, 80 A., where 
 Socrates is compared to the torpedo fish which gives a 
 shock to whoever touches it.
 
 lii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 perfectly well satisfied with their intellectual 
 condition, was the first object of the Socratic 
 cross - examination. Such consciousness of 
 ignorance was the first and a long step towards 
 knowledge. A man who had reached that 
 state had become at any rate ready to begin to 
 learn. And Socrates was able to bring every 
 one with whom he conversed into that state. 1 
 Very many who were treated so took deep 
 offence : among others, his accuser Anytus. 2 
 Such persons he called lazy and stupid. Others, 
 like Euthydemus, spent all their time afterwards 
 in his company, and were then no longer per- 
 plexed by puzzling questions, but encouraged. 3 
 It is this object of clearing the ground, of 
 producing consciousness of ignorance, that Plato 
 dwells on in his portrait of Socrates. He lays 
 great stress on the negative and destructive side 
 of the Socratic philosophy : but he says scarcely 
 anything of its constructive side. It may well be 
 doubted whether there was very much to say ; 
 whether Socrates did in fact attempt to create 
 any system of real knowledge to take the place 
 of the sham knowledge which he found existing. 
 Xenophon, it is true, represents him as fram- 
 ing a certain number of definitions, on the 
 basis of generally admitted facts (rot /*aAio-ra 
 6/*oAoyoiy/,ej/a). 4 ' Piety,' for instance, is defined 
 as 'knowledge of what is due to the gods;' 
 
 3 Xen. Mem. \. z. 14. 
 
 2 Meno, 94 E. ; cf. Apol. 21 U. 
 
 3 Xen. Mem. iv. 2. 40. 
 - Xen. Mem. iv. 6. 15.
 
 INTRODUCTION. liii 
 
 'justice ' as ' knowledge of what is due to men.' l 
 But I think that Socrates would have said that 
 these definitions were tentative and provisional 
 only, and designed rather as illustrations of a 
 method, than as instalments of knowledge. By 
 knowledge he meant a system of ' reasoned 
 truth ' based on a thorough fresh observation 
 and examination of particulars. He would not 
 have been content to take these ' generally 
 admitted facts ' as the basis of it. He would 
 have insisted on putting them to the test. And 
 certainly, whatever may be the meaning and 
 value of Xenophon's testimony, nothing can be 
 more emphatic than the way in which the 
 Socrates of the Apology repeatedly says that 
 he knows nothing at all. 2 ' I was never any 
 man's teacher. ... I have never taught, and 
 I have never professed to teach any man any 
 knowledge,' 3 is his answer to the charge that 
 men like Critias and Alcibiades, political 
 criminals of the deepest dye in the eyes of the 
 democracy, had been his pupils. His object 
 was to impart, not any positive system, but a 
 frame of mind : to make men conscious of their 
 ignorance, and of their need of enlightenment. 
 His wisdom was merely 'that wisdom which 
 he believed was (in the then state of things) 
 possible to man.' 4 In other words, he was 
 conscious of his own ignorance : and, secondly, 
 he possessed a standard or ideal of knowledge, 
 
 1 Xen. Mem. iv. 6. 4. 6. Cf. Euth. 12 E. 
 
 2 Apol. 21 B. D. ; 23 B. 3 Apol. 33 A. 
 4 Apol. 20 D.
 
 liv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and a conception of the method of attaining it 
 But he possessed no connected system of know- 
 ledge : he was only conscious, and he was the 
 first man to be conscious of the necessity of it. 
 We may speak of him as a philosopher, for he 
 does so himself. But we must remember that 
 philosophy in his mouth does not mean the 
 possession of wisdom, but only, and strictly, the 
 love of, the search for, wisdom. 1 The idea of 
 knowledge was to him still a deep and unfathom- 
 able problem, of the most supreme importance, 
 but which he could not solve. And this will 
 enable us to understand better the meaning of 
 his famous ' irony.' ' Here is a piece of Socrates' 
 well-known irony,' cries Thrasymachus, in the 
 Republic? ' I knew all the time that you would 
 refuse to answer, and feign ignorance, and do 
 anything sooner than answer a plain question.' 
 It seems to me that Socrates' 'well-known irony' 
 was of- more than one kind. His professions of 
 his own ignorance are wholly sincere. They 
 are not meant to make the conversation amus- 
 ing, and the discomfiture of his adversary more 
 complete. He never wavered in his belief that 
 knowledge was ultimately attainable ; but he 
 knew that he knew nothing himself, and in that 
 his knowledge consisted. What Thrasymachus 
 calls his irony, is not irony proper. The igno- 
 rance is not feigned but real. It is in his 
 treatment of vain and ignorant and self-satis- 
 fied sciolists, like Euthyphron, that true irony, 
 which is accompanied with the consciousness 
 1 Cf. Rep. ii. 376 B. 2 Rep. i. 337 A.
 
 INTRODUCTION. lv 
 
 of superiority, seems to me to come into play. 
 It is possible, though it is in the last degree 
 unlikely, that Socrates really hoped at the 
 beginning of the dialogue to find out from 
 Euthyphron what piety was ; that the respect 
 which he showed to Euthyphron was real. But 
 it is plain that the respect which he shows to 
 Euthyphron in the last sentences of the dialogue, 
 is wholly feigned and ironical. Euthyphron had 
 been proved to be utterly ignorant of what he 
 had been confident that he thoroughly under- 
 stood. He was much too deeply offended to 
 acknowledge, or even to be conscious of his 
 ignorance ; and he had not the slightest idea 
 of what knowledge really was. Socrates was 
 ignorant too : but he knew that he was ignorant, 
 and he had the idea of knowledge. If he was 
 respectful towards Euthyphron then, the respect 
 was feigned and ironical, for it was accompanied 
 with a consciousness of superiority. 
 
 We have now got, I hope, a sufficient view 
 of Socrates' philosophy, so far as it concerns 
 us. Its defects lie on the surface, and are too 
 obvious to need explanation. He was, in fact, 
 the discoverer of the idea of scientific knowledge, 
 and he not unnaturally exaggerated the value 
 of his discovery. It is evidently a mistake and 
 an exaggeration to call a man ignorant unless 
 he not only knows, but can also give an account 
 of what he knows. 1 There is such a thing as 
 'implicit' knowledge: 2 before Socrates' time 
 
 1 Phatdo, 76 B. 
 
 51 Johnson said that ' the greatest part of our know-
 
 Ivi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 there was no other kind. Not less evidently 
 is it a mistake to say that Virtue is Knowledge. 
 Knowledge, though an essential part, is certainly 
 very far indeed from being the whole of Virtue. 
 And a theory which leads to such sarcastic 
 comments on poets as Socrates indulges in, 1 
 which would try poetry by a purely intellectual 
 standard, must, on the face of it, be defective. 
 But, even when allowance has been made for 
 these defects and mistakes, it would be hard 
 to exaggerate the value and originality of his 
 teaching. We have some difficulty in grasping 
 its vast importance. We have entered into the 
 fruit of his labours. What was a paradox to 
 the Athenians is a commonplace to us. To 
 them the simple principles which he laid down 
 seemed generally either absurd or immoral : to 
 us they are (in theory) scarcely more than 
 household words. He was, in fact, the first 
 man who conceived the possibility of moral 
 and political science, and of logic. In that, 
 and not in the creation of any positive system 
 of philosophy, his philosophical greatness con- 
 sists. If Aristotle is ' the Master of those who 
 know,' assuredly Socrates is their father, and 
 'the author of their being.' His theory of 
 definitions was the necessary first step towards 
 the existence of any scientific thought. Our 
 temptation is to undervalue his cross-examina- 
 tion. In reading such a dialogue as the Euthy- 
 phron, we get bored and irritated by his method 
 
 ledge is implicit faith. ' Boswell's Life, vol. 3, p. 304 
 {Napier's Edition, 1884). J Apol. 22 B. C.
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ivii 
 
 of argument, and it sometimes almost drives 
 us to sympathise with the wretched sciolist. 
 Coleridge talks of ' a man who would pull you 
 up at every turn for a definition, which is like 
 setting up perpetual turnpikes along the road 
 to truth.' l But it must be always remembered, 
 first, that the Socratic cross-examination was 
 originally addressed to men who did not know 
 what definition meant : that it was a necessary 
 stage in the development of human thought ; and 
 secondly, that, even to us, it is of the greatest 
 importance to make sometimes ' a return upon 
 ourselves,' and to ask ourselves the exact mean- 
 ing of our stock thoughts and phrases. 
 
 We may now turn to our dialogues, the 
 Euthyphron, Apology, Crito, and Phado, which 
 describe the trial, the imprisonment, and the 
 death of Socrates. The first of them, however, 
 the Euthyphron, has only an indirect bearing 
 on these events. Socrates is going to be tried 
 for impiety, and before the trial begins, he wishes 
 to show that the current commonplaces about 
 piety and impiety will not bear testing. The 
 scene is laid in the porch of the King Archon, 
 an official before whom indictments for im- 
 piety and the plea of the accused were laid 
 and sworn to, matters of religion being his 
 especial care. Here Socrates and Euthyphron 
 meet, Socrates having just been indicted, and 
 Euthyphron being engaged in indicting his 
 father for the murder of a labouring man. 
 Euthyphron is supremely contemptuous of his 
 
 1 See Carew Hazlitt's Life of Hazlitt, vol. i. p. 48.
 
 Iviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 friends and relatives, who say that he is acting 
 impiously. On the contrary, he says, his act 
 is a holy and pious one. To do otherwise 
 would be impious. He himself, he is con- 
 fident, knows all about religion, and piety, and 
 impiety : he has made them his special study. 
 Socrates is anxious to be told what piety is, that 
 he may have something to say to his accusers. 
 Euthyphron answers at once without hesitation 
 ' Piety is acting as I am acting now. It means 
 punishing the evil-doer, even though he be your 
 own father, just as Zeus is said to have punished 
 his father Cronos for a crime.' Socrates re- 
 marks that he cannot bring himself to believe 
 those horrible stories about Zeus and the other 
 gods, and he points out that Euthyphron has not 
 answered his question. He does not want a 
 particular example of piety. He wishes to know 
 what piety itself is, what that is which makes all 
 pious actions pious. Euthyphron has a little 
 difficulty at first in understanding Socrates' 
 meaning. Then he gives as his definition, 
 ' Piety is that which is pleasing to the gods.' 
 But he has also said that the mythological tales 
 about the quarrels of the gods are true : and 
 Socrates makes him admit that if the gods 
 quarrel, it is about questions of right and wrong 
 and the like, and that some of them will think 
 a thing right which others of them will think 
 wrong. The same thing therefore is pleasing 
 to the gods and displeasing to the gods, and 
 Euthyphron's definition will not stand. Euthy- 
 phron then changes his ground and says, ' Piety
 
 INTRODUCTION. lix 
 
 is that which is pleasing to all the gods.' 
 Socrates demolishes this definition by pointing 
 out that what is pleasing to the gods 'is of a 
 sort to be loved by them, because they love it ;' 
 whereas piety ' is loved by them, because it is 
 of a sort to be loved.' By this time the cross- 
 examination has thoroughly confused Euthy- 
 phron, and he scarcely understands the sugges- 
 tion that piety is a part of justice. After a good 
 deal of prompting he defines piety as ' that part 
 of justice which has to do with the care or 
 attention which we owe to the gods (cf. Xen. 
 Mem. iv. 6. 4, ' Piety is the knowledge of what 
 is due to the gods '). Socrates elicits from him 
 with some trouble that by ' attention ' he means 
 ' service,' and then drives him to admit that 
 piety is ' a science of prayer and sacrifice,' or, 
 as Socrates puts it, ' an art of traffic between 
 gods and men.' We give the gods honour and 
 homage, in short what is acceptable to them. 
 Nothing, thinks Euthyphron, is dearer to them 
 than piety. Indeed piety means ' what is dear 
 to them : ' which is in fact, as Socrates points 
 out, the very definition which was rejected earlier 
 in the dialogue. At this point Euthyphron, 
 who has passed from a state of patronising self- 
 complacency to one of, first, puzzled confusion, 
 and, then, of deeply offended pride, finds it con- 
 venient to remember that he is late for an 
 engagement and must be off. The dialogue 
 ends with an ironical appeal by Socrates for 
 information about the real nature of piety. ' If 
 any man knows what it is, it is you." 
 e
 
 lx INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The Euthyphron is a perfect example of 
 Socrates' method of cross-examination, and it 
 is not necessary to add anything to what has 
 already been said on that subject. We cannot 
 tell whether the conversation recorded in this 
 dialogue ever actually took place. Socrates' 
 dislike of the mythological tales about the crimes 
 of the gods should be noticed. It is, he says, 
 one of the causes of his unpopularity. Another 
 cause is that he has the reputation of being ' a 
 man who makes other people clever,' i.e. a 
 Sophist. It must also be noticed that the 
 real question which he discusses is not whether 
 Euthyphron's action is justifiable or no, but 
 whether Euthyphron can justify it. 
 
 We come now to the trial and the defence of 
 Socrates. He was indicted in 399 B.C. before 
 an ordinary Athenian criminal tribunal for not 
 believing in the gods of Athens and for cor- 
 rupting young men. We must clear our 
 minds of all ideas of an English criminal trial, 
 if we are to realise at all the kind of court 
 before which he was tried. It consisted prob- 
 ably of 501 dicasts or jurymen, who were a 
 very animated audience, and were wont to ex- 
 press openly their approbation or disapprobation 
 of the arguments addressed to them. Aris- 
 tophanes represents them in one of his plays l 
 as shouting at an unpopular speaker the Greek 
 equivalent of ' sit down ! sit down ! ' /cara/Ja, 
 KardfBa. Socrates' appeals for a quiet hearing 
 are addressed to them, not to the general audi- 
 1 Vesp. 979.
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixi 
 
 ence. There was no presiding judge. The in- 
 dictment was preferred by an obscure young poet 
 named Meletus, backed up by Lycon,arhetorician 
 of whom nothing more is known, and by Anytus, 
 the real mover in the matter. He was a leather 
 seller by trade and an ardent politician, whose 
 zeal and sufferings in the cause of the democracy, 
 at the time of the oligarchy of the Thirty, had 
 gained him much reputation and influence with 
 the people. After the restoration of 403 B.C. 
 he was a man of great political weight in Athens. 
 All three accusers therefore belonged to classes 
 which Socrates had offended by his unceasing 
 censure of men, who could give no account of 
 the principles of their profession. We meet 
 with Anytus again in the Meno, in which 
 dialogue he displays an intense hatred and scorn 
 for the Sophists. ' I trust that no connection 
 or relative or friend of mine, whether citizen 
 or foreigner, will ever be so mad as to allow 
 them to ruin him.' And he finally loses his 
 temper at some implied criticisms of Socrates 
 on the unsatisfactory nature of the ordinary 
 Athenian education, which did not, or could not, 
 teach virtue, and goes away with an ominous 
 threat. ' Socrates, I think that you speak evil 
 of men too lightly. I advise you to be careful. 
 In any city it is probably easier to do people 
 harm than to do them good, and it is certainly so 
 in Athens, as I suppose you know yourself.' 1 
 The next time that we hear of Anytus is as one of 
 Socrates' accusers. The form of the indictment 
 1 Meno, 91 B. , 94 E.
 
 Ixii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 was as follows : ' Meletus the son of Meletus, of 
 the deme Pitthis, on his oath brings the following 
 accusation against Socrates, the son of Sophron- 
 iscus, of the deme Alopece. Socrates commits 
 a crime by not believing in the gods of the 
 city, and by introducing other new divinities. 
 He also commits a crime by corrupting the 
 youth. Penalty, Death.' 1 Meletus, in fact, 
 merely formulates the attack made on Socrates 
 by Aristophanes in the Clouds. The charge of 
 atheism and of worshipping strange gods was 
 a stock accusation against the Physical Philo- 
 sophers. 2 The charge of immorality, of corrupt- 
 ing the youth, was a stock accusation against 
 the Sophists. Meletus' indictment contains no 
 specific charge against Socrates as an individual. 
 A few words are necessary to explain the 
 procedure at the trial. The time assigned to 
 it was divided into three equal lengths. In 
 the first the three accusers made their speeches : 
 with this we are not concerned. The second 
 was occupied by the speeches of the accused 
 (and sometimes of his friends), that is, by the 
 first twenty-four chapters of the Apology. Then 
 the judges voted and found their verdict. The 
 third length opened with the speech of the 
 prosecutor advocating the penalty which he 
 proposed in this case, death. The accused 
 
 1 See Apol. 24 B. 
 
 2 Apol. 1 8 C., 23 D. A few years earlier a decree, 
 aimed at Anaxagoras, was passed, at the instance of one 
 Diopeithes, making it criminal to deny religion or to 
 teach meteorology. Plut. Pericles, xxxii.
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixiii 
 
 was at liberty to propose a lighter alternative 
 penalty, and he could then make a second 
 speech in support of his proposal. He might 
 at the same time bring forward his wife and 
 children, and so appeal to the pity of the Court. 
 To this stage of the proceedings belong chapters 
 xxv.-xxviii. inclusive, of the Apology. Then the 
 judges had to decide between the two penalties 
 submitted to them, of which they had to choose 
 one. If they voted for death, the condemned 
 man was led away to prison by the officers of 
 the Eleven : With chapter xxviii. the trial ends : 
 we cannot be certain that Socrates was ever actu- 
 ally allowed to make such an address as is con- 
 tained in the closing chapters of the Apology. It 
 is at least doubtful whether the Athenians, who 
 had just condemned a man to death that they 
 might no longer be made to give an account of 
 their lives, would endure to hear him denounc- 
 ing judgment against them for their sins, and 
 prophesying the punishment which awaited 
 them. Finally, we must remember that at 
 certain points of his defence, strictly so called, 
 Socrates must be supposed to call witnesses. 1 
 
 The first part of the Apology begins with a 
 short introduction. Then Socrates proceeds 
 to divide his accusers into two sets. First 
 there are those who have been accusing him 
 untruly now for many years, among them his 
 old enemy Aristophanes ; then there are Meletus 
 and his companions. He will answer his ' first 
 accusers ' first. They have accused him of being 
 1 E.g. Apol. 21 A. ; 32 E.
 
 Ixiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 at once a wicked sophist and a natural philo- 
 sopher. He distinguishes these characters, and 
 points out that it is untrue to say that he is either 
 one or the other. He is unpopular because he 
 has taken on himself the duty of examining men, 
 in consequence of a certain answer given by 
 the Delphic oracle, ' that he was the wisest of 
 men.' He describes the examination of men 
 which he undertook to test the truth of the 
 oracle, which has gained him much hatred : 
 men do not like to be proved ignorant when 
 they think themselves wise. They call him 
 a sophist and every kind of bad name besides, 
 because he exposes their pretence of knowledge. 
 Then he turns to his present accusers, Meletus, 
 Anytus, and Lycon. Meletus is cross-examined 
 and easily made to contradict himself: he is 
 an infant in Socrates' hands, who treats him 
 very contemptuously, answering a fool according 
 to his folly. But some one may ask, is it worth 
 while to risk death for the sake of such a life 
 as you are leading ? Socrates replies that he 
 did not desert the post which human generals 
 assigned him ; shall he desert the post at which 
 God has set him ? He will not do that ; and 
 therefore he will not accept an acquittal condi- 
 tional on abstaining from an examination of 
 men. The Athenians should not be angry with 
 him ; rather they should thank God for sending 
 him to them to rouse them, as a gadfly to use 
 a quaint simile rouses a noble but sluggish 
 steed. If they put him to death, they will not 
 easily find a successor to him. His whole life
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixv 
 
 is devoted to their service, though he is not a 
 public man. He would have been put to death 
 years ago if he had engaged in politics, for 
 there is much injustice in every city, which he 
 would oppose by every means in his power. 
 His actions, when the ten generals were con- 
 demned, and under the oligarchy, prove that. 
 But as a private man he has striven for justice 
 all his life, and his conversation has been open 
 before all. If young men have been corrupted 
 by him, why do they not come forward to 
 accuse him when they are grown up ? Or if 
 they do not like to come forward, why do not 
 their relatives, who are uncorrupted ? It is 
 because they know very well that he be speak- 
 ing the truth, and that Anytus is a liar. 
 
 That is pretty much what he has to say. 
 He will not appeal to the compassion of the 
 judges. Such conduct brings disgrace on 
 Athens ; and besides, the judges have sworn 
 to decide according to law, and to appeal to 
 their feelings would be to try to make them 
 forswear themselves : he is accused of impiety, 
 he will not accuse himself of impiety by such 
 conduct. With these words he commits his 
 cause to the judges and to God. 
 
 At this point the judges vote. He is con- 
 demned by 281 to 220. Meletus' speech in 
 support of sentence of death follows, and then 
 Socrates' speech in favour of his alternative 
 penalty. He has expected to be condemned, 
 and by a much larger majority. What shall 
 he propose as his penalty ? What does he
 
 Ixvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 deserve for his life ? He is a public benefactor; 
 and he thinks that he ought to have a public 
 maintenance in the Prytaneum, like an Olympic 
 victor. Seriously, why should he propose a 
 penalty ? He is sure that he has done no 
 wrong. He does not know whether death is 
 a good or an evil. Why should he propose 
 something that he knows to be an evil ? Pay- 
 ment of a fine would be no evil, but then he has 
 no money to pay a fine with ; perhaps he can 
 make up one mina : that is his proposal. Or, 
 as his friends wish it, he offers thirty minas, and 
 his friends will be sureties for payment. 
 
 The Athenians, as they were logically bound 
 to do, condemn him to death. They have 
 voted against him, wishing to be relieved from 
 the necessity of having to give an account of 
 their lives, and after their verdict he affirms 
 more strongly than ever that he will not cease 
 from examining them. With the sentence of 
 death the trial ends ; but in the Apology Socrates 
 addresses some last words to those who have 
 condemned him, and to those who have ac- 
 quitted him. The former he sternly rebukes 
 for their crime, and foretells the evil that awaits 
 them as the consequence of it : to the latter he 
 wishes to talk about what has befallen him, and 
 death. They must be of good cheer. No 
 harm can come to a good man in life or in 
 death. Death is either an eternal and dream- 
 less sleep, wherein there is no sensation at all ; 
 or it is a journey to another and a better world, 
 where are the famous men of old. Whichever
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixvii 
 
 alternative be true, death is not an evil but a 
 good. His own death is willed by the gods, 
 and he is content. He has only one request 
 to make, that his judges will trouble his sons, as 
 he has troubled his judges, if his sons set riches 
 above virtue, and think themselves great men 
 when they are worthless. ' But now the time 
 has come for us to depart, for me to die and 
 for you to live. Whether life or death be 
 better is known only to God.' So ends this 
 wonderful dialogue. 
 
 The first question which presents itself to a 
 reader of the Apology is, How far does it coin- 
 cide with, or represent what Socrates actually 
 said in his defence ? We know from Xenophon 
 that he might easily have obtained a verdict, if 
 he would have consented to conciliate his judges 
 with prayers and flattery j 1 and also that the 
 divine sign forbade him to prepare any defence. 2 
 But that is all that we know of his defence, 
 apart from the Apology, and if the Apology 
 contains any of the actual utterances of Socrates, 
 we have no means of determining which they 
 are. I think that Mr. Riddell has shown beyond 
 any reasonable doubt (although Zeller speaks of 
 the opposite view as ' well established ') that 
 the structure of the defence is the work of Plato. 
 He points out (Introduction, p. xx.) that whereas 
 Xenophon declares that Socrates prepared no 
 speech, the Apology is ' artistic to the core,' 
 and full of ' subtle rhetoric.' Take, for example, 
 
 1 Xen. Mem. iv. 4. 4. Cf. Apol. 34 C. 
 
 2 Xen. Mem. iv. 8. 5. Cf. Apol. 17 B.
 
 Ixviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the argument against the charges of the first 
 accusers (ch. ii.-x.) Their slanders and preju- 
 dices are, as a matter of fact, merely those of 
 the mass of Athenians, including the judges. 
 To have attacked those prejudices openly would 
 have been merely to give offence to the judges. 
 The attack on them is therefore masked. It 
 is not made on ' your slanders and prejudices ' 
 (except only in 19 A. and 24 A.) but on the 
 slanders and prejudices of certain individuals, 
 whose very names Socrates does not know 
 (' except in the case of the comic poets ') who 
 have been accusing him falsely for many years, 
 very persistently. Further, as Mr. Riddell 
 points out, the Apology is full of rhetorical 
 commonplaces. ' The exordium may be paral- 
 leled, piece by piece, from the orators.' And 
 the whole defence is most artistically arranged, 
 with the answer to the formal indictment in the 
 middle, where it is least prominent, being the 
 least important part of the speech. Apart from 
 the structure of the Apology, the style and 
 language is clearly Plato's, whatever may be 
 said about the substance of it. 
 
 ' Notwithstanding, we can seek in the Apology 
 a portrait of Socrates before his judges, and 
 not be disappointed. Plato has not laid before 
 us a literal narrative of the proceedings, and 
 bidden us thence form the conception for our- 
 selves ; rather he has intended us to form it 
 through the medium of his art. The structure 
 is his, the language is his, much of the substance 
 may be his : notwithstanding, quite independ-
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixix 
 
 ently of the literal truth of the means, he 
 guarantees to us a true conception of the scene 
 and of the man. We see that ' liberam contu- 
 maciam a magnitudine animi ductam non a 
 superbia ' (Cic. Tusc. \. 29), and feel that it 
 must be true to Socrates, although with Cicero 
 himself we have derived the conception from 
 Plato's ideal and not from history. We hear 
 Meletus subjected to a questioning which, though 
 it may not have been the literal e/3WT?;cris of 
 the trial, exhibits to us the great questioner 
 in his own element. We discover repeated 
 instances of the irony, which, uniting self-appre- 
 ciation with a true and unflattering estimate of 
 others, declines to urge considerations which 
 lie beyond the intellectual or moral ken of the 
 judges. Here we have that singularity of ways 
 and thoughts which was half his offence obtrud- 
 ing itself to the very last in contempt of conse- 
 quences. Here we have that characteristic 
 assertion of private judgment against authority 
 which declares itself in the words eyw lytag, 
 
 Treuro/zat Se //.dAAov TO 9(.(a r} vp.lv (29 D.) 
 Here we have also his disapproval of the exist- 
 ing democracy of Athens which he rather 
 parades than disguises. And lastly, the deep 
 religiousness which overshadowed all his char- 
 acter breathes forth in the account he renders 
 of his past life, in his anticipations of the future, 
 and in his whole present demeanour. 
 
 ' Thus while the problem of the relation of 
 the Apology to what Socrates actually said
 
 Ixx INTRODUCTION. 
 
 must remain unsolved, there is no doubt that 
 it bodies forth a lifelike representation ; a repre- 
 sentation of Socrates as Plato wished us to con- 
 ceive of him, and yet at the same time as true 
 to nature as the art of Plato could render it.' 1 
 Plato, we know was present at the trial : 2 he 
 knew well how Socrates had defended himself: 
 he doubtless often discussed that memorable 
 day with Socrates in the prison : and he had 
 an intense reverence for his great master. Of 
 course he could not give a verbatim report of 
 a speech made without even a note : there were 
 no shorthand writers at Athens. But he knew 
 the substance of the defence. His Apology 
 may perhaps be compared to the speeches in 
 Thucydides, who observes that it was difficult to 
 remember the exact things said by the speakers 
 on each occasion, but that he has adhered as 
 closely as possible to the general sense and 
 substance of their arguments. 3 
 
 We know very little about the specific charges 
 contained in the speeches for the prosecution. 
 The only direct reference to them in the 
 Apology is in Socrates' passing disclaimer of 
 any responsibility for the political crimes of 
 men like Alcibiades and Critias. 4 Xenophon 
 tells us that ' the accuser ' charged Socrates 
 with bringing the constitution into contempt by 
 criticising the system of election to political 
 office by lot : with teaching children to treat 
 their fathers with contumely : with arguing that 
 
 1 Riddell, Introduction, p. xxvii. 2 Apol. 38 B. 
 3 Thucyd. i. 22. i. * Apol. 33 A.
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixxi 
 
 people should love and respect only those who 
 could be useful to them : with being respon- 
 sible for the crimes of Alcibiades and Critias : 
 with wresting bad passages from Homer and 
 Hesiod to immoral uses. 1 There is no reason 
 to doubt that he did in fact criticise election to 
 office by lot adversely. That institution, and 
 indeed all popular government, was obviously 
 incompatible with his whole intellectual position. 
 He believed that government is an art, and the 
 most important of all arts, and that as such it 
 requires more training, knowledge, and skill 
 than any other. 2 He would not have left the 
 decision of political questions to chance, or to 
 the vote of the uneducated majority. The 
 other charges are mere stupid and malignant 
 lies, which Socrates passes by in silence. He 
 deals with the formal indictment lightly, and 
 to some extent, sophistically. The broad 
 ground taken up by the prosecution was that 
 Socrates' whole way of life and teaching is 
 vicious, immoral, and criminal. That was the 
 real charge which he had to meet. The avowed 
 purpose of his unceasing examination was to 
 expose the hollowness of received opinion about 
 human affairs : and to understand the animosity 
 which such an avowal aroused in Athens, it is 
 necessary to remember that to the Greek this 
 received opinion represented the traditional 
 
 1 Xen. Mem. i. z. 9. 12. 49. seq. 
 
 2 Xen. Mem. iv. 2. 2 ; cf. Rep. 488, 489, 551 C. D., 
 and the amusing description of a democracy, ibid. 557 
 E. seq.
 
 Ixxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 unwritten law of the State. And the State 
 meant a great deal more to a Greek than it 
 means to us. It was not a mere association of 
 men for the protection of life and property. It 
 was a sacred thing, tp be loved and revered. 
 It had the authority of a church. If we bear 
 that in mind we shall comprehend better the 
 bitterness called forth by Socrates' attack on 
 received opinions, and the strength of the 
 position taken up by his accusers in their pro- 
 secution. He concentrates the entire force 
 and emphasis of his argument to meet them on 
 that ground. His defence is a review and 
 justification of his life and ' philosophy.' It 
 is not an apology. Socrates utters no single 
 syllable of regret for the unceasing cross- 
 examination of men, which was alleged against 
 him as a crime. Neither is it accurate to say 
 that he ' defies ' the Athenians. He speaks 
 of them individually and as a people in terms 
 of strong affection. He loved his fellow- 
 countrymen intensely. He has no quarrel with 
 them at all. He is unfeignedly sorry for their 
 mistakes and their faults, and he does what he 
 can to correct them by pointing out why they 
 are wrong. He does not defy them. What 
 he does is firmly and absolutely to decline to 
 obey them, be the consequences what they may. 
 The Apology brings out one point about 
 Socrates very strongly which must be noticed, 
 namely ' the deep religiousness which over- 
 shadowed all his character.' To him religion 
 meant something very different from the poly-
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixxiii 
 
 theistic and mythological system which was 
 current among his countrymen. We have seen 
 in the Euthyphron how strongly he condemned 
 the horrible and immoral tales about the gods 
 which were contained in Greek mythology, 1 and 
 how he fears that his condemnation of them 
 makes him unpopular. He was far too earnestly 
 and really religious a man not to be indignant 
 at such stories, or to accept as satisfactory the 
 popular State religion. He deals rather care- 
 lessly with the count in the indictment charging 
 him with disbelief in the gods of Athens. He 
 nowhere commits himself to a recognition of 
 them, though he emphatically denies that he is 
 an atheist. 'Athenians,' he says in the last 
 words of his defence, 2 ' I do believe in the 
 gods as no one of my accusers believes in 
 them : and to you and to God I commit my 
 cause to be decided as is best for you and for 
 me.' His God was the God of Plato, who is 
 good, and the cause of all good and never 
 the cause of evil : He ' is one and true in 
 word and deed : He neither changes Himself, 
 nor deceives others : ' 3 the unknown God, at 
 whose altar the Athenians some four centuries 
 later ignorantly worshipped : ' the power in 
 darkness whom we guess.' ' God alone,' says 
 Socrates, ' is wise and knows all things.' 4 He 
 protects good men from evil. 5 He declares 
 
 1 See also Rep. 377 E. seq. 2 Apol. 35 D. 
 
 3 Rep. 379 B. seq. , 382 E. See Professor Max Muller's 
 Lectures on the Science of Language, vol. ii. lect. ix. 
 
 4 Apol. 23 A. , 42 A. * Apol. 30 D.
 
 Ixxiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 His will to men by dreams and oracles, and the 
 priestess at Delphi is His mouthpiece. 1 His 
 law and His commands are supreme and must 
 be obeyed at all costs. 2 We have already 
 seen how Socrates looked on his search for 
 wisdom as a duty laid upon him by God. 3 He 
 continually speaks of it as ' the service of 
 God," 4 which must be performed at all hazards, 
 and from which no danger, and no threats 
 could be allowed to turn him back. He will 
 not hold his peace, even to save his life. 
 ' Athenians, I hold you in the highest regard 
 and love, but I will obey God rather than you' 5 
 words strikingly parellel to St. Peter's words 
 ' we ought to obey God rather than men ' (Acts 
 v. 29). And in the service of God he died. 6 
 
 There is one very obscure question relating 
 to Socrates' religious opinions. He believed 
 that he had certain special and peculiar com- 
 munications from God through his ' divine 
 sign.' In the Apology he explains it to be a 
 voice from God which had been with him 
 continually from childhood upwards, which 
 frequently warned him even in quite small 
 matters, and which was always negative, re- 
 straining him from some action. 7 It is diffi- 
 
 1 Apol. 21 A., 33 C. 2 Apol. 21 E., 28 E. 
 
 3 Cf. ante, p. xxvi. * Apol. 22 A. , 23 B. 
 
 6 Apol. 29 D. 
 
 6 For Xenophon's account of Socrates' religious 
 opinions, see Zeller, p. 175, and the passages referred to 
 there, especially the remarkable words in Mem. \. i. 19 ; 
 i. 3. 2. 3. Xenophon, however, as Zeller points out, is 
 inconsistent. 7 Apol. 31 C., 40 A.
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixxv 
 
 cult to say what this ' divine sign ' was. It 
 is clear enough that it was not conscience, for 
 it dealt not with the morality, but with the 
 expediency of actions. In this dialogue it does 
 not forbid him to desert his post and neglect 
 the duty of examining men which God had 
 laid upon him. He will not do that because 
 he will not disobey God. The divine sign 
 forbids him to enter on public life, because it 
 would be inexpedient to do so. 1 Besides, 
 conscience is positive as well as negative, 
 and Socrates could hardly claim a monopoly 
 of it. M. Lelut, in a book called Du Demon 
 de Socrate (1836), argues ' que Socrate 
 etait un fou,' and classes him with Luther, 
 Pascal, Rousseau, and others. 2 He thinks 
 that Socrates in his hallucinations really be- 
 lieved that he heard a voice. Zeller says that 
 the divine sign is ' the general form which a 
 vivid, but in its origin unexplained, sense of 
 the propriety of a particular action assumed 
 for the personal consciousness of Socrates,' 
 ' the inner voice of individual tact,' cultivated 
 to a pitch of extraordinary accuracy. 3 Mr. 
 Riddell, in an appendix of great interest, collects 
 all the passages from Xenophon and Plato, and 
 points out that the two accounts are contra- 
 dictory. Taking Xenophon's account he be- 
 lieves ' that it was a quick exercise of a judg- 
 
 1 Apol. 31 D. 
 
 2 See Mr. Henry Jackson, Journal of Philology, No. 
 10, p. 232. 
 
 3 Socrates and the Socratic Schools, p. 94.
 
 Ixxvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ment, informed by knowledge of the subject, 
 trained by experience, and inferring from cause 
 to effect without consciousness of the process' 
 (p. 114). If we take Plato's account he 
 thinks explanation impossible : we cannot go 
 beyond what Socrates says. Dr. Thompson 
 (Master of Trinity College, Cambridge), after 
 pointing out that it is a sign or voice from the 
 gods, and not, as has been sometimes said, a 
 genius or attendant spirit, seems to accept 
 Schleiermacher's opinion as most probable, 
 that it ' denotes the province of such rapid 
 moral judgments as cannot be referred to dis- 
 tinct grounds, which accordingly Socrates did 
 not attribute to his proper self : for instance, 
 presentiment of the issue of an undertaking : 
 attraction or repulsion in reference to particular 
 individuals.' 1 Fortunately the question is 
 curious rather than important, for it can hardly 
 be said that there is evidence enough to settle 
 it. 
 
 At the close of the Apology Socrates is 
 about to be led away to prison. His death 
 was delayed by a certain mission which the 
 Athenians annually sent to Apollo at Delos : 
 for while the mission was away no one could 
 be put to death in Athens. 2 Socrates therefore 
 had to spend a long time ironed in the prison, 
 in which the scene of the Crito is laid. It is 
 early morning, and Socrates is still asleep. 
 
 1 Butler's Lectures on the History of Ancient Philo- 
 sophy. Edited by Dr. Thompson, ad ed. , p. 238, 
 note 19. 2 See Phcedo, 58 A.
 
 INTRODUCTION. txxvii 
 
 Crito has come before the usual time, the 
 bearer of news which is more bitter to him 
 than to Socrates, that the ship of the mission 
 is at Sunium and will soon reach the Peiraeus ; 
 on the following day Socrates will have to die. 
 For the last time Crito implores him to escape 
 and save himself. It will be quite easy and 
 will not cost his friends much ; and there are 
 many places for him to go to. If he stays, he 
 will be doing the work of his foes ; he will be 
 deserting his children, and covering himself 
 with ridicule and his friends with disgrace. 
 ' Think what men will say of us.' 
 
 Socrates replies that he has been guided by 
 reason, and has disregarded the opinion of men 
 all his life. It matters not what the world will say, 
 but what the one man who knows what Right 
 is will say, and what Truth herself will think of 
 us. The question is, Shall I be doing right in 
 escaping, and will you be doing right in aiding 
 my escape ? Crito agrees to that, and to the 
 first principle which Socrates lays down as a 
 starting-point : if any one wrong us, we may 
 not wrong him in return. We have no right 
 to repay evil with evil, though few men think 
 so or ever will think so. Such a sentiment 
 must indeed have sounded strange to Socrates' 
 contemporaries ; Greek morality was, do good 
 to your friends, and harm to your enemies, a pro- 
 position which Xenophon puts into the mouth 
 of Socrates himself. 1 
 
 Socrates then starts from the principle, that 
 1 Mem. ii. 6. 35.
 
 Ixxviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 it is wrong to return evil for evil. Apply that 
 to his case : he will be wronging the state if he 
 escapes from prison and from death against 
 the will of the Athenians ; by so doing, he will 
 be doing all he can to destroy the state of which 
 he is a citizen. A city in which private indivi- 
 duals set aside at their will the judicial decisions 
 and laws of the state, cannot continue to exist : 
 it must be destroyed. It may be that an in- 
 dividual is condemned unjustly : then the 
 laws are either bad, or, as he says at the 
 end of the dialogue, badly administered. 
 Still, the individual may not take the matter 
 into his own hands. The members of all 
 bodies of men, and therefore of the state, 
 must sacrifice their individual wills, more or 
 less, to the whole to which they belong. They 
 must obey the rules or laws of the whole, or 
 it will perish. Even in bodies of bad men 
 there must be, and is, a certain harmony and 
 unanimity. 1 The Crito represents Socrates as 
 the good citizen, who has been condemned 
 unjustly ' not by the laws but by men,' but 
 who will not retaliate on the state and destroy 
 it : he will submit to death. Were he to escape, 
 the laws would come and ask him why he was 
 trying to destroy them, and if he replied that 
 they had wronged him, they would retort that 
 he had agreed to be bound by all the judicial 
 decisions of the state. He owes everything 
 to them his birth, his bringing up, his educa- 
 tion ; he is their offspring and slave, and bound 
 1 Cf. Rep. 352 C. D.
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixxix 
 
 to do whatever they bid him without an answer. 
 He has agreed to that ; and his consent to the 
 agreement was not got from him by force or 
 fraud : he has had seventy years to consider 
 it ; for they permit any man who chooses, to 
 leave the city and go elsewhere. Socrates has 
 not only not done that, he has remained within 
 the walls more than any Athenian, so contented 
 was he. He might have proposed exile as the 
 penalty at his trial, and it would have been 
 accepted, but he expressly refused to do so. 
 And if he runs away, where will he go to ? 
 Orderly men and cities will look askance at 
 him as a lawless person : life will not be worth 
 living in disorderly states like Thessaly ; what 
 could he do there ? He would scarcely have 
 the face to converse about virtue. Will he go 
 away to Thessaly for dinner ? And will he 
 take his children with him, and make them 
 strangers to their own country ? Or will he 
 leave them in Athens ? What good will he 
 do them then ? His friends, if they are real 
 friends, will take as much care of them if he 
 goes to the other world as if he goes to 
 Thessaly. Let him stay and die, and he will 
 go away an injured man, and the laws of 
 Hades will receive him kindly. Such are the 
 arguments he hears murmured in his ears. 
 Crito admits that he cannot answer them. 
 
 We have no means of saying whether the 
 incident of this dialogue ever occurred. Plato 
 was quite capable of inventing it. Doubtless 
 however Socrates' friends would have liked to
 
 Ixxx INTRODUCTION. 
 
 save his life, and nothing is more likely than 
 that they proposed escape to him. Crito is met 
 with again in the Phcedo. He is an old and 
 intimate friend, who asks for Socrates' last com- 
 mands, and is with him at his last parting from 
 his family, and closes his eyes after death. He 
 is not good at argument ; and it is worth notic- 
 ing that, in the latter half of the Crito, the 
 dialogue almost becomes a monologue : the 
 reasoning in the Phcedo makes but little impres- 
 sion on him. 1 
 
 In the Phcedo the story of Socrates' death 
 is related at Phlius to Echecrates and other 
 Phliasians by Phsedo, who had been with his 
 master to the end. It is a dialogue within a 
 dialogue, the scene of the first being Phlius, and 
 of the second the prison, a day or two after 
 the incident narrated in the Crito! 1 Phaedo 
 first explains how the mission to Apollo delayed 
 Socrates' death for so long : 3 he tells who were 
 present, how they heard the night before of 
 the arrival of the ship from Delos, and how 
 they arranged to go to Socrates the next morn- 
 ing very early. Then we are taken into the 
 prison, where Socrates has just been released 
 from his fetters, and Xanthippe, who is soon 
 sent away wailing, is sitting by him. Socrates 
 remarks on the close connection of pleasure 
 and pain, and then the conversation turns upon 
 suicide, which Socrates says is wrong, though 
 
 1 See Phcedo, 115 D. E. 
 
 2 Crito, 44 A. 
 
 * Thirty days. Xen. Mem. iv. 8. z.
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixxxi 
 
 the philosopher will always long to die. Such 
 a man, when he is dead, will be cared for by 
 good gods, he will be with better companions 
 than on earth, and he will be released from the 
 body, which is a perpetual hindrance to the 
 soul in her pursuit of truth. Philosophy is a 
 study of death ; the philosopher longs to be 
 emancipated from the bondage of the body, 
 for he desires knowledge, which is attainable 
 only after death. Those who fear death do not 
 love wisdom, but their bodies, or wealth, or 
 honour. And their virtue is a strange thing. 
 They are brave from a fear of greater evils, 
 and temperate because intemperance prevents 
 them from enjoying certain pleasures. Such 
 virtue is utterly false, and unsound, and slavish. 
 True virtue is a purification of the soul, and 
 those who have purified their souls will be with 
 the gods after death. Therefore Socrates is 
 ready to die. 
 
 Cebes fears that when a man dies his soul 
 vanishes away like smoke. Socrates proceeds 
 to discuss the immortality of the soul. In the 
 first place, by a confusion of sequence and 
 effect, he argues that opposites are generated 
 from opposites : and therefore life from death. 
 If it were not so, if death were generated from 
 life, and not life from death, everything would 
 at length be dead. He next makes use of the 
 Platonic doctrine of Reminiscence. All our 
 knowledge is a remembrance of what we have 
 known at some previous time, and that can 
 only have been before we were born. Our
 
 Ixxxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 souls therefore must have existed before they 
 entered our bodies. Simmias admits that, but 
 wants a further proof that they will continue 
 to exist when we are dead. Socrates has no 
 objection to go on with the discussion, though 
 the further proof is needless. Which, he asks, 
 is most liable to dissolution, the simple and 
 unchanging, or the compound and changing ? 
 that which is akin to the divine, or that which 
 is akin to the mortal ? Clearly the former in 
 both instances ; in other words the soul is less 
 subject to dissolution than the body. But the 
 body, if it be properly embalmed, may be pre- 
 served for ages, and parts of it, as the bones, 
 are to all intents and purposes immortal. Can 
 it be said then that the soul vanishes away at 
 death ? Far from it : the pure soul goes hence 
 to a place that is glorious, and pure, and invis- 
 ible, and lives with the gods, while the soul that 
 is impure flutters about tombs, weighed down 
 by her earthly element, until she is again im- 
 prisoned in the body of some animal with habits 
 congenial to the habits of her previous life. The 
 sensual soul for instance goes into the body of 
 an ass ; the unjust or tyrannical soul into the 
 body of a wolf or a kite : such souls as have 
 been just and temperate, though without philo- 
 sophy or intelligence, go into the bodies of 
 some gentle creature, the bee, or the wasp, or, 
 it may be, of moderate men. Only the souls 
 of philosophers go and live with the gods. 
 That is why philosophers abstain from bodily 
 pleasures.
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixxxiii 
 
 Simmias and Cebes are still unconvinced, 
 and with a little pressure are induced to state 
 their difficulties. Simmias believes the soul 
 to be a harmony of the elements of the body, 
 and that she is to the body, as a musical har- 
 mony is to a lyre. But a musical harmony, 
 though diviner than the lyre, does not survive 
 it. Cebes grants the soul to be much more 
 enduring than the body, but he cannot see that 
 the soul has been proved to be immortal. 
 
 At this point there is a break in the argu- 
 ment. The listeners nearly despair on hearing 
 these objections. Then Socrates proceeds, 
 first warning them against coming to hate 
 reasoning, because it has sometimes deceived 
 them. The fault is not in reasoning, but in 
 themselves. And he begs them to be careful 
 that he does not mislead them in his eager- 
 ness to prove the soul immortal. He is an 
 interested party. 
 
 He answers Simmias first. Does Simmias 
 still believe in the doctrine of Reminiscence ? 
 He does. Then the soul is not a harmony of 
 the elements of the body : if she were, she 
 would have existed before the elements which 
 compose her. And the soul leads, and is never 
 more or less a soul. In those things she differs 
 from a harmony, and so Simmias' objection 
 fails. Cebes' point is more important. To 
 answer him involves an investigation of the 
 whole question of generation and decay ; but 
 Socrates is willing to narrate his own experi- 
 ences on the subject. In his youth he had a pas-
 
 Ixxxiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 sion for Natural Philosophy : he thought about it 
 till he was completely puzzled. He could not 
 understand the mechanical and physical causes 
 of the philosophers. He hoped great things from 
 Anaxagoras, who, he was told, said that Mind 
 was the Universal Cause, and who, he expected, 
 would show that everything was ordered in 
 the best way. He was grievously disappointed. 
 Anaxagoras made no use of mind at all, but 
 introduced air, and ether, and a number of 
 strange things as causes. In his disappoint- 
 ment he turned to investigate the question of 
 causation for himself. All his hearers will 
 admit the existence of absolute Ideas. He 
 made up his mind that Ideas are the causes 
 of phenomena, beauty of beautiful things, 
 greatness of great things, and so on. Eche- 
 crates interposes the remark that any man of 
 sense will agree to that. Socrates goes on to 
 show that opposite Ideas cannot coexist in the 
 same person : if it is said that Simmias is 
 both tall and short, because he is taller than 
 Socrates and shorter than Phasdo, that is true ; 
 but he is only tall and short relatively. An 
 Idea must always perish or retreat before its 
 opposite. Further than that, an Idea will 
 not only not admit its opposite ; it will not 
 admit that which is inseparable from its op- 
 posite. The opposite of cold is heat ; and 
 just as cold will not admit heat, so it will not 
 admit fire, which is inseparable from heat. 
 Cold and fire cannot coexist in the same 
 object. So life is the opposite of death, and
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixxxv 
 
 
 
 life is inseparable from the soul. Therefore the 
 soul will not admit death. She is immortal, 
 and therefore indestructible : and when a man 
 dies his soul goes away safe and unharmed. 
 Simmias admits that he has nothing to urge 
 against Socrates' reasoning though he cannot 
 say that he is quite satisfied. Human reason 
 is weak and the subject vast. 
 
 But if the soul lives on after death, how 
 terrible must be the danger of neglecting her ! 
 For she takes to Hades nothing but her nurture 
 and education, and these make a great differ- 
 ence to her at the very beginning of her journey 
 thither. Socrates then describes the soul's 
 journey to the other world, and her life there : 
 a remark that the earth is a wonderful place, 
 not at all like what it is commonly thought to 
 be, leads to the description of the earth in the 
 famous Myth of the Phcedo, which Plato, with 
 consummate art, interposes between the hard 
 metaphysical argument of the dialogue, and the 
 account of Socrates' death. Socrates describes 
 the earth, its shape, and character, and inhabi- 
 tants, and beauty. We men, who think we live 
 on its surface, really live down in a hollow. 
 Other men live on the surface, which is much 
 fairer than our world. Then he goes on to 
 describe Tartarus and its rivers, of which the 
 chief are Oceanus, Acheron, Pyriphlegethon, 
 and Cocytus. He proceeds to speak of the 
 judgment and rewards and punishments of the 
 souls after death : a man who has devoted him- 
 self to his soul and not to his body need not
 
 Ixxxvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 be afraid of death, which is a complete release 
 from the body, for for him there is a place 
 prepared of wonderful beauty. Socrates has 
 not time to speak of it now. It is getting late, 
 and he must bathe and prepare for death. 
 
 Crito asks for Socrates' last commands. The 
 argument has made no impression on him ; he 
 does not understand that Socrates is going 
 away, and wishes to know how to bury him. 
 Socrates leaves that to his friends, ' only you 
 must catch me first.' Then he goes away with 
 Crito to bathe, and takes leave of his family : 
 there is but little conversation after that. The 
 poison is brought, and Socrates drinks it calmly, 
 without changing colour, rebuking his friends 
 for their noisy grief. A few moments before 
 he dies he remembers that he owes a cock to 
 Asclepius. Crito must pay it for him. Then 
 there was a convulsive movement, and he was 
 dead. 
 
 The Phado is not a dialogue of which much 
 need be said. The perfect beauty of Plato's 
 description of his great master's death at the 
 hands of the law, which is singular for the 
 complete absence of anything violent or repul- 
 sive from it, is best left to speak for itself; and 
 the greater part of the dialogue is occupied with 
 Platonic metaphysics, with which we are not 
 concerned. For the Phado may be divided 
 into two parts, the historical, and the philo- 
 sophical. Plato was not present at Socrates' 
 death j 1 but there is no reason for doubting 
 1 Phccdo, 59 B.
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixxxvii 
 
 that his account of it is substantially correct. 
 He must have often heard the story of that 
 last day from eye-witnesses. The philosophy 
 of the Phcedo is another matter. There is no 
 doubt that that is not Socratic, but Platonic. 1 
 It is likely enough that the last day of Socrates' 
 life, even to the setting of the sun, when he 
 was to die, was spent with his friends in the 
 accustomed examination of himself and them, 
 and in the search after hard intellectual truth to 
 which his whole life had been devoted ; and it 
 may well be that his demeanourwas, in fact, more 
 serious and earnest than usual on that day, as 
 if, in spite of all his confident belief in a future 
 life, death had cast the solemnity of its shadow 
 upon him. But it is quite certain that the 
 metaphysical arguments of the Phado were not 
 those used by Socrates, in his prison, or at any 
 other time. That can be very shortly proved. 
 In the Ph<zdo, Socrates is represented as a 
 keen and practised metaphysician, who has 
 definite theories about the origin of knowledge, 
 and the causes of Being. He ' is fond of stat- 
 ing ' 2 the doctrine that knowledge is an imper- 
 fect recollection of what we have known in a 
 previous state of existence : and he is quite 
 familiar with the doctrine of ideas. But the 
 real Socrates, the Socrates of the Apology 
 and the admittedly Socratic dialogues, and 
 of Xenophon, confined himself strictly to 
 questions affecting men and society. 3 All 
 
 1 See Zeller's Plato, ch. iii. p. 133, and ch. ix. 
 
 2 Phcedo, 72 E. 3 E.g. Apol. 30 B. . 33 B.
 
 Ixxxviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 that he knew was that he was ignorant. His 
 greatness as a thinker does not consist in the 
 fact that he was the author or the teacher of 
 any system of positive philosophy, metaphysical 
 or other ; but in the fact that he was the first 
 man who conceived the very idea of scientific 
 knowledge, and of the method of arriving at it. 
 And it must be remembered that the Apology, 
 which contains Plato's account of Socrates, as 
 he actually conceived him to be, represents a 
 speech delivered only thirty days before the con- 
 versation reported in the Phcedo. Once more ; 
 in the Phcedo the immortality of the soul is ulti- 
 mately proved by the doctrine of Ideas. Now 
 Aristotle, whose evidence is the best that we 
 can have on such a point, expressly tells us l 
 that the doctrine of Ideas was never known 
 to Socrates at all ; but that it was a distinct 
 advance on his theory of definitions made by 
 Plato. Plato, in fact, has done in the Phado 
 what he so often did ; he has employed Socrates 
 as the chief character in a dialogue, and then 
 put into Socrates' mouth opinions and arguments 
 which the Socrates of history never dreamt of. 
 By far the greater part of the conversation there- 
 fore recorded in the Ph&do never took place. 
 There is no record whatsoever of the actual 
 conversation of that last day. 
 
 Such a man was Socrates, in his life and in 
 
 his death. He was just and feared not. He 
 
 might easily have saved himself from death, if 
 
 only he would have consented to cease from 
 
 1 Metaph. xii. 4. 5.
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixxxix 
 
 forcing his countrymen to give an account of 
 their lives. But he believed that God had sent 
 him to be a preacher of righteousness to the 
 Athenians ; and he refused to be silent on any 
 terms. ' I cannot hold my peace,' he says, 
 ' for that would be to disobey God.' Tennyson's 
 famous lines have been often and well applied 
 to him : 
 
 ' Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, 
 These three alone lead life to sovereign power. 
 Yet not for power (power of herself 
 Would come uncall'd for) but to live by law, 
 Acting the law we live by without fear ; 
 And, because right is right, to follow right 
 Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence. ' l 
 
 They illustrate his faith, 'his burning faith 
 in God and Right.' Knowing nothing certainly 
 of what comes after death, and having no sure 
 hope of a reward in the next world, he resolutely 
 chose to die sooner than desert the post at 
 which God had placed him, or do what he 
 believed to be wrong. 
 
 ] CEnone.
 
 EUTHYPHRON 
 
 e
 
 CHARACTERS OF THE DIALOGUE. 
 
 SOCRATES. 
 EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 SCENE. The porch of the King Archon.
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 Euth. What in the world are you doing here CHAP. 1. 
 at the archon's porch, Socrates? Why have you Steph.p. 2. 
 left your haunts in the Lyceum ? You surely 
 cannot have an action before him, as I have. 
 
 Socr. Nay, the Athenians, Euthyphron, call 
 it a prosecution, not an action. 
 
 Euth, What ? Do you mean that some one 
 is prosecuting you ? I cannot believe that you 
 are prosecuting any one yourself 
 
 Socr. Certainly I am not. 
 
 Euth. Then is some one prosecuting you ? 
 
 Socr. Yes. 
 
 Euth. Who is he ? 
 
 Socr. I scarcely know him myself, Euthy- 
 phron ; I think he must be some unknown 
 young man. His name, however, is Meletus, 
 and his deme Pitthis, if you can call to mind 
 any Meletus of that deme, a hook-nosed man 
 with long hair, and rather a scanty beard. 
 
 Euth. I don't know him, Socrates. But, 
 tell me, what is he prosecuting you for ? 
 
 Socr. What for ? Not on trivial grounds, I 
 think. It is no small thing for so young a man 
 to have formed an opinion on such an important
 
 4 EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 matter. For he, he says, knows how the young 
 are corrupted, and who are their corruptors. 
 He must be a wise man, who, observing my 
 ignorance, is going to accuse me to the city, 
 as his mother, of corrupting his friends. I 
 think that he is the only man who begins at 
 the right point in his political reforms : I mean 
 whose first care is to make the young men as 
 perfect as possible, just as a good farmer will 
 take care of his young plants first, and, after 
 he has done that, of the others. And so 
 3. Meletus, I suppose, is first clearing us off, 
 who, as he says, corrupt the young men as 
 they grow up ; and then, when he has done 
 that, of course he will turn his attention to the 
 older men, and so become a very great public 
 benefactor. Indeed, that is only what you 
 would expect, when he goes to work in this 
 way. 
 
 II. Euth. I hope it may be so, Socrates, but I 
 have very grave doubts about it. It seems 
 to me that in trying to injure you, he is really 
 setting to work by striking a blow at the heart 
 of the state. But how, tell me, does he say 
 that you corrupt the youth ? 
 
 Socr. In a way which sounds strange at first, 
 my friend. He says that I am a maker of 
 gods ; and so he is prosecuting me, he says, 
 for inventing new gods, and for not believing 
 in the old ones. 
 
 Euth. I understand, Socrates. It is because 
 you say that you always have a divine sign. So 
 he is prosecuting you for introducing novelties
 
 EUTHYPHRON, 5 
 
 into religion ; and he is going into court know- 
 ing that such matters are easily misrepresented 
 to the multitude, and consequently meaning to 
 slander you there. Why, they laugh even me 
 to scorn, as if I were out of my mind, when I 
 talk about divine things in the assembly, and 
 tell them what is going to happen : and yet I 
 have never foretold anything which has not 
 come true. But they are jealous of all people 
 like us. We must not think about them : we 
 must meet them boldly. 
 
 Socr. My dear Euthyphron, their ridicule is 
 not a very serious matter. The Athenians, it 
 seems to me, may think a man to be clever 
 without paying him much attention, so long as 
 they do not think that he teaches his wisdom to 
 others. But as soon as they think that he 
 makes other people clever, they get angry 
 whether it be from jealousy, as you say, or for 
 some other reason. 
 
 Euth. I am not very anxious to try their 
 disposition towards me in this matter. 
 
 Socr. No, perhaps they think that you 
 seldom show yourself, and that you are not 
 anxious to teach your wisdom to others ; but 
 I fear that they may think that I am ; for my 
 love of men makes me talk to every one whom I 
 meet quite freely and unreservedly, and without 
 payment : indeed, if I could, I would gladly 
 pay people myself to listen to me. If then, as 
 I said just now, they were only going to laugh 
 at me, as you say they do at you, it would not 
 be at all an unpleasant way of spending the
 
 6 EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 day, to spend it in court, jesting and laughing. 
 But if they are going to be in earnest, then 
 only prophets like you can tell where the matter 
 will end. 
 
 Euth. Well, Socrates, I dare say that nothing 
 will come of it. Very likely you will be success- 
 ful in your trial, and I think that I shall be in 
 mine. 
 
 IV. Socr. And what is this suit of yours, Euthy- 
 phron ? Are you suing, or being sued ? 
 
 Euth. I am suing. 
 
 Socr. Whom ? 
 
 4- Euth. A man whom I am thought a maniac 
 to be suing. 
 
 Socr. What ? Has he wings to fly away 
 with ? 
 
 Eitth. He is far enough from flying ; he is a 
 very old man. 
 
 Socr. Who is he ? 
 
 Euth. He is my father. 
 
 Socr. Your father, my good sir ? 
 
 Euth. He is indeed. 
 
 Socr. What are you prosecuting him for ? 
 What is the charge ? 
 
 Euth. It is a charge of murder, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. Good heavens, Euthyphron ! Surely 
 the multitude are ignorant of what makes right. 
 I take it that it is not every one who could 
 rightly do what you are doing ; only a man 
 who was already well advanced in wisdom. 
 
 Euth. That is quite true, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. Was the man whom your father killed 
 a relative of yours ? Nay, of course he was :
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 7 
 
 you would never have prosecuted your father 
 for the murder of a stranger ? 
 
 Euth. You amuse me, Socrates. What 
 difference does it make whether the murdered 
 man was a relative or a stranger ? The only 
 question that you have to ask is, did the slayer 
 slay justly or not ? If justly, you must let him 
 alone ; if unjustly, you must indict him for 
 murder, even though he share your hearth and 
 sit at your table. The pollution is the same, 
 if you associate with such a man, knowing what 
 he has done, without purifying yourself, and him 
 too, by bringing him to justice. In the present 
 case the murdered man was a poor depend- 
 ant of mine, who worked for us on our farm 
 in Naxos. In a fit of drunkenness he got in a 
 rage with one of our slaves, and killed him. 
 My father therefore bound the man hand and 
 foot and threw him into a ditch, while he sent 
 to Athens to ask the seer what he should do. 
 While the messenger was gone, he entirely 
 neglected the man, thinking that he was a 
 murderer, and that it would be no great matter, 
 even if he were to die. And that was exactly 
 what happened ; hunger and cold and his 
 bonds killed him before the messenger returned. 
 And now my father and the rest of my family 
 are indignant with me because I am prosecut- 
 ing my father for the murder of this murderer. 
 They assert that he did not kill the man at all ; 
 and they say that, even if he had killed him 
 over and over again, the man himself was a 
 murderer, and that I ought not to concern
 
 8 EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 myself about such a person, because it is un- 
 holy for a son to prosecute his father for 
 murder. So little, Socrates, do they know the 
 divine law of holiness and unholiness. 
 
 Socr. And do you mean to say, Euthyphron, 
 that you think that you understand divine 
 things, and holiness and unholiness, so accur- 
 ately that, in such a case as you have stated, 
 you can bring your father to justice without fear 
 that you yourself may be doing an unholy deed ? 
 
 Eiith. If I did not understand all these 
 
 matters accurately, Socrates, I should be of no 
 
 5. use, and Euthyphron would not be any better 
 
 than other men. 
 
 V. Socr. Then, my excellent Euthyphron, I can- 
 not do better than become your pupil, and chal- 
 lenge Meletus on this very point before the 
 trial begins. I should say that I had always 
 thought it very important to have knowledge 
 about divine things ; and that now, when he 
 says that I offend by speaking lightly about 
 them, and by introducing novelties in them, I 
 have become your pupil ; and I should say, 
 Meletus, if you acknowledge Euthyphron to be 
 wise in these matters, and to hold the true 
 belief, then think the same of me, and do not 
 put me on my trial ; but if you do not, then 
 bring a suit, not against me, but against my 
 master for corrupting his elders ; namely, me 
 whom he corrupts by his doctrine, and his own 
 father whom he corrupts by admonishing and 
 chastising him. And if I did not succeed in 
 persuading him to release me from the suit, or
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 9 
 
 to indict you in my place, then I could repeat 
 my challenge in court. 
 
 Euth. Yes, by Zeus, Socrates, I think I 
 should find out his weak points, if he were to 
 try to indict me. I should have a good deal 
 to say about him in court long before I spoke 
 about myself. 
 
 Socr. Yes, my dear friend, and knowing this, 
 I am anxious to become your pupil. I see that 
 Meletus here, and others too, seem not to 
 notice you at all ; but he sees through me with- 
 out difficulty and at once, and prosecutes me for 
 impiety forthwith. Now, therefore, please ex- 
 plain to me what you were so confident just 
 now that you knew. Tell me what are piety 
 and impiety with reference to murder and 
 everything else. I suppose that holiness is the 
 same in all actions ; and that unholiness is 
 always the opposite of holiness, and like itself, 
 and that, as unholiness, 1 it always has the same 
 essential nature, which will be found in what- 
 ever is unholy. 
 
 Euth. Certainly, Socrates, I suppose so. 
 
 Socr. Tell me, then ; what is holiness, and VI. 
 what is unholiness ? 
 
 Euth. Well, then, I say that holiness means 
 prosecuting the wrong doer who has committed 
 murder or sacrilege, or any other such crime, 
 as I am doing now, whether he be your father 
 or your mother or whoever he be ; and I say 
 that unholiness means not prosecuting him. 
 And observe, Socrates, I will give you a clear 
 1 Reading
 
 io EUTHYPHRON, 
 
 proof, which I have already given to others, 
 that it is so, and that doing right means not 
 suffering the sacrilegious man, whosoever he 
 may be. Men hold Zeus to be the best and 
 the justest of the gods ; and they admit that 
 6. Zeus bound his own father, Cronos, for devour- 
 ing his children wickedly ; and that Cronos in 
 his turn castrated his father for similar reasons. 
 And yet these same men are angry with me 
 because I proceed against my father for doing 
 wrong. So, you see, they say one thing in the 
 case of the gods and quite another in mine. 
 
 Socr. Is not that why I am being prose- 
 cuted, Euthyphron ? I mean, because I am dis- 
 pleased when I hear people say such things 
 about the gods ? I expect that I shall be called 
 a sinner, because I doubt those stories. 1 Now 
 if you, who understand all these matters so 
 well, agree in holding all those tales true, then 
 I suppose that I must needs give way. What 
 could I say when I admit myself that I know 
 nothing about them ? But tell me, in the 
 name of friendship, do you really believe that 
 these things have actually happened. 
 
 Euth. Yes, and stranger ones too, Socrates, 
 which the multitude do not know of. 
 
 Socr. Then you really believe that there 
 is war among the gods, and bitter hatreds, 
 and battles, such as the poets tell of, and 
 which the great painters have depicted in our 
 temples, especially in the pictures which cover 
 the robe that is carried up to the Acropolis at 
 1 Cf. Rep, ii. 377, seq.
 
 EUTHYPHRON. n 
 
 the great Panathenaic festival. Are we to say 
 that these things are true, Euthyphron ? 
 
 Euth. Yes, Socrates, and more besides. 
 As I was saying, I will relate to you many 
 other stories about divine matters, if you like, 
 which I am sure will astonish you when you 
 hear them. 
 
 Socr. I dare say. You shall relate them VH 
 to me at your leisure another time. At present 
 please try to give a more definite answer to 
 the question which I asked you just now. 
 What I asked you, my friend, was, What is 
 holiness ? and you have not explained it to 
 me, to my satisfaction. You only tell me 
 that what you are doing now, namely prose- 
 cuting your father for murder, is a holy act. 
 
 Euth. Well, that is true, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. Very likely. But many other actions 
 are holy, are they not, Euthyphron ? 
 
 Euth. Certainly. 
 
 Socr. Remember, then, I did not ask you 
 to tell me one or two of all the many holy 
 actions that there are ; I want to know what 
 is the essential form 1 of holiness which makes 
 all holy actions holy. You said, I think, that 
 there is one form which makes all holy actions 
 holy, and another form which makes all unholy 
 actions unholy. Do you not remember ? 
 
 Euth. I do. 
 
 Socr. Well, then, explain to me what is this 
 form, that I may have it to turn to, and to use as 
 a standard whereby to judge your actions, and
 
 12 EUTHYPHRON, 
 
 those of other men, and be able to say that 
 whatever action resembles it is holy, and what- 
 ever does not, is not holy. 
 
 Euth. Yes, I will tell you that, if you wish 
 it, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. Certainly I wish it. 
 
 Euth. Well then, what is pleasing to the 
 7. gods is holy ; and what is not pleasing to 
 them is unholy. 
 
 Socr. Beautiful, Euthyphron. Now you 
 have given me the answer that I wanted. 
 Whether what you say is true, I do not know 
 yet. But of course you will go on to prove 
 the truth of it. 
 
 Euth. Certainly. 
 
 VIII. Socr. Come then, let us examine our words. 
 The things and the men that are pleasing to 
 the gods are holy ; and the things and the 
 men that are displeasing to the gods are un- 
 holy. But holiness and unholiness are not 
 the same : they are as opposite as possible ; 
 was not that said? 
 
 Euth. Certainly. 
 
 Socr. And I think that that was very well 
 said. 
 
 Euth. Yes, Socrates, that was certainly said. 
 
 Socr. Have we not also said, Euthyphron, 
 that there are factions, and disagreements, and 
 hatreds among the gods ? 
 
 Euth. We have. 
 
 Socr. But what kind of disagreement, my 
 friend, causes hatred and wrath ? Let us look 
 at the matter thus. If you and I were to dis-
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 13 
 
 agree as to whether one number were more 
 than another, would that provoke us to anger, 
 and make us enemies ? Should we not settle 
 such dispute at once by counting ? 
 
 Euth. Of course. 
 
 Socr. And if we were to disagree as to the 
 relative size of two things, we should measure 
 them, and put an end to the disagreement at 
 once, should we not ? 
 
 Euth. Yes. 
 
 Socr. And should we not settle a question 
 about the relative weight of two things, by 
 weighing them ? 
 
 Euth. Of course. 
 
 Socr. Then what is the question which 
 would provoke us to anger, and make us 
 enemies, if we disagreed about it, and could 
 not come to a settlement ? Perhaps you have 
 not an answer ready : but listen to me. Is it 
 not the question of right and wrong, of the 
 honourable and the base, of the good and the 
 bad ? Is it not questions about these matters 
 which make you and me, and every one else 
 quarrel, when we do quarrel, if we differ about 
 them, and can reach no satisfactory settlement ? 
 
 Euth. Yes, Socrates ; it is disagreements 
 about these matters. 
 
 Socr. Well, Euthyphron, the gods will quarrel 
 over these things, if they quarrel at all, will 
 they not ? 
 
 Euth. Necessarily. 
 
 Socr. Then, my excellent Euthyphron, you 
 say that some of the gods think one thing right,
 
 H EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 and others another : and that what some of them 
 hold to be honourable or good, others hold 
 to be base or evil. For there would not have 
 been factions among them if they had not dis- 
 agreed on these points, would there ? 
 
 Euth. You are right. 
 
 Socr, And each of them loves what he thinks 
 honourable, and good, and right, and hates the 
 opposite, does he not ? 
 
 Euth. Certainly. 
 
 Socr. But you say that the same action is 
 
 held by some of them to be right, and by others 
 
 to be wrong ; and that then they dispute about 
 
 8. it, and so quarrel and fight among themselves. 
 
 Is it not so ? 
 
 Euth. Yes. 
 
 Socr. Then the same thing is hated by the 
 gods and loved by them ; and the same thing 
 will be displeasing and pleasing to them. 
 
 Euth. Apparently. 
 
 Socr. Then, according to your account, the 
 same thing will be holy and unholy. 
 
 Euth. So it seems. , 
 
 IX. Socr. Then, my good friend, you have not 
 answered my question. I did not ask you to 
 tell me what action is both holy and unholy ; 
 but it seems that whatever is pleasing to the 
 gods is also displeasing to them. And so, 
 Euthyphron, I should not wonder if what you 
 are doing now in chastising your father is a 
 deed well-pleasing to Zeus, but hateful to Cronos 
 and Ouranos, and acceptable to Hephaestus, 
 but hateful to Here ; and if any of the other
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 15 
 
 gods disagree about it, pleasing to some of 
 them and displeasing to others. 
 
 Euth. But on this point, Socrates, I think 
 that there is no difference of opinion among 
 the gods : they all hold that if one man kills 
 another wrongfully, he must be punished. 
 
 Socr. What, Euthyphron ? Among mankind, 
 have you never heard disputes whether a man 
 ought to be punished for killing another man 
 wrongfully, or for doing some other wrong 
 deed? 
 
 Euth. Indeed, they never cease from these 
 disputes, especially in courts of justice. They 
 do all manner of wrong things ; and then there 
 is nothing which they will not do and say to 
 avoid punishment. 
 
 Socr. Do they admit that they have done 
 wrong, and at the same time deny that they 
 ought to be punished, Euthyphron ? 
 
 Euth. No, indeed ; that they do not. 
 
 Socr. Then it is not everything that they 
 will do and say. I take it, they do not venture 
 to assert or argue that if they do do wrong they 
 must not be punished. What they say is that 
 they have not done wrong, is it not ? 
 
 Euth. That is true. 
 
 Socr. Then they do not dispute the proposi- 
 tion, that the wrong doer must be punished. 
 They dispute about the question, who is a wrong 
 doer, and when, and what is a wrong deed, do 
 they not ? 
 
 Euth. That is true. 
 
 Socr. Well, is not exactly the same thing
 
 16 EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 true of the gods, if they quarrel about right 
 and wrong, as you say they do ? Do not some 
 of them assert that the others are doing wrong, 
 while the others deny it ? No one, I suppose, 
 my dear friend, whether god or man, ventures 
 to say that a person who has done wrong must 
 not be punished. 
 
 Euth. No, Socrates, that is true, in the main. 
 
 Socr. I take it, Euthyphron, that the disput- 
 ants, whether men or gods, if the gods do dispute, 
 dispute about each separate act. When they 
 quarrel about any act, some of them say that 
 it was done rightly, and others that it was done 
 wrongly. Is it not so ? 
 
 Euth. Yes. 
 
 X. Socr. Come then, my dear Euthyphron, 
 9. please enlighten me on this point. What proof 
 have you that all the gods think that a labourer 
 who has been imprisoned for murder by the 
 master of the man whom he has murdered, and 
 who dies from his imprisonment before the 
 master has had time to learn from the seers 
 what he should do, dies by injustice ? How do 
 you know that it is right for a son to indict his 
 father, and to prosecute him for the murder 
 of such a man ? Come, see if you can make 
 it clear to me that the gods necessarily agree 
 in thinking that this action of yours is right ; 
 and if you satisfy me, I will never cease singing 
 your praises for wisdom. 
 
 Euth. I could make that clear enough to 
 you, Socrates ; but I am afraid that it would 
 be a long business.
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 17 
 
 Socr. I see you think that I am duller than 
 the judges. To them of course you will make 
 it clear that your father has done wrong, and 
 that all the gods agree in hating such deeds. 
 
 Euth, I will indeed, Socrates, if they will 
 only listen to me. 
 
 Socr. They will listen, if only they think that XI. 
 you speak well. But while you were speaking, 
 it occurred to me to ask myself this question : 
 suppose that Euthyphron were to prove to me 
 as clearly as possible that all the gods think 
 such a death unjust ; how has he brought me 
 any nearer to understanding what holiness and 
 unholiness are ? This particular act, perhaps, 
 may be displeasing to the gods, but then we have 
 just seen that holiness and unholiness cannot 
 be defined in that way : for we have seen that 
 what is displeasing to the gods is also pleasing 
 to them. So I will let you off on this point, 
 Euthyphron ; and all the gods shall agree in 
 thinking your father's deed wrong, and in hating 
 it, if you like. But shall we correct our defini- 
 tion and say that whatever all the gods hate 
 is unholy, and whatever they all love is holy : 
 while whatever some of them love, and others 
 hate, is either both or neither? Do you wish 
 us now to define holiness and unholiness in this 
 manner ? 
 
 Euth. Why not, Socrates ? 
 
 Socr. There is no reason why I should not, 
 Euthyphron. It is for you to consider whether 
 that definition will help you to instruct me as 
 you promised. 
 
 C
 
 1 8 EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 Eulh. Well, I should say that holiness is 
 what all the gods love, and that unholiness is 
 what they all hate. 
 
 Socr. Are we to examine this definition, Euthy- 
 phron, and see if it is a good one ? or are we 
 to be content to accept the bare assertions of 
 other men, or of ourselves, without asking any 
 questions ? Or must we examine the asser- 
 tions ? 
 
 Euth. We must examine them. But for my 
 part I think that the definition is right this 
 time. 
 
 XIL Socr. We shall know that better in a little 
 10- while, my good friend. Now consider this 
 question. Do the gods love holiness because 
 it is holy, or is it holy because they love it ? 
 
 Euth. I do not understand you, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. I will try to explain myself: we speak 
 of a thing being carried and carrying, and being 
 led and leading, and being seen and seeing ; 
 and you understand that all such expressions 
 mean different things, and what the difference is. 
 
 Euth. Yes, I think I understand. 
 
 Socr. And we talk of a thing being loved, 
 and, which is different, of a thing loving ? 
 
 Euth. Of course. 
 
 Socr. Now tell me : is a thing which is being 
 carried in a state of being carried, because it is 
 carried, or for some other reason ? 
 
 Euth. No, because it is carried. 
 
 Socr. And a thing is in a state of being led, 
 because it is led, and of being seen, because it 
 is seen ?
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 19 
 
 Euth. Certainly. 
 
 Socr. Then a thing is not seen because it is 
 in a state of being seen ; it is in a state of 
 being seen because it is seen : and a thing is 
 not led because it is in a state of being led ; it 
 is in a state of being led because it is led : and 
 a thing is not carried because it is in a state of 
 being carried ; it is in a state of being carried 
 because it is carried. Is my meaning clear 
 now, Euthyphron ? I mean this : if anything 
 becomes, or is affected, it does not become 
 because it is in a state of becoming ; it is in a 
 state of becoming because it becomes ; and it 
 is not affected because it is in a state of being 
 affected : it is in a state of being affected 
 because it is affected. Do you not agree ? 
 
 Eirth. I do. 
 
 Socr. Is not that which is being loved in a 
 state, either of becoming, or of being affected 
 in some way by something ? 
 
 Euth. Certainly. 
 
 Socr. Then the same is true here as in the 
 former cases. A thing is not loved by those 
 who love it because it is in a state of being 
 loved. It is in a state of being loved because 
 they love it. 
 
 Euth. Necessarily. 
 
 Socr. Well, then, Euthyphron, what do we 
 say about holiness ? Is it not loved by all the 
 gods, according to your definition ? 
 
 Euth. Yes. 
 
 Socr. Because it is holy, or for some other 
 reason ?
 
 20 EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 Euth. No, because it is holy. 
 
 Socr, Then it is loved by the gods because 
 it is holy : it is not holy because it is loved by 
 them ? 
 
 Euth. It seems so. 
 
 Socr. But then what is pleasing to the gods 
 is pleasing to them, and is in a state of being 
 loved by them, because they love it ? 
 
 Euth. Of course. 
 
 Socr. Then holiness is not what is pleasing 
 to the gods, and what is pleasing to the gods 
 is not holy, as you say, Euthyphron. They 
 are different things. 
 
 Euth. And why, Socrates ? 
 
 Socr. Because we are agreed that the gods 
 love holiness because it is holy : and that it is 
 not holy because they love it. Is not this so ? 
 
 Euth. Yes. 
 
 XIII. Socr. And that what is pleasing to the gods 
 because they love it, is pleasing to them by 
 reason of this same love : and that they do 
 not love it because it is pleasing to them. 
 
 Euth. True. 
 
 Socr. Then, my dear Euthyphron, holiness, 
 and what is pleasing to the gods, are different 
 things. If the gods had loved holiness because 
 11. it is holy, they would also have loved what is 
 pleasing to them because it is pleasing to them ; 
 but if what is pleasing to them had been pleasing 
 to them because they loved it, then holiness too 
 would have been holiness, because they loved it. 
 But now you see that they are opposite things, 
 and wholly different from each other. For the
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 21 
 
 one 1 is of a sort to be loved because it is loved : 
 while the other 2 is loved, because it is of a sort 
 to be loved. My question, Euthyphron, was, 
 What is holiness ? But it turns out that you 
 have not explained to me the essence of holi- 
 ness ; you have been content to mention an 
 attribute which belongs to it, namely, that all 
 the gods love it. You have not yet told me 
 what is its essence. Do not, if you please, 
 keep from me what holiness is ; begin again and 
 tell me that. Never mind whether the gods love 
 it, or whether it has other attributes : we shall 
 not differ on that point. Do your best to 
 make clear to me what is holiness and what is 
 unholiness. 
 
 Euth. But, Socrates, I really don't know how 
 to explain to you what is in my mind. What- 
 ever we put forward always somehow moves 
 round in a circle, and will not stay where we 
 place it. 
 
 Socr. I think that your definitions, Euthy- 
 phron, are worthy of my ancestor Daedalus. If 
 they had been mine and I had laid them down, 
 I dare say you would have made fun of me, 
 and said that it was the consequence of my 
 descent from Daedalus that the definitions which 
 I construct run away, as his statues used to, 
 and will not stay where they are placed. But, 
 as it is, the definitions are yours, and the jest 
 would have no point. You yourself see that 
 they will not stay still. 
 
 Eulh. Nay, Socrates, I think that the jest is 
 1 What is pleasing to the gods. 2 What is holy.
 
 22 EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 very much in point. It is not my fault that 
 the definition moves round in a circle and will 
 not stay still. But you are the Daedalus, I 
 think : as far as I am concerned, my definitions 
 would have stayed quiet enough. 
 
 Socr. Then, my friend, I must be a more 
 skilful artist than Daedalus : he only used to 
 make his own works move ; whereas I, you 
 see, can make other people's works move too. 
 And the beauty of it is that I am wise against 
 my will. I would rather that our definitions 
 had remained firm and immovable than have 
 all the wisdom of Daedalus and all the riches of 
 Tantalus to boot. But enough of this. I will 
 do my best to help you to explain to me what 
 holiness is : for I think that you are indolent. 
 Don't give in yet. Tell me ; do you not think 
 that all holiness must be just ? 
 
 Euth. I do. 
 
 Socr. Well, then, is all justice holy too ? 
 12 - Or, while all holiness is just, is a part only of 
 justice holy, and the rest of it something else ? 
 
 Euth. I do not follow you, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. Yet you have the advantage over me 
 in your youth no less in your wisdom. But, as 
 I say, the wealth of your wisdom makes you 
 indolent. Exert yourself, my good friend : I 
 am not asking you a difficult question. I mean 
 the opposite of what the poet 1 said, when he 
 wrote : 
 
 ' Thou wilt not name Zeus the creator, who made all 
 things : for where there is fear there also is reverence. ' 
 
 1 Stasinus.
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 23 
 
 Now I disagree with the poet. Shall I tell 
 you why ? 
 
 Euth. Yes. 
 
 Socr. I do not think it true to say that where 
 there is fear, there also is reverence. Many 
 people who fear sickness and poverty and other 
 such evils, seem to me to have fear, but no rever- 
 ence for what they fear. Do you not think so ? 
 
 Euth. I do. 
 
 Socr. But I think that where there is rever- 
 ence, there also is fear. Does any man feel 
 reverence and a sense of shame about anything, 
 without at the same time dreading and fearing 
 the character of baseness ? 
 
 Euth. No, certainly not. 
 
 Socr. Then, though there is fear wherever 
 there is reverence, it is not correct to say 
 that where there is fear there also is reverence. 
 Reverence does not always accompany fear ; 
 for fear, I take it, is wider than reverence. It 
 is a part of fear, just as the odd is a part of 
 number, so that where you have the odd, you 
 must also have number, though where you have 
 number, you do not necessarily have the odd. 
 Now I think you follow me? 
 
 Euth. I do. 
 
 Socr. Well, then, this is what I meant by 
 the question which I asked you : is there always 
 holiness where there is justice ? or, though there 
 is always justice where there is holiness, yet 
 there is not always holiness where there is 
 justice, because holiness is only a part of justice ? 
 Shall we say this, or do you differ ?
 
 24 EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 Euth. No : I agree. I think that you are 
 right. 
 
 XIV. Socr. Now observe the next point. If holi- 
 ness is a part of justice, we must find out, I 
 suppose, what part of justice it is ? Now, if you 
 had asked me just now, for instance, what part 
 of number is the odd, and what number is an 
 odd number, I should have said that whatever 
 number is not even, is an odd number. Is it 
 not so ? 
 
 Euth. Yes. 
 
 Socr. Then see if you can explain to me 
 what part of justice is holiness, that I may tell 
 Meletus that now that I have learnt perfectly 
 from you what actions are pious and holy, and 
 what are not, he must give up prosecuting me 
 unjustly for impiety. 
 
 Euth. Well then, Socrates, I should say that 
 piety and holiness are that part of justice which 
 has to do with the attention which is due to the 
 gods : and that what has to do with the atten- 
 tion which is due to men, is the remaining part 
 of justice. 
 
 xv - Socr. And I think that your answer is a 
 13. good one, Euthyphron. But there is one little 
 point, of which I still want to hear more. I 
 do not yet understand what the attention or 
 care which you are speaking of is. I suppose 
 you do not mean that the care which we show 
 to the gods is like the care which we show to 
 other things. We say, for instance, do we not, 
 that not every one knows how to take care of 
 horses, but only the trainer of horses ?
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 25 
 
 Euth. Certainly. 
 
 Socr. For I suppose that the art that relates 
 to horses means the care of horses. 
 
 Euth. Yes. 
 
 Socr. And not every one understands the 
 care of dogs, but only the huntsman. 
 
 Eiith. True. 
 
 Socr. For I suppose that the huntsman's art 
 means the care of dogs. 
 
 Euth. Yes. 
 
 Socr. And the herdsman's art means the 
 care of cattle. 
 
 Euth. Certainly. 
 
 Socr. And you say that holiness and piety 
 mean the care of the gods, Euthyphron ? 
 
 Euth. I do. 
 
 Socr. Well, then, has not all care the same 
 object ? Is it not for the good and benefit of 
 that on which it is bestowed ? for instance, you 
 see that horses are benefited and improved 
 when they are cared for by the art which is 
 concerned with them. Is it not so ? 
 
 Euth. Yes ; I think so. 
 
 Socr. And dogs are benefited and improved 
 by the huntsman's art, and cattle by the herds- 
 man's, are they not ? And the same is always 
 true. Or do you think the care is ever meant 
 to hurt that on which it is bestowed ? 
 
 Euth. No indeed ; certainly not. 
 
 Socr. But to benefit it ? 
 
 Euth. Of course. 
 
 Socr. Then is holiness, which is the care 
 which we bestow on the gods, intended to bene-
 
 26 EUTHYPHKON. 
 
 fit the gods, or to improve them ? Should .you 
 allow that you make any of the gods better, 
 when you do an holy action ? 
 
 Euth. No indeed ; certainly not. 
 
 Socr. No : I am quite sure that that is not 
 your meaning, Euthyphron : it was for that 
 reason that I asked you what you meant by the 
 attention due to the gods. I thought that you 
 did not mean that. 
 
 Euth. You were right, Socrates. I do not 
 mean that. 
 
 Socr. Good. Then what sort of attention to 
 the gods will holiness be ? 
 
 Euth. The attention, Socrates, of slaves to 
 their masters. 
 
 Socr. I understand : then it is a kind of 
 service to the gods ? 
 
 Euth. Certainly. 
 
 XVI. Socr. Can you tell me what result the art 
 which serves a doctor serves to produce ? Is it 
 not health ? 
 
 Euth. Yes. 
 
 Socr. And what result does the art which 
 serves a shipwright serve to produce ? 
 
 Euth. A ship, of course, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. The result of the art which serves a 
 builder is a house, is it not ? 
 
 Euth. Yes. 
 
 Socr. Then tell me, my excellent friend : 
 What result will the art which serves the gods 
 serve to produce ? You must know, seeing 
 that you say that you know more about divine 
 things than any other man.
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 27 
 
 Euth. Well, that is true, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. Then tell me, I beseech you, what is 
 that grand result which the gods use our services 
 to produce ? 
 
 Euth. The results are many and noble, 
 Socrates. 
 
 Socr. So are those, my dear sir, which a 14. 
 general produces. Yet it is easy to see that 
 the crowning result of them all is victory in 
 war, is it not ? 
 
 Euth. Of course. 
 
 Socr. And, I take it, the husbandman pro- 
 duces many fine results ; yet the crowning 
 result of them all is that he makes the earth 
 produce food. 
 
 Euth. Certainly. 
 
 Socr. Well, then, what is the crowning one 
 of the many and noble results which the gods 
 produce ? 
 
 Euth. I told you just now, Socrates, that it 
 is not so easy to learn the exact truth in all 
 these matters. However, broadly I say this : 
 if any man knows that his words and deeds in 
 prayer and sacrifice are acceptable to the gods, 
 that is what is holy : that preserves the com- 
 mon weal, as it does private households, from 
 evil ; but the opposite of what is acceptable to 
 the gods is impious, and this it is that brings 
 ruin and destruction on all things. 
 
 Socr. Certainly, Euthyphron, if you had XVII. 
 wished, you could have answered my main 
 question in far fewer words. But you are 
 evidently not anxious to instruct me : just now,
 
 28 EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 when you were just on the point of telling me 
 what I want to know, you stopped short. If 
 you had gone on then, I should have learnt 
 from you clearly enough by this time what is 
 holiness. But now I am asking you questions, 
 and must follow wherever you lead me ; so tell 
 me, what is it that you mean by the holy and 
 holiness ? Do you not mean a science of 
 prayer and sacrifice ? 
 
 Euth. I do. 
 
 Socr. To sacrifice is to give to the gods, and 
 to pray is to ask of them, is it not ? 
 
 Euth. It is, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. Then you say that holiness is the 
 science of asking of the gods, and giving to 
 them ? 
 
 Euth. You understand my meaning exactly, 
 Socrates. 
 
 Socr. Yes, for I am eager to share your 
 wisdom, Euthyphron, and so I am all attention : 
 nothing that you say will fall to the ground. 
 But tell me, what is this service of the gods ? 
 You say it is to ask of them, and to give to 
 them ? 
 
 Euth. I do. 
 
 XVIII. Socr. Then, to ask rightly will be to ask of 
 them what we stand in need of from them, 
 will it not ? 
 
 Euth. Naturally. 
 
 Socr. And to give rightly will be to give back 
 to them what they stand in need of from us ? 
 It would not be very clever to make a present 
 to a man of something that he has no need of.
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 29 
 
 Euth. True, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. Then, holiness, Euthyphron, will be 
 an art of traffic between gods and men ? 
 
 Euth. Yes, if you like to call it so. 
 
 Socr. Nay, I like nothing but what is true. 
 But tell me, how are the gods benefited by 
 the gifts which they receive from us ? What 
 they give us is plain enough. Every good 
 thing that we have is their gift. But how are 15. 
 they benefited by what we give them ? Have 
 we the advantage over them in this traffic so 
 much that we receive from them all the good 
 things we possess and give them nothing in 
 return ? 
 
 Euth. But do you suppose, Socrates, that the 
 gods are benefited by the gifts which they 
 receive from us ? 
 
 Socr. But what are these gifts, Euthyphron, 
 that we give the gods ? 
 
 Euth. What do you think but honour, and 
 homage, and, as I have said, what is accept- 
 able to them. 
 
 Socr. Then holiness, Euthyphron, is accept- 
 able to the gods, but it is not profitable, nor 
 dear to them ? 
 
 Euth. I think that nothing is dearer to them. 
 
 Socr. Then I see that holiness means that 
 which is dear to the gods. 
 
 Euth. Most certainly. 
 
 Socr. After that, shall you be surprised to XIX. 
 find that your definitions move about, instead 
 of staying where you place them ? Shall you 
 charge me with being the Daedalus that makes
 
 30 EUTHYPHRON. 
 
 them move, when you yourself are far more 
 skilful than Daedalus was, and make them go 
 round in a circle ? Do you not see that our 
 definition has come round to where it was be- 
 fore? Surely you remember that we have 
 already seen that holiness, and what is pleasing 
 to the gods, are quite different things. Do you 
 not remember ? 
 
 Euth. I do. 
 
 Socr. And now do you not see that you say 
 that what the gods love is holy ? But does not 
 what the gods love come to the same thing as 
 what is pleasing to the gods ? 
 
 Euth. Certainly. 
 
 Socr. Then either our former conclusion was 
 wrong, or, if that was right, we are wrong now. 
 
 Euth. So it seems. 
 
 XX. Socr. Then we must begin again, and inquire 
 what is holiness. I do not mean to give in 
 until I have found out. Do not deem me 
 unworthy ; give your whole mind to the ques- 
 tion, and this time tell me the truth. For if 
 any one knows it, it is you ; and you are a 
 Proteus whom I must not let go until you have 
 told me. It cannot be that you would ever 
 have undertaken to prosecute your aged father 
 for the murder of a labouring man unless you 
 had known exactly what is holiness and unholi- 
 ness. You would have feared to risk the 
 anger of the gods, in case you should be doing 
 wrong, and you would have been afraid of what 
 men would say. But now I am sure that you 
 think that you know exactly what is holiness
 
 EUTHYPHRON. 31 
 
 and what is not : so tell me, my excellent 
 Euthyphron, and do not conceal from me what 
 you hold it to be. 
 
 Euth. Another time, then, Socrates. I am 
 in a hurry now, and it is time for me to be off. 
 
 Socr. What are you doing, my friend ! Will 
 you go away and destroy all my hopes of learn- 
 ing from you what is holy and what is not, 
 and so of escaping Meletus ? I meant to ex- 
 plain to him that now Euthyphron has made 
 me wise about divine things, and that I no 16. 
 longer in my ignorance speak rashly about them 
 or introduce novelties in them ; and then I was 
 going to promise him to live a better life for 
 the future.
 
 THE APOLOGY
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 SOCRATES. 
 MELETUS. 
 
 SCENE. The Court of Justice.
 
 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 Socr. I cannot tell what impression my ac- i. 
 cusers have made upon you, Athenians : for steph. 
 my own part, I know that they nearly made p. 17. 
 me forget who I was, so plausible were they ; 
 and yet they have scarcely uttered one single 
 word of truth. But of all their many falsehoods, 
 the one which astonished me most, was when 
 they said that I was a clever speaker, and that 
 you must be careful not to let me mislead you. 
 I thought that it was most impudent of them 
 not to be ashamed to talk in that way ; for as 
 soon as I open my mouth the lie will be ex- 
 posed, and I shall prove that I am not a clever 
 speaker in any way at all : unless, indeed, by 
 a clever speaker they mean a man who speaks 
 the truth. If that is their meaning, I agree 
 with them that I am a much greater orator 
 than they. My accusers, then I repeat, have 
 said little or nothing that is true ; but from me 
 you shall hear the whole truth. Certainly you will 
 not hear an elaborate speech, Athenians, drest 
 up, like theirs, with words and phrases. I will say 
 to you what I have to say, without preparation, 
 and in the words which come first, for I believe
 
 36 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 that my cause is just ; so let none of you expect 
 anything else. Indeed, my friends, it would 
 hardly be seemly for me, at my age, to come 
 before you like a young man with his specious 
 falsehoods. But there is one thing, Athenians, 
 which I do most earnestly beg and entreat of 
 you. Do not be surprised and do not interrupt, 
 if in my defence I speak in the same way that 
 I am accustomed to speak in the market-place, 
 at the tables of the money-changers, where 
 many of you have heard me, and elsewhere. 
 The truth is this. I am more than seventy 
 years old, and this is the first time that I have 
 ever come before a Court of Law ; so your 
 manner of speech here is quite strange to me. 
 If I had been really a stranger, you would have 
 forgiven me for speaking in the language and 
 
 18. the fashion of my native country : and so now 
 I ask you to grant me what I think I have a 
 right to claim. Never mind the style of my 
 speech it may be better or it may be worse 
 give your whole attention to the question, Is 
 what I say just, or is it not ? That is what 
 makes a good judge, as speaking the truth 
 makes a good advocate. 
 
 II. I have to defend myself, Athenians, first 
 against the old false charges of my old accusers, 
 and then against the later ones of my present 
 accusers. For many men have been accus- 
 ing me to you, and for very many years, who 
 have not uttered a word of truth : and I fear 
 them more than I fear Anytus and his com- 
 panions, formidable as they are. But, my
 
 THE APOLOGY. 37 
 
 friends, those others are still more formid- 
 able ; for they got hold of most of you when 
 you were children, and they have been more 
 persistent in accusing me with lies, and in try- 
 ing to persuade you that there is one Socrates, 
 a wise man, who speculates about the heavens, 
 and who examines into all things that are be- 
 neath the earth, and who can ' make the worse 
 appear the better reason.' 1 These men, 
 Athenians, who spread abroad this report, are 
 the accusers whom I fear ; for their hearers 
 think that persons who pursue such inquiries 
 never believe in the gods. And then they are 
 many, and their attacks have been going on for 
 a long time : and they spoke to you when you 
 were at the age most readily to believe them : 
 for you were all young, and many of you were 
 children : and there was no one to answer them 
 when they attacked me. And the most un- 
 reasonable thing of all is that commonly I do 
 not even know their names : I cannot tell you 
 who they are, except in the case of the comic 
 poets. 2 But all the rest who have been trying 
 to prejudice you against me, from motives of 
 spite and jealousy, and sometimes, it may be, 
 from conviction, are the enemies whom it is 
 hardest to meet. For I cannot call any one of 
 them forward in Court, to cross-examine him : 
 I have, as it were, simply to fight with shadows 
 
 1 Milton, Paradise Lost, ii. 113. 
 
 2 E.g. Aristophanes ; see Introduction. Eupolis, 
 and probably Ameipsias, had made similar attacks on 
 Socrates.
 
 38 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 in my defence, and to put questions which there 
 is no one to answer. I ask you, therefore, to 
 believe that, as I say, I have been attacked by 
 two classes of accusers first by Meletus and 
 his friends, and then by those older ones of 
 whom I have spoken. And, with your leave, 
 I will defend myself first against my old 
 enemies ; for you heard their accusations first, 
 and they were much more persistent than my 
 present accusers are. 
 
 Well, I must make my defence, Athenians, 
 
 19- and try in the short time allowed me to 
 remove the prejudice which you have had 
 against me for a long time. I hope that I may 
 manage to do this, if it be good for you and for 
 me, and that my defence may be successful ; 
 but I am quite aware of the nature of my task, 
 and I know that it is a difficult one. Be the 
 issue, however, as God wills, I must obey the 
 law, and make my defence. 
 
 III. Let us begin again, then, and see what is the 
 charge which has given rise to the prejudice 
 against me, which was what Meletus relied on 
 when he drew his indictment. What is the 
 calumny which my enemies have been spreading 
 about me ? I must assume that they are formally 
 accusing me, and read their indictment. It would 
 run somewhat in this fashion : " Socrates is an 
 evil-doer, who meddles with inquiries into things 
 beneath the earth, and in heaven, and who 
 ' makes the worse appear the better reason," 
 and who teaches others these same things." 
 That is what they say ; and in the Comedy of
 
 THE APOLOGY. 39 
 
 Aristophanes 1 you yourselves saw a man called 
 Socrates swinging round in a basket, and say- 
 ing that he walked the air, and talking a great 
 deal of nonsense about matters of which I 
 understand nothing, either more or less. I do 
 not mean to disparage that kind of knowledge, 
 if there is any man who possesses it. I trust 
 Meletus may never be able to prosecute me for 
 that. But, the truth is, Athenians, I have 
 nothing to do with these matters, and almost 
 all of you are yourselves my witnesses of this. 
 I beg all of you who have ever heard me con- 
 verse, and they are many, to inform your neigh- 
 bours and tell them if any of you have ever 
 heard me conversing about such matters, either 
 more or less. That will show you that the 
 other common stories about me are as false as 
 this one. 
 
 But, the fact is, that not one of these stories IV. 
 is true ; and if you have heard that I undertake 
 to educate men, and exact money from them 
 for so doing, that is not true either ; though I 2O. 
 think that it would be a fine thing to be able to 
 educate men, as Gorgias of Leontini, and Pro- 
 dicus of Ceos, and Hippias of Elis do. For 
 each of them, my friends, can go into any city, 
 and persuade the young men to leave the 
 society of their fellow-citizens, with any of whom 
 they might associate for nothing, and to be only 
 too glad to be allowed to pay money for the 
 privilege of associating with themselves. And 
 I believe that there is another wise man from 
 1 The Clouds.
 
 40 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 Paros residing in Athens at this moment. I 
 happened to meet Callias, the son of Hip- 
 ponicus, a man who has spent more money on 
 the Sophists than every one else put together. 
 So I said to him he has two sons Callias, if 
 your two sons had been foals or calves, we 
 could have hired a trainer for them who would 
 have made them perfect in the excellence which 
 belongs to their nature. He would have been 
 either a groom or a farmer. But whom do you 
 intend to take to train them, seeing that they 
 are men ? Who understands the excellence 
 which belongs to men and to citizens ? I sup- 
 pose that you must have thought of this, be- 
 cause of your sons. Is there such a person, 
 said I, or not ? Certainly there is, he replied. 
 Who is he, said I, and where does he come 
 from, and what is his fee ? His name is 
 Evenus, Socrates, he replied : he comes from 
 Paros, and his fee is five minae. Then I thought 
 that Evenus was a fortunate person if he really 
 understood this art and could teach so cleverly. 
 If I had possessed knowledge of that kind, I 
 should have given myself airs and prided my- 
 self on it. But, Athenians, the truth is that I 
 do not possess it. 
 
 Perhaps some of you may reply : But, So- 
 crates, what is this pursuit of yours ? Whence 
 come these calumnies against you ? You must 
 have been engaged in some pursuit out of the 
 common. All these stories and reports of you 
 would never have gone about, if you had not 
 been in some way different from other men.
 
 THE APOLOGY. 41 
 
 So tell us what your pursuits are, that we may 
 not give our verdict in the dark. I think that 
 that is a fair question, and I will try to explain 
 to you what it is that has raised these calumnies 
 against me, and given me this name. Listen, 
 then : some of you perhaps will think that I 
 am jesting ; but I assure you that I will tell 
 you the whole truth. I have gained this name, 
 Athenians, simply by reason of a certain wis- 
 dom. But by what kind of wisdom ? It is by 
 just that wisdom which is, I believe, possible to 
 men. In that, it may be, I am really wise. 
 But the men of whom I was speaking just now 
 must be wise in a wisdom which is greater than 
 human wisdom, or in some way which I cannot 
 describe, for certainly I know nothing of it 
 myself, and if any man says that I do, he lies 
 and wants to slander me. Do not interrupt me, 
 Athenians, even if you think that I am speaking 
 arrogantly. What I am going to say is not my 
 own : I will tell you who says it, and he is worthy 
 of your credit. I will bring the god of Delphi to 
 be the witness of the fact of my wisdom and of 
 its nature. You remember Chaerephon. From 
 youth upwards he was my comrade ; and he 21. 
 went into exile with the people, 1 and with the 
 people he returned. And you remember, too, 
 Chasrephon's character ; how vehement he was 
 in carrying through whatever he took in hand. 
 Once he went to Delphi and ventured to put 
 this question to the oracle, I entreat you 
 again, my friends, not to cry out, he asked if 
 1 At the time of the oligarchy of the Thirty, 404 B. C
 
 42 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 there was any man who was wiser than I : and 
 the priestess answered that there was no man. 
 Chaerephon himself is dead, but his brother 
 here will confirm what I say. 
 
 Now see why I tell you this. I am going 
 to explain to you the origin of my unpopularity. 
 When I heard of the oracle I began to reflect : 
 What can God mean by this dark saying ? I 
 know very well that I am not wise, even in the 
 smallest degree. Then what can he mean by 
 saying that I am the wisest of men ? It can- 
 not be that he is speaking falsely, for he is a 
 god and cannot lie. And for a long time I 
 was at a loss to understand his meaning : then, 
 very reluctantly, I turned to seek for it in this 
 manner. I went to a man who was reputed to 
 be wise, thinking that there, if anywhere, I 
 should prove the answer wrong, and meaning 
 to point out to the oracle its mistake, and to 
 say, 'You said that I was the wisest of men, 
 but this man is wiser than I am.' So I examined 
 the man I need not tell you his name, he was 
 a politician but this was the result, Athenians. 
 When I conversed with him I came to see that, 
 though a great many persons, and most of all 
 he himself, thought that he was wise, yet he was 
 not wise. And then I tried to prove to him 
 that he was not wise, though he fancied that 
 he was : and by so doing I made him, and 
 many of the bystanders, my enemies. So when 
 I went away, I thought to myself, " I am wiser 
 than this man : neither of us probably knows 
 anything that is really good, but he thinks that
 
 THE APOLOGY. 43 
 
 he has knowledge, when he has not, while I, 
 having no knowledge, do not think that I have. 
 I seem, at any rate, to be a little wiser than he 
 is on this point : I do not think that I know 
 what I do not know." Next I went to another 
 man who was reputed to be still wiser than the 
 last, with exactly the same result. And there 
 again I made him, and many other men, my 
 enemies. 
 
 Then I went on to one man after another, VII 
 seeing that I was making enemies every day, 
 which caused me much unhappiness and 
 anxiety : still I thought that I must set God's 
 command above everything. So I had to go 
 to every man who seemed to possess any know- 
 ledge, and search for the meaning of the oracle : 
 and, Athenians, I must tell you the truth ; 22. 
 verily, by the dog of Egypt, this was the result 
 of the search which I made at God's bidding. 
 I found that the men, whose reputation for wis- 
 dom stood highest, were nearly the most lack- 
 ing in it ; while others, who were looked down 
 on as common people, were much better fitted 
 to learn. Now, I must describe to you the 
 wanderings which I undertook, like a series of 
 Heraclean labours, to make full proof of the 
 oracle. After the politicians, I went to the 
 poets, tragic, dithyrambic, and others, think- 
 ing that there I should find myself manifestly 
 more ignorant than they. So I took up the 
 poems on which I thought that they had spent 
 most pains, and asked them what they meant, 
 hoping at the same time to learn something from
 
 44 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 them. I am ashamed to tell you the truth, my 
 friends, but I must say it. Almost any one of 
 the bystanders could have talked about the 
 works of these poets better than the poets 
 themselves. So I soon found that it is not by 
 wisdom that the poets create their works, but 
 by a certain natural power and by inspiration, 
 like soothsayers and prophets, who say many 
 fine things, but who understand nothing of what 
 they say. The poets seemed to me to be in a 
 similar case. And at the same time I per- 
 ceived that, because of their poetry, they 
 thought that they were the wisest of men in 
 other matters too, which they were not. So I 
 went away again, thinking that I had the 
 same advantage over the poets that I had over 
 the politicians. 
 
 VIII. Finally, I went to the artizans, for I knew 
 very well that I possessed no knowledge at all, 
 worth speaking of, and I was sure that I 
 should find that they knew many fine things. 
 And in that I was not mistaken. They knew 
 what I did not know, and so far they were 
 wiser than I. But, Athenians, it seemed to 
 me that the skilled artizans made the same mis- 
 take as the poets. Each of them believed him- 
 self to be extremely wise in matters of the 
 greatest importance, because he was skilful 
 in his own art : and this mistake of theirs 
 threw their real wisdom into the shade. So I 
 asked myself, on behalf of the oracle, whether 
 I would choose to remain as I was, without 
 either their wisdom or their ignorance, or to
 
 THE APOLOGY. 45 
 
 possess both, as they did. And I made answer 
 to myself and to the oracle that it was better 
 for me to remain as I was. 
 
 By reason of this examination, Athenians, IX. 
 I have made many enemies of a very fierce and 23. 
 bitter kind, who have spread abroad a great 
 number of calumnies about me, and people say 
 that I am 'a wise man.' 1 For the bystanders 
 always think that I am wise myself in any 
 matter wherein I convict another man of ignor- 
 ance. But, my friends, I believe that only 
 God is really wise : and that by this oracle 
 he meant that men's wisdom is worth little 
 or nothing. I do not think that he meant 
 that Socrates was wise. He only made use of 
 my name, and took me as an example, as 
 though he would say to men, ' He among you 
 is the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that in 
 very truth his wisdom is worth nothing at all.' 
 And therefore I still go about testing and 
 examining every man whom I think wise, 
 whether he be a citizen or a stranger, as God 
 has commanded me ; and whenever I find that 
 he is not wise, I point out to him on the part 
 of God that he is not wise. And I am so busy 
 in this pursuit that I have never had leisure to 
 take any part worth mentioning in public 
 matters, or to look after my private affairs. I 
 am in very great poverty by reason of my 
 service to God. 
 
 1 The expression <r6$os &vi)p, ' wise men,' was the 
 general title at Athens for Natural Philosophers and 
 Sophists, indifferently. Riddell, Introduction, p. xxxii.
 
 46 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 X. And besides this, the young men who follow 
 me about, who are the sons of wealthy per- 
 sons and have a great deal of spare time, 
 take a natural pleasure in hearing men cross- 
 examined : and they often imitate me among 
 themselves : then they try their hands at cross- 
 examining other people. And, I imagine, they 
 find a great abundance of men who think that 
 they know a great deal, when in fact they know 
 little or nothing. And then the persons who 
 are cross-examined, get angry with me instead 
 of with themselves, and say that Socrates is an 
 abominable fellow who corrupts young men. 
 And when they are asked, ' Why, what does he 
 do ? what does he teach ? ' they do not know 
 what to say ; but, not to seem at a loss, they re- 
 peat the stock charges against all philosophers, 
 and allege that he investigates things in the 
 air and under the earth, and that he teaches 
 people to disbelieve in the gods, and ' to make 
 the worse appear the better reason.' For, I 
 fancy, they would not like to confess the truth, 
 which is that they are shown up as ignorant pre- 
 tenders to knowledge that they do not possess. 
 And so they have been filling your ears with 
 their bitter calumnies for a long time, for they 
 are zealous and numerous and bitter against 
 me ; and they are well disciplined and plausible 
 in speech. On these grounds Meletus and 
 Anytus and Lycon have attacked me. Meletus 
 is indignant with me on the part of the poets, 
 and Anytus on the part of the artizans and poli- 
 24. ticians, and Lycon on the part of the orators.
 
 THE APOLOGY, 47 
 
 And so, as I said at the beginning, I shall be 
 surprised if I am able, in the short time allowed 
 me for my defence, to remove from your minds 
 this prejudice which has grown so strong. 
 What I have told you, Athenians, is the truth : 
 I neither conceal, nor do I suppress anything, 
 small or great. And yet I know that it is just 
 this plainness of speech which makes me 
 enemies. But that is only a proof that my 
 words are true, and that the prejudice against 
 me, and the causes of it, are what I have said. 
 And whether you look for them now or here- 
 after, you will find that they are so. 
 
 What I have said must suffice as my defence XL 
 against the charges of my first accusers. I 
 will try next to defend myself against that 
 'good patriot' Meletus, as he calls himself, 
 and my later accusers. Let us assume that 
 they are a new set of accusers, and read their 
 indictment, as we did in the case of the others. 
 It runs thus. He says that Socrates is an evil- 
 doer who corrupts the youth, and who does not 
 believe in the gods whom the city believes in, 
 but in other new divinities. Such is the charge. 
 Let us examine each point in it separately. 
 Meletus says that I do wrong by corrupting 
 the youth : but I say, Athenians, that he is 
 doing wrong ; for he is playing off a solemn jest 
 by bringing men lightly to trial, and pretending 
 to have a great zeal and interest in matters to 
 which he has never given a moment's thought. 
 And now I will try to prove to you that it is so. 
 
 Come here, Meletus. Is it not a fact that XII.
 
 48 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 you think it very important that the younger 
 men should be as excellent as possible ? 
 
 Meletus. It is. 
 
 Socrates. Come then : tell the judges, who is 
 it who improves them ? You take so much in- 
 terest in the matter that of course you know 
 that. You are accusing me, and bringing me 
 to trial, because, as you say, you have dis- 
 covered that I am the corrupter of the youth. 
 Come now, reveal to the judges who improves 
 them. You see, Meletus, you have nothing to 
 say ; you are silent. But don't you think that 
 this is a scandalous thing ? Is not your silence 
 a conclusive proof of what I say, that you have 
 never given a moment's thought to the matter ? 
 Come, tell us, my good sir, who makes the 
 young men better citizens ? 
 
 Mel. The laws. 
 
 Socr. My excellent sir, that is not my ques- 
 tion. What man improves the young, who 
 starts with a knowledge of the laws ? 
 
 Mel. The judges here, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. What do you mean, Meletus ? Can 
 they educate the young and improve them ? 
 
 Mel. Certainly. 
 
 Socr. All of them ? or only some of them ? 
 
 Mel. All of them. 
 
 Socr. By Here that is good news ! There 
 is a great abundance of benefactors. And do 
 25. the listeners here improve them, or not ? 
 
 Mel. They do. 
 
 Socr. And do the senators ? 
 
 Mel. Yes.
 
 THE APOLOGY. 49 
 
 Socr. Well then, Meletus ; do the members 
 of the Assembly corrupt the younger men ? or 
 do they again all improve them ? 
 
 Mel. They too improve them. 
 
 Socr. Then all the Athenians, apparently, 
 make the young into fine fellows except me, and 
 I alone corrupt them. Is that your meaning? 
 
 Mel. Most certainly ; that is my meaning. 
 
 Socr. You have discovered me to be a most 
 unfortunate man. Now tell me : do you think 
 that the same holds good in the case of horses ? 
 Does one man do them harm and every one 
 else improve them ? On the contrary, is it not 
 one man only, or a very few namely, those 
 who are skilled in horses who can improve 
 them ; while the majority of men harm them, 
 if they use them, and have to do with them ? 
 Is it not so, Meletus, both with horses and with 
 every other animal ? Of course it is, whether 
 you and Anytus say yes or no. And young 
 men would certainly be very fortunate persons 
 if only one man corrupted them, and every one 
 else did them good. The truth is, Meletus, 
 you prove conclusively that you have never 
 thought about the youth in your life. It is 
 quite clear, on your own showing, that you take 
 no interest at all in the matters about which 
 you are prosecuting me. 
 
 Now, be so good as to tell us, Meletus, is it XIII. 
 better to live among good citizens or bad ones ? 
 Answer, my friend : I am not asking you at all a 
 difficult question. Do not bad citizens do harm 
 to their neighbours and good citizens good ? 
 E
 
 50 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 Mel. Yes. 
 
 Socr. Is there any man who would rather 
 be injured than benefited by his companions ? 
 Answer, my good sir : you are obliged by the 
 law to answer. Does any one like to be 
 injured ? 
 
 Mel. Certainly not. 
 
 Socr. Well then ; are you prosecuting me 
 for corrupting the young, and making them 
 worse men, intentionally or unintentionally ? 
 
 Mel. For doing it intentionally. 
 
 Socr. What, Meletus ? Do you mean to say 
 that you, who are so much younger than I, are 
 yet so much wiser than I, that you know that 
 bad citizens always do evil, and that good 
 citizens always do good, to those with whom 
 they come in contact, while I am so extra- 
 ordinarily stupid as not to know that if I make 
 any of my companions a rogue, he will probably 
 injure me in some way, and as to commit this 
 great crime, as you allege, intentionally ? You 
 will not make me believe that, nor any one 
 else either, I should think. Either I do not 
 26. corrupt the young at all ; or if I do, I do so 
 unintentionally : so that you are a liar in either 
 case. And if I corrupt them unintentionally, 
 the law does not call upon you to prosecute 
 me for a fault like that, which is an involuntary 
 one : you should take me aside and admonish 
 and instruct me : for of course I shall cease 
 from doing wrong involuntarily, as soon as I 
 know that I have been doing wrong. But 
 you declined to instruct me : you would have
 
 THE APOLOGY. 51 
 
 nothing to do with me : instead of that, you 
 bring me up before the Court, where the 
 law sends persons, not for instruction, but for 
 punishment. 
 
 The truth is, Athenians, as I said, it is quite XIV. 
 clear that Meletus has never paid the slightest 
 attention to these matters. However, now tell 
 us, Meletus, how do you say that I corrupt the 
 younger men ? Clearly, according to your 
 indictment, by teaching them not to believe in 
 the gods of the city, but in other new divinities 
 instead. You mean that I corrupt young men 
 by that teaching, do you not ? 
 
 Mel, Yes : most certainly ; I mean that. 
 
 Socr. Then in the name of these gods of 
 whom we are speaking, explain yourself a little 
 more clearly to me and to the judges here. I 
 cannot understand what you mean. Do you 
 mean that I teach young men to believe in 
 some gods, but not in the gods of the city ? 
 Do you accuse me of teaching them to believe 
 in strange gods ? If that is your meaning, I 
 myself believe in some gods, and my crime is 
 not that of absolute atheism. Or do you mean 
 that I do not believe in the gods at all myself, 
 and that I teach other people not to believe in 
 them either ? 
 
 Mel. I mean that you do not believe in the 
 gods in any way whatever. 
 
 Socr. Wonderful Meletus ! Why do you 
 say that ? Do you mean that I believe neither 
 the sun nor the moon to be gods, like other 
 men ?
 
 52 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 Mel. I swear he does not, judges : he says 
 that the sun is a stone, and the moon earth. 
 
 Socr. My dear Meletus, do you think that 
 you are prosecuting Anaxagoras ? You must 
 have a very poor opinion of the judges, and 
 think them very unlettered men, if you imagine 
 that they do not know that the works of Anax- 
 agoras of Clazomenae are full of these doctrines. 
 And so young men learn these things from me, 
 when they can often buy places in the theatre ' 
 for a drachma at most, and laugh Socrates to 
 scorn, were he to pretend that these doctrines, 
 which are very peculiar doctrines too, were his. 
 But please tell me, do you really think that I 
 do not believe in the gods at all ? 
 
 Mel. Most certainly I do. You are a 
 complete atheist. 
 
 Socr. No one believes that, Meletus, and I 
 think that you know it to be a lie yourself. It 
 seems to me, Athenians, that Meletus is a very 
 insolent and wanton man, and that he is prose- 
 cuting me simply in the insolence and wanton- 
 ness of youth. He is like a man trying an 
 27. experiment on me, by asking me a riddle that 
 has no answer. ' Will this wise Socrates,' he 
 says to himself, ' see that I am jesting and con- 
 tradicting myself? or shall I outwit him and 
 every one else who hears me ?' Meletus seems 
 
 1 He alludes to the caricatures of Anaxagoras by 
 Aristophanes, and other comic poets, and to tragedians 
 like Euripides, who introduced the doctrines of Anaxagoras 
 into their dramas. The doctrine that the sun is a stone 
 is referred to in an extant play. Eurip. Orest. 971.
 
 THE APOLOGY. 53 
 
 to me to contradict himself in his indictment : 
 it is as if he were to say, ' Socrates is a wicked 
 man who does not believe in the gods, but who 
 believes in the gods.' But that is mere trifling. 
 
 Now, my friends, let us see why I think that XV, 
 this is his meaning. Do you answer me, 
 Meletus : and do you, Athenians, remember the 
 request which I made to you at starting, and do 
 not interrupt me if I talk in my usual way. 
 
 Is there any man, Meletus, who believes in 
 the existence of things pertaining to men and 
 not in the existence of men ? Make him answer 
 the question, my friends, without these absurd 
 interruptions. Is there any man who believes 
 in the existence of horsemanship and not in 
 the existence of horses? or in flute -playing 
 and not in flute-players ? There is not, my 
 excellent sir. If you will not answer, I will tell 
 both you and the judges that. But you must 
 answer my next question. Is there any man 
 who believes in the existence of divine things 
 and not in the existence of divinities ? 
 
 Mel. There is not. 
 
 Socr. I am very glad that the judges have 
 managed to extract an answer from you. Well 
 then, you say that I believe in divine beings, 
 whether they be old or new ones, and that I 
 teach others to believe in them ; at any rate, 
 according to your statement, I believe in divine 
 beings. That you have sworn in your deposi- 
 tion. But if I believe in divine beings, I sup- 
 pose it follows necessarily that I believe in 
 divinities. Is it not so ? It is. I assume that
 
 54 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 you grant that, as you do not answer. But do 
 we not believe that divinities are either gods 
 themselves or the children of the gods ? Do 
 you admit that ? 
 
 Mel. I do. 
 
 Socr. Then you admit that I believe in 
 divinities : now, if these divinities are gods, 
 then, as I say, you are jesting and asking a 
 riddle, and asserting that I do not believe in 
 the gods, and at the same time that I do, since 
 I believe in divinities. But if these divinities 
 are the illegitimate children of the gods, either 
 by the nymphs or by other mothers, as they 
 are said to be, then, I ask, what man could 
 believe in the existence of the children of the 
 gods, and not in the existence of the gods ? 
 That would be as strange as believing in the 
 existence of the offspring of horses and asses, 
 and not in the existence of horses and asses. 
 You must have indicted me in this manner, 
 Meletus, either to test my skill, or because you 
 could not find any crime that you could accuse 
 me of with truth. But you will never contrive 
 to persuade any man, even of the smallest 
 understanding, that a belief in divine things 
 and things of the gods does not necessarily 
 28. involve a belief in divinities, and in the gods, 
 
 and in heroes. 
 
 XVI. But in truth, Athenians, I do not think that 
 I need say very much to prove that I have not 
 committed the crime for which Meletus is 
 prosecuting me. What I have said is enough 
 to prove that. But, I repeat, it is certainly true,
 
 THE APOLOGY. 55 
 
 as I have already told you, that I have incurred 
 much unpopularity and made many enemies. 
 And that is what will cause my condemnation, 
 if I am condemned ; not Meletus, nor Anytus 
 either, but the prejudice and suspicion of the 
 multitude. They have been the destruction of 
 many good men before me, and I think that 
 they will be so again. There is no fear that I 
 shall be their last victim. 
 
 Perhaps some one will say : ' Are you not 
 ashamed, Socrates, of following pursuits which 
 are very likely now to cause your death?' I 
 should answer him with justice, and say : ' My 
 friend, if you think that a man of any worth 
 at all ought to reckon the chances of life and 
 death when he acts, or that he ought to think 
 of anything but whether he is acting rightly or 
 wrongly, and as a good or a bad man would 
 act, you are grievously mistaken. According 
 to you, the demigods who died at Troy would 
 be men of no great worth, and among them the 
 son of Thetis, who thought nothing of danger 
 when the alternative was disgrace. For when 
 his mother, a goddess, addressed him, as he 
 was burning to slay Hector, I suppose in this 
 fashion, ' My son, if thou avengest the death of 
 thy comrade Patroclus, and slayest Hector, 
 thou wilt die thyself, for " fate awaits thee 
 straightway after Hector's death ;'" he heard 
 what she said, but he scorned danger and 
 death ; he feared much more to live a coward, 
 and not to avenge his friend. ' Let me punish 
 the evil-doer and straightway die,' he said,
 
 56 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 ' that I may not remain here by the beaked 
 ships, a scorn of men, encumbering the earth.' 1 
 Do you suppose that he thought of danger or 
 of death ? For this, Athenians, I believe to be 
 the truth. Wherever a man's post is, whether 
 he has chosen it of his own will, or whether 
 he has been placed at it by his commander, 
 there it is his duty to remain and face the 
 danger, without thinking of death, or of any 
 other thing, except dishonour. 
 
 XVII. When the generals whom you chose to com- 
 mand me, Athenians, placed me at my post at 
 Potidaea, and at Amphipolis, and at Delium, I 
 remained where they placed me, and ran the 
 risk of death, like other men : and it would be 
 very strange conduct on my part if I were to 
 desert my post now from fear of death or of 
 any other thing, when God has commanded 
 me, as I am persuaded that he has done, to 
 29. spend my life in searching for wisdom, and in 
 examining myself and others. That would in- 
 deed be a very strange thing : and then cer- 
 tainly I might with justice be brought to trial 
 for not believing in the gods : for I should be 
 disobeying the oracle, and fearing death, and 
 thinking myself wise, when I was not wise. For 
 to fear death, my friends, is only to think our- 
 selves wise, without being wise : for it is to 
 think that we know what we do not know. For 
 anything that men can tell, death may be the 
 greatest good that can happen to them : but 
 they fear it as if they knew quite well that it 
 1 Horn. //. xviii. 96, 98.
 
 THE APOLOGY. 57 
 
 was the greatest of evils. And what is this 
 but that shameful ignorance of thinking that we 
 know what we do not know ? In this matter 
 too, my friends, perhaps I am different from 
 the mass of mankind : and if I were to claim 
 to be at all wiser than others, it would be 
 because I do not think that I have any clear 
 knowledge about the other world, when, in fact, 
 I have none. But I do know very well that it 
 is evil and base to do wrong, and to disobey 
 my superior, whether he be man or god. And 
 I will never do what I know to be evil, and 
 shrink in fear from what, for all that I can tell, 
 may be a good. And so, even if you acquit 
 me now, and do not listen to Anytus' argu- 
 ment that, if I am to be acquitted, I ought 
 never to have been brought to trial at all ; and 
 that, as it is, you are bound to put me to death, 
 because, as he said, if I escape, all your child- 
 ren will forthwith be utterly corrupted by 
 practising what Socrates teaches ; if you were 
 therefore to say to me, ' Socrates, this time we 
 will not listen to Anytus : we will let you go 1 , 
 but on this condition, that you cease from 
 carrying on this search of yours, and from 
 philosophy ; if you are found following those 
 pursuits again, you shall die:' I say, if you 
 offered to let me go on these terms, I should 
 reply : ' Athenians, I hold you in the highest 
 regard and love ; but I will obey God rather 
 than you : and as long as I have breath and 
 strength I will not cease from philosophy, and 
 from exhorting you, and declaring the truth to
 
 58 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 every one of you whom I meet, saying, as I am 
 wont, " My excellent friend, you are a citizen 
 of Athens, a city which is very great and very 
 famous for wisdom and power of mind ; are you 
 not ashamed of caring so much for the making 
 of money, and for reputation, and for honour ? 
 Will you not think or care about wisdom, and 
 truth, and the perfection of your soul?" And 
 if he disputes my words, and says that he does 
 care about these things, I shall not forthwith 
 release him and go away : I shall question him 
 and cross-examine him and test him : and if I 
 think that he has not virtue, though he says 
 that he has, I shall reproach him for setting 
 30. the lower value on the most important things, 
 and a higher value on those that are of less 
 account. This I shall do to every one whom I 
 meet, young or old, citizen or stranger : but 
 more especially to the citizens, for they are 
 more nearly akin to me. For, know well, God 
 has commanded me to do so. And I think 
 that no better piece of fortune has ever befallen 
 you in Athens than my service to God. For 
 I spend my whole life in going about and per- 
 suading you all to give your first and chiefest 
 care to the perfection of your souls, and not 
 till you have done that to think of your bodies, 
 or your wealth ; and telling you that virtue does 
 not come from wealth, but that wealth, and 
 every other good thing which men have, 
 whether in public, or in private, comes from 
 virtue. If then I corrupt the youth by this 
 teaching, the mischief is great : but if any man
 
 THE APOLOGY. 59 
 
 says that I teach anything else, he speaks 
 falsely. And therefore, Athenians, I say, either 
 listen to Anytus, or do not listen to him : either 
 acquit me, or do not acquit me : but be sure 
 that I shall not alter my way of life ; no, not if 
 I have to die for it many times. 
 
 Do not interrupt me, Athenians. Remember XVIIL 
 the request which I made to you, and listen to 
 my words. I think that it will profit you to 
 hear them. I am going to say something more 
 to you, at which you may be inclined to cry 
 out : but do not do that. Be sure that if you 
 put me to death, who am what I have told 
 you that I am, you will do yourselves more 
 harm than me. Meletus and Anytus can do 
 me no harm : that is impossible : for I am 
 sure that God will not allow a good man to be 
 injured by a bad one. They may indeed kill 
 me, or drive me into exile, or deprive me of 
 my civil rights ; and perhaps Meletus and others 
 think those things great evils. But I do not 
 think so : I think that it is a much greater evil 
 to do what he is doing now, and to try to put 
 a man to death unjustly. And now, Athenians, 
 I am not arguing in my own defence at all, as 
 you might expect me to do : I am trying to 
 persuade you not to sin against God, by con- 
 demning me, and rejecting his gift to you. For 
 if you put me to death, you will not easily find 
 another man to fill my place. God has sent 
 me to attack the city, as if it were a great and 
 noble horse, to use a quaint simile, which was 
 rather sluggish from its size, and which needed
 
 60 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 to be aroused by a gadfly : and I think that I 
 am the gadfly that God has sent to the city to 
 attack it ; for I never cease from settling upon 
 31. you, as it were, at every point, and rousing, 
 and exhorting, and reproaching each man of 
 you all day long. You will not easily find any 
 one else, my friends, to fill my place : and if 
 you take my advice, you will spare my life. 
 You are vexed, as drowsy persons are, when 
 they are awakened, and of course, if you listened 
 to Anytus, you could easily kill me with a single 
 blow, and then sleep on undisturbed for the 
 rest of your lives, unless God were to care for 
 you enough to send another man to arouse you. 
 And you may easily see that it is God who has 
 given me to your city : a mere human impulse 
 would never have led me to neglect all my own 
 interests, or to endure seeing my private affairs 
 neglected now for so many years, while it made 
 me busy myself unceasingly in your interests, 
 and go to each man of you by himself, like a 
 father, or an elder brother, trying to persuade 
 him to care for virtue. There would have been 
 a reason for it, if I had gained any advantage 
 by this conduct, or if I had been paid for my 
 exhortations ; but you see yourselves that my 
 accusers, though they accuse me of everything 
 else without blushing, have not had the effrontery 
 to say that I ever either exacted or demanded 
 payment. They could bring no evidence of 
 that. And I think that I have sufficient evi- 
 dence of the truth of what I say in my poverty. 
 XIX. Perhaps it may seem strange to you that,
 
 THE APOLOGY. 61 
 
 though I am so busy in going about in private 
 with my counsel, yet I do not venture to come 
 forward in the assembly, and take part in the 
 public councils. You have often heard me 
 speak of my reason for this, and in many 
 places : it is that I have a certain divine sign 
 from God, which is the divinity that Meletus 
 has caricatured in his indictment. I have had 
 it from childhood : it is a kind of voice, which 
 whenever I hear it, always turns me back from 
 something which I was going to do, but never 
 urges me to act. It is this which forbids 
 me to take part in politics. And I think that 
 it does well to forbid me. For, Athenians, it 
 is quite certain that if I had attempted to take 
 part in politics, I should have perished at once 
 and long ago, without doing any good either to 
 you or to myself. And do not be vexed with 
 me for telling the truth. There is no man who 
 will preserve his life for long, either in Athens 
 or elsewhere, if he firmly opposes the wishes of 
 the people, and tries to prevent the commission 
 of much injustice and illegality in the State. 
 He who would really fight for justice, must do 32. 
 so as a private man, not in public, if he means 
 to preserve his life, even for a short time. 
 
 I will prove to you that this is so by very XX. 
 strong evidence, not by mere words, but by 
 what you value highly, actions. Listen then 
 to what has happened to me, that you may 
 know that there is no man who could make me 
 consent to do wrong from the fear of death ; 
 but that I would perish at once rather than give
 
 62 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 way. What I am going to tell you may be a 
 commonplace in the Courts of Law ; neverthe- 
 less it is true. The only office that I ever held 
 in the State, Athenians, was that of Senator. 
 When you wished to try the ten generals, who 
 did not rescue their men after the battle of 
 Arginusae, in a body, which was illegal, as you 
 all came to think afterwards, the tribe Antiochis, 
 to which I belong, held the presidency. On 
 that occasion I alone of all the presidents op- 
 posed your illegal action, and gave my vote 
 against you. The speakers were ready to sus- 
 pend me and arrest me ; and you were clamour- 
 ing against me, and crying out to me to submit. 
 But I thought that I ought to face the danger 
 out in the cause of law and justice, rather than 
 join with you in your unjust proposal, from fear 
 of imprisonment or death. That was before 
 the destruction of the democracy. When the 
 oligarchy came, the Thirty sent for me, with 
 four others, to the Council -Chamber, 1 and 
 ordered us to bring over Leon the Salaminian 
 from Salamis, that they might put him to death. 
 They were in the habit of frequently giving 
 similar orders to many others, wishing to im- 
 plicate as many men as possible in their crimes. 
 But then I again proved, not by mere words, 
 but by my actions, that, if I may use a vulgar 
 expression, I do not care a straw for death ; but 
 that I do care very much indeed about not do- 
 ing anything against the laws of God or man. 
 
 1 A building where the Prytanes had their meals and 
 sacrificed.
 
 THE APOLOGY. 63 
 
 That government with all its power did not 
 terrify me into doing anything wrong ; but 
 when we left the Council-Chamber, the other 
 four went over to Salamis, and brought Leon 
 across to Athens ; and I went away home : and 
 if the rule of the Thirty had not been destroyed 
 soon afterwards, I should very likely have been 
 put to death for what I did then. Many of 
 you will be my witnesses in this matter. 
 
 Now do you think that I should have re- XXL 
 mained alive all these years, if I had taken part 
 in public affairs, and had always maintained 
 the cause of justice like an honest man, and 
 had held it a paramount duty, as it is, to do 
 so ? Certainly not, Athenians, nor any other 
 man either. But throughout my whole life, 33. 
 both in private, and in public, whenever I have 
 had to take part in public affairs, you will find 
 that I have never yielded a single point in a 
 question of right and wrong to any man ; no, 
 not to those whom my enemies falsely assert to 
 have been my pupils. 1 But I was never any 
 man's teacher. I have never withheld myself 
 from any one, young or old, who was anxious 
 to hear me converse while I was about my 
 mission ; neither do I converse for payment, 
 and refuse to converse without payment : I 
 am ready to ask questions of rich and poor 
 alike, and if any man wishes to answer me, 
 and then listen to what I have to say, he may. 
 And I cannot justly be charged with causing 
 
 1 The reference is specially to Critias, the leading 
 man in the Oligarchy of Thirty, and to Alcibiades.
 
 64 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 these men to turn out good or bad citizens : 
 for I never either taught, or professed to teach 
 any of them any knowledge whatever. And if 
 any man asserts that he ever learnt or heard 
 any thing from me in private, which every one 
 else did not hear as well as he, be sure that he 
 does not speak the truth. 
 
 XXII. Why is it, then, that people delight in spend- 
 ing so much time in my company ? You have 
 heard why, Athenians. I told you the whole 
 truth when I said that they delight in hearing 
 me examine persons who think that they are 
 wise when they are not wise. It is certainly 
 very amusing to listen to that. And, I say, 
 God has commanded me to examine men in 
 oracles, and in dreams, and in every way in 
 which the divine will was ever declared to man. 
 This is the truth, Athenians, and if it were not 
 the truth, it would be easily refuted. For if 
 it were really the case that I have already 
 corrupted some of the young men, and am now 
 corrupting others, surely some of them, finding 
 as they grew older that I had given them evil 
 counsel in their youth, would have come forward 
 to-day to accuse me and take their revenge. 
 Or if they were unwilling to do so themselves, 
 surely their kinsmen, their fathers, or brothers, 
 or other relatives, would, if I had done them 
 any harm, have remembered it, and taken their 
 revenge. Certainly I see many of them in 
 Court. Here is Crito, of my own deme and of 
 my own age, the father of Critobulus ; here is 
 Lysanias of Sphettus, the father of yEschinus :
 
 THE APOLOGY. 65 
 
 here is also Antiphon of Cephisus, the father 
 of Epigenes. Then here are others, whose 
 brothers have spent their time in my company ; 
 Nicostratus, the son of Theozotides, and brother 
 of Theodotus and Theodotus is dead, so he 
 at least cannot entreat his brother to be silent : 
 here is Paralus, the son of Demodocus, and 
 the brother of Theages : here is Adeimantus, 34. 
 the son of Ariston, whose brother is Plato 
 here : and ^antodorus, whose brother is 
 Aristodorus. And I can name many others to 
 you, some of whom Meletus ought to have 
 called as witnesses in the course of his own 
 speech : but if he forgot to call them then, let 
 him call them now I will stand aside while 
 he does so and tell us if he has any such 
 evidence. No, on the contrary, my friends, 
 you will find all these men ready to support 
 me, the corrupter, the injurer of their kindred, 
 as Meletus and Anytus call me. Those of 
 them who have been already corrupted might 
 perhaps have some reason for supporting me : 
 but what reason can their relatives, who are 
 grown up, and who are uncorrupted, have, 
 except the reason of truth and justice, that they 
 know very well that Meletus is a liar, and that 
 I am speaking the truth ? 
 
 Well, my friends, this, together it may be XXIII. 
 with other things of the same nature, is pretty 
 much what I have to say in my defence. 
 There may be some one among you who will 
 be vexed when he remembers how, even in a 
 less important trial than this, he prayed and 
 F
 
 66 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 entreated the judges to acquit him with many 
 tears, and brought forward his children and 
 many of his friends and relatives in Court, in 
 order to appeal to your feelings ; and then 
 finds that I shall do none of these things, 
 though I am in what he would think the 
 supreme danger. Perhaps he will harden 
 himself against me when he notices this : it 
 may make him angry, and he may give his vote 
 in anger. If it is so with any of you I do not 
 suppose that it is, but in case it should be so 
 I think that I should answer him reasonably if 
 I said : ' My friend, I have kinsmen too, for, 
 in the words of Homer, 1 " I am not born of 
 stocks and stones," but of woman ; ' and so, 
 Athenians, I have kinsmen, and I have three 
 sons, one of them a lad, and the other two still 
 children. Yet I will not bring any of them 
 forward before you, and implore you to acquit 
 me. And why will I do none of these things ? 
 It is not from arrogance, Athenians, nor because 
 I hold you cheap: whether or no I can face 
 death bravely is another question : but for my 
 own credit, and for your credit, and for the credit 
 of our city, I do not think it well, at my age, 
 and with my name, to do anything of that kind. 
 Rightly or wrongly, men have made up their 
 minds that in some way Socrates is different 
 35. from the mass of mankind. And it will be a 
 shameful thing if those of you who are thought 
 to excel in wisdom, or in bravery, or in any other 
 virtue, are going to act in this fashion. I have 
 1 Od. xix. 163.
 
 THE APOLOGY. 67 
 
 often seen men with a reputation behaving in 
 a strange way at their trial, as if they thought it 
 a terrible fate to be killed, and as though they 
 expected to live for ever, if you did not put 
 them to death. Such men seem to me to 
 bring discredit on the city : for any stranger 
 would suppose that the best and most eminent 
 Athenians, who are selected by their fellow- 
 citizens to hold office, and for other honours, 
 are no better than women. Those of you, Atheni- 
 ans, who have any reputation at all, ought not 
 to do these things : and you ought not to allow 
 us to do them : you should show that you will 
 be much more merciless to men who make the 
 city ridiculous by these pitiful pieces of acting, 
 than to men who remain quiet. 
 
 But apart from the question of credit, my XXIV. 
 friends, I do not think that it is right to en- 
 treat the judge to acquit us, or to escape con- 
 demnation in that way. It is our duty to 
 convince his mind by reason. He does not 
 sit to give away justice to his friends, but to 
 pronounce judgment : and he has sworn not to 
 favour any man whom he would like to favour, 
 but to decide questions according to law. And 
 therefore we ought not to teach you to for- 
 swear yourselves ; and you ought not to allow 
 yourselves to be taught, for then neither you 
 nor we would be acting righteously. There- 
 fore, Athenians, do not require me to do these 
 things, for I believe them to be neither good 
 nor just nor holy ; and, more especially do not 
 ask me to do them to-day, when Meletus
 
 68 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 is prosecuting me for impiety. For were I to 
 be successful, and to prevail on you by my 
 prayers to break your oaths, I should be clearly 
 teaching you to believe that there are no gods ; 
 and I should be simply accusing myself by 
 my defence of not believing in them. But, 
 Athenians, that is very far from the truth. I 
 do believe in the gods as no one of my 
 accusers believes in them : and to you and to 
 God I commit my cause to be decided as is 
 best for you and for me. 
 
 (He is found guilty by 281 votes to 220.} 
 
 XXV. I am not vexed at the verdict which you 
 36. have given, Athenians, for many reasons. I 
 expected that you would find me guilty; and I 
 am not so much surprised at that, as at the 
 numbers of the votes. I, certainly, never 
 thought that the majority against me would 
 have been so narrow. But now it seems 
 that if only thirty votes had changed sides, I 
 should have escaped. So I think that I have 
 escaped Meletus, as it is : and not only have I 
 escaped him ; for it is perfectly clear that if 
 Anytus and Lycon had not come forward to 
 accuse me too, he would not have obtained the 
 fifth part of the votes, and would have had to 
 pay a fine of a thousand drachmae. 1 
 
 J . Any prosecutor who did not obtain the votes of 
 one-fifth of the dicasts or judges, incurred a fine of 1000 
 drachmae, and certain other disabilities. Cf, Diet. 
 Antiq. s.v. ypa<f>rj.
 
 THE APOLOGY. 69 
 
 So he proposes death as the penalty. Be XXVI. 
 it so. And what counter- penalty shall I 
 propose to you, Athenians ? What I deserve, 
 of course, must I not ? What then do I 
 deserve to pay or to suffer for having deter- 
 mined not to spend my life in ease ? I 
 neglected the things which most men value, 
 such as wealth, and family interests, and 
 military commands, and popular oratory, and 
 all the political appointments, and clubs, and 
 factions, that there are in Athens ; for I thought 
 that I was really too conscientious a man to 
 preserve my life if I engaged in these matters. 
 So I did not go where I should have done no 
 good either to you or to myself. I went 
 instead to each one of you by himself, to do 
 him, as I say, the greatest of services, and 
 strove to persuade him not to think of his 
 affairs, until he had thought of himself, and 
 tried to make himself as perfect and wise as 
 possible ; nor to think of the affairs of Athens, 
 until he had thought of Athens herself; and 
 in all cases to bestow his thoughts on things 
 in the same manner. Then what do I deserve 
 for such a life ? Something good, Athenians, 
 if I am really to propose what I deserve ; and 
 something good which it would be suitable to me 
 to receive. Then what is a suitable reward to 
 be given to a poor benefactor, who requires 
 leisure to exhort you ? There is no reward, 
 Athenians, so suitable for him as a public 
 maintenance in the Prytaneum. It is a much 
 more suitable reward for him than for any of
 
 70 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 you who has won a victory at the Olympic 
 games with his horse or his chariots. Such a 
 man only makes you seem happy, but I make 
 you really happy : and he is not in want, and 
 I am. So if I am to propose the penalty 
 37. which I really deserve, I propose this, a public 
 
 maintenance in the Prytaneum. 
 
 XXVII. Perhaps you think me stubborn and arrogant 
 in what I am saying now, as in what I said 
 about the entreaties and tears. It is not so, 
 Athenians ; it is rather that I am convinced 
 that I never wronged any man intentionally, 
 though I cannot persuade you of that, for we 
 have conversed together only a little time. If 
 there were a law at Athens, as there is else- 
 where, not to finish a trial of life and death in 
 a single day, I think that I could have con- 
 vinced you of it : but now it is not easy in 
 so short a time to clear myself of the gross 
 calumnies of my enemies. But when I am 
 convinced that I have never wronged any man, 
 I shall certainly not wrong myself, or admit 
 that I deserve to suffer any evil, or propose 
 any evil for myself as a penalty. Why should 
 I ? Lest I should suffer the penalty which 
 Meletus proposes, when I say that I do not 
 know whether it is a good or an evil ? Shall 
 I choose instead of it something which I know 
 to be an evil,, and propose that as a penalty ? 
 Shall I propose imprisonment ? And why 
 should I pass the rest of my days in prison, 
 the slave of successive officials ? Or shall I 
 propose a fine, with imprisonment until it is
 
 THE APOLOGY. 71 
 
 paid ? I have told you why I will not do that. 
 I should have to remain in prison for I have 
 no money to pay a fine with. Shall I then 
 propose exile ? Perhaps you would agree to 
 that. Life would indeed be very dear to 
 me, if I were unreasonable enough to expect 
 that strangers would cheerfully tolerate my 
 discussions and reasonings, when you who are 
 my fellow -citizens cannot endure them, and 
 have found them so burdensome and odious to 
 you, that you are seeking now to be released 
 from them. No, indeed, Athenians, that is 
 not likely. A fine life I should lead for an old 
 man, if I were to withdraw from Athens, and 
 pass the rest of my days in wandering from 
 city to city, and continually being expelled. 
 For I know very well that the young men will 
 listen to me, wherever I go, as they do here ; 
 and if I drive them away, they will persuade 
 their elders to expel me : and if I do not drive 
 them away, their fathers and kinsmen will 
 expel me for their sakes. 
 
 Perhaps some one will say, ' Why cannot XXVIII. 
 you withdraw from Athens, Socrates, and hold 
 your peace ? ' It is the most difficult thing in 
 the world to make you understand why I can- 
 not do that. If I say that I cannot hold my 
 peace, because that would be to disobey God, 
 you will think that I am not in earnest and 
 will not believe me. And if I tell you that no 38. 
 better thing can happen to a man than to 
 converse every day about virtue and the other 
 matters about which you have heard me con-
 
 72 THE APOLOGY, 
 
 versing and examining myself and others, and 
 that an unexamined life is not worth living, then 
 you will believe me still less. But that is the 
 truth, my friends, though it is not easy to con- 
 vince you of it. And, what is more, I am not 
 accustomed to think that I deserve any punish- 
 ment. If I had been rich, I would have pro- 
 posed as large a fine as I could pay : that 
 would have done me no harm. But I am not 
 rich enough to pay a fine, unless you are 
 willing to fix it at a sum within my means. 
 Perhaps I could pay you a mina : l so I propose 
 that. Plato here, Athenians, and Crito, and 
 Critobulus, and Apollodorus bid me propose 
 thirty minas, and they will be sureties for me. 
 So I propose thirty rninas. They will be 
 sufficient sureties to you for the money. 
 
 (He is condemned to death.} 
 
 XXIX. You have not gained very much time, 
 Athenians, and, as the price of it, you will 
 have an evil name from all who wish to revile 
 the city, and they will cast in your teeth that 
 you put Socrates, a wise man, to death. For 
 they will certainly call me wise, whether I am 
 wise or not, when they want to reproach you. 
 If you would have waited for a little while, your 
 wishes would have been fulfilled in the course 
 of nature ; for you see that I am an old man, 
 far advanced in years, and near to death. I 
 am speaking not to all of you, only to those 
 who have voted for my death. And now I am 
 1 A mina was equivalent then to ,4 : i : 3.
 
 THE APOLOGY. 73 
 
 speaking to them still. Perhaps, my friends, 
 you think that I have been defeated because I 
 was wanting in the arguments by which I could 
 have persuaded you to acquit me, if, that is, I 
 had thought it right to do or to say anything 
 to escape punishment. It is not so. I have 
 been defeated because I was wanting, not in 
 arguments, but in overboldness and effrontery : 
 because I would not plead before you as you 
 would have liked to hear me plead, or appeal 
 to you with weeping and wailing, or say and 
 do many other things, which I maintain are 
 unworthy of me, but which you have been 
 accustomed to from other men. But when I 
 was defending myself, I thought that I ought 
 not to do anything unmanly because of the 
 danger which I ran, and I have not changed 
 my mind now. I would very much rather 
 defend myself as I did, and die, than as you 
 would have had me do, and live. Both in a 
 law suit, and in war, there are some things 
 which neither I nor any other man may do in 39. 
 order to escape from death. In battle a man 
 often sees that he may at least escape from 
 death by throwing down his arms and falling 
 on his knees before the pursuer to beg for his 
 life. And there are many other ways of avoid- 
 ing death in every danger, if a man will not 
 scruple to say and to do anything. But, my 
 friends, I think that it is a much harder thing 
 to escape from wickedness than from death ; 
 for wickedness is swifter than death. And now 
 I, who am old and slow, have been overtaken
 
 74 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 by the slower pursuer : and my accusers, who 
 are clever and swift, have been overtaken by 
 the swifter pursuer, which is wickedness. And 
 now I shall go hence, sentenced by you to 
 death ; and they will go hence, sentenced by 
 truth to receive the penalty of wickedness and 
 evil. And I abide by this award as well as 
 they. Perhaps it was right for these things 
 to be so : and I think that they are fairly 
 measured. 
 
 XXX. And now I wish to prophesy to you, Athen- 
 ians who have condemned me. For I am 
 going to die, and that is the time when men 
 have most prophetic power. And I prophesy 
 to you who have sentenced me to death, that a 
 far severer punishment than you have inflicted 
 on me, will surely overtake you as soon as I am 
 dead. You have done this thing, thinking that 
 you will be relieved from having to give an 
 account of your lives. But I say that the 
 result will be very different from that. There 
 will be more men who will call you to account, 
 whom I have held back, and whom you did 
 not see. And they will be harder masters to 
 you than I have been, for they will be younger, 
 and you will be more angry with them. For if 
 you think that you will restrain men from 
 reproaching you for your evil lives by putting 
 them to death, you are very much mistaken. 
 That way of escape is hardly possible, and it is 
 not a good one. It is much better, and much 
 easier, not to silence reproaches, but to make 
 yourselves as perfect as you can. This is my
 
 THE APOLOGY. 75 
 
 parting prophecy to you who have condemned 
 me. 
 
 With you who have acquitted me I should XXXI. 
 like to converse touching this thing that has 
 come to pass, while the authorities are busy, 
 and before I go to the place where I have to 
 die. So, I pray you, remain with me until I 
 go hence : there is no reason why we should 
 not converse with each other while it is possible. 
 I wish to explain to you, as my friends, the 40. 
 meaning of what has befallen me. A wonder- 
 ful thing has happened to me, judges for you 
 I am right in calling judges. 1 The prophetic 
 sign, which I am wont to receive from the 
 divine voice, has been constantly with me all 
 through my life till now, opposing me in quite 
 small matters if I were not going to act rightly. 
 And now you yourselves see what has happened 
 to me ; a thing which might be thought, and 
 which is sometimes actually reckoned, the 
 supreme evil. But the sign of God did not 
 withstand me when I was leaving my house in 
 the morning, nor when I was coming up hither 
 to the Court, nor at any point in my speech, 
 when I was going to say anything : though at 
 other times it has often stopped me in the very 
 act of speaking. But now, in this matter, it has 
 never once withstood me, either in my words or 
 my actions. I will tell you what I believe to 
 be the reason of that. This thing that has 
 come upon me must be a good : and those 
 
 1 The form of address hitherto has always been 
 'Athenians,' or 'my friends' (&v$p(s).
 
 76 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 of us who think that death is an evil must 
 needs be mistaken. I have a clear proof that 
 that is so ; for my accustomed sign would cer- 
 tainly have opposed me, if I had not been 
 going to fare well. 
 
 XXXII. And if we reflect in another way we shall see 
 that we may well hope that death is a good. 
 For the state of death is one of two things : 
 either the dead man wholly ceases to be, and 
 loses all sensation ; or, according to the common 
 belief, it is a change and a migration of the 
 soul unto another place. And if death is the 
 absence of all sensation, and like the sleep of 
 one whose slumbers are unbroken by any 
 dreams, it will be a wonderful gain. For if a 
 man had to select that night in which he slept 
 so soundly that he did not even see any dreams, 
 and had to compare with it all the other nights 
 and days of his life, and then had to say how 
 many days and nights in his life he had spent 
 better and more pleasantly than this night, I 
 think that a private person, nay, even the great 
 King l himself, would find them easy to count, 
 compared with the others. If that is the nature 
 of death, I for one count it a gain. For then 
 it appears that eternity is nothing more than a 
 single night. But if death is a journey to 
 another place, and the common belief be true, 
 that there are all who have died, what good 
 could be greater than this, my judges ? Would 
 a journey not be worth taking, at the end of 
 which, in the other world, we should be released 
 1 Of Persia.
 
 THE APOLOGY. 77 
 
 from the self-styled judges who are here, and 41 
 should find the true judges, who are said to sit 
 in judgment below, such as Minos, and Rhada- 
 manthus, and ^Eacus, and Triptolemus, and 
 the other demi-gods who were just in their 
 lives ? Or what would you not give to con- 
 verse with Orpheus and Musaeus and Hesiod 
 and Homer? I am willing to die many times, 
 if this be true. And for my own part I should 
 have a wonderful interest in meeting there 
 Palamedes, and Ajax the son of Telamon, and 
 the other men of old who have died through an 
 unjust judgment, and in comparing my experi- 
 ences with theirs. That I think would be no 
 small pleasure. And, above all, I could spend 
 my time in examining those who are there, as 
 I examine men here, and in finding out which 
 of them is wise, and which of them thinks him- 
 self wise, when he is not wise. What would 
 we not give, my judges, to be able to examine 
 the leader of the great expedition against Troy, 
 or Odysseus, or Sisyphus, or countless other 
 men and women whom we could name? It 
 would be an infinite happiness to converse with 
 them, and to live with them, and to examine 
 them. Assuredly there they do not put men to 
 death for doing that. For besides the other 
 ways in which they are happier than we are, 
 they are immortal, at least if the common 
 belief be true. 
 
 And you too, judges, must face death with a XXXIII. 
 good courage, and believe this as a truth, that 
 no evil can happen to a good man, either in life,
 
 78 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 or after death. His fortunes are not neglected 
 by the gods ; and what has come to me to-day 
 has not come by chance. I am persuaded that 
 it was better for me to die now, and to be 
 released from trouble : and that was the reason 
 why the sign never turned me back. And so 
 I am hardly angry with my accusers, or with 
 those who have condemned me to die. Yet it 
 was not with this mind that they accused me 
 and condemned me, but meaning to do me an 
 injury. So far I may find fault with them. 
 
 Yet I have one request to make of them. 
 When my sons grow up, visit them with punish- 
 ment, my friends, and vex them in the same 
 way that I have vexed you, if they seem to you 
 to care for riches, or fcr any other thing, before 
 virtue : and if they think that they are some- 
 thing, when they are nothing at all, reproach 
 them, as I have reproached you, for not caring 
 for what they should, and for thinking that they 
 are great men when in fact they are worthless. 
 And if you will do this, I myself and my sons 
 will have received our deserts at your hands. 
 
 But now the time has come, and we must 
 go hence ; I to die, and you to live. Whether 
 life or death is better is known to God, and to 
 God only.
 
 CRITO
 
 CHARACTERS OF THE DIALOGUE. 
 
 SOCRATES. 
 CRITO. 
 
 SCENE. The prison of Socrates.
 
 CRITO. 
 
 Socr, Why have you come at this hour, Crito? CHAP. I. 
 Is it not still early ? Steph. 
 
 Crito. Yes, very early. p - 43> 
 
 Socr. About what time is it ? 
 
 Crito. It is just day-break. 
 
 Socr. I wonder that the jailor was willing to 
 let you in. 
 
 Crito. He knows me now, Socrates, I come 
 here so often ; and besides, I have done him a 
 service. 
 
 Socr. Have you been here long ? 
 
 Crito. Yes ; some time. 
 
 Socr. Then why did you sit down without 
 speaking ? why did you not wake me at once ? 
 
 Crito. Indeed, Socrates, I wish that I my- 
 self were not so sleepless and sorrowful. But 
 I have been wondering to see how sweetly you 
 sleep. And I purposely did not wake you, for 
 I was anxious not to disturb your repose. Often 
 before, all through your life, I have thought that 
 your temper was a happy one ; and I think so 
 more than ever now, when I see how easily and 
 calmly you bear the calamity that has come to 
 you. 
 
 G
 
 82 CRITO. 
 
 Socr. Nay, Crito, it would be absurd if at 
 my age I were angry at having to die. 
 
 Crito. Other men as old are overtaken by 
 similar calamities, Socrates ; but their age does 
 not save them from being angry with their fate. 
 
 Socr. That is so : but tell me, why are you 
 here so early ? 
 
 Crito. I am the bearer of bitter news, Soc- 
 rates : not bitter, it seems, to you ; but to me, 
 and to all your friends, both bitter and grievous : 
 and to none of them, I think, is it more grievous 
 than to me. 
 
 Socr. What is it ? Has the ship come from 
 Delos, at the arrival of which I am to die ? 
 
 Crito. No, it has not actually arrived : but 
 I think that it will be here to-day, from the 
 news which certain persons have brought from 
 Sunium, who left it there. It is clear from 
 their news that it will be here to-day ; and then, 
 Socrates, to-morrow your life will have to end. 
 II. Socr. Well, Crito, may it end fortunately. 
 Be it so, if so the gods will. But I do not 
 44. think that the ship will be here to-day. 
 
 Crito. Why do you suppose not ? 
 
 Socr. I will tell you. I am to die on the day 
 after the ship arrives, am I not ? 
 
 Crito. That is what the authorities say. 
 
 Socr. Then I do not think that it will come 
 to-day, but to-morrow. I judge from a certain 
 dream which I saw a little while ago in the 
 night: so it seems to be fortunate that you did 
 not wake me. 
 
 Crito. And what was this dream ?
 
 CRITO. 83 
 
 Socr. A fair and comely woman, clad in 
 white garments, seemed to come to me, and 
 call me and say, " O Socrates 
 
 'The third day hence shall thou fair Phthia reach.' 1Fl 
 
 Crito. What a strange dream, Socrates ! 
 
 Socr. But its meaning is clear ; at least to 
 me, Crito. 
 
 Crito. Yes, too clear, it seems. But, O my III. 
 good Socrates, I beseech you for the last time 
 to listen to me and save yourself. For to me 
 your death will be more than a single disaster: 
 not only shall I lose a friend the like of whom 
 I shall never find again, but many persons, who 
 do not know you and me well, will think that I 
 might have saved you if I had been willing to 
 spend money, but that I neglected to do so. 
 And what character could be more disgraceful 
 than the character of caring more for money 
 than for one's friends ? The world will never 
 believe that we were anxious to save you, but 
 that you yourself refused to escape. 
 
 Socr. But, my excellent Crito, why should we 
 care so much about the opinion of the world ? 
 The best men, of whose opinion it is worth our 
 while to think, will believe that we acted as we 
 really did. 
 
 Crito. But you see, Socrates, that it is neces- 
 sary to care about the opinion of the world too. 
 This very thing that has happened to you proves 
 that the multitude can do a man not the least, 
 
 1 Horn. //. ix. 363.
 
 84 CRITO. 
 
 but almost the greatest harm, if he be falsely 
 accused to them. 
 
 Socr. I wish that the multitude were able to 
 do a man the greatest harm, Crito, for then they 
 would be able to do him the greatest good too. 
 That would have been well. But, as it is, they 
 can do neither. They cannot make a man either 
 wise or foolish : they act wholly at random. 
 IV. Crito. Well, be it so. But tell me this, 
 Socrates. You surely are not anxious about 
 me and your other friends, and afraid lest, if you 
 escape, the informers should say that we stole 
 you away, and get us into trouble, and involve 
 us in a great deal of expense, or perhaps in the 
 loss of all our property, and, it may be, bring 
 some other punishment upon us besides ? If 
 45. you have any fear of that kind, dismiss it. For 
 of course we are bound to run those risks, and 
 still greater risks than those if necessary, in 
 saving you. So do not, I beseech you, refuse 
 to listen to me. 
 
 Socr. I am anxious about that, Crito, and 
 about much besides. 
 
 Crito. Then have no fear on that score. 
 There are men who, for no very large sum, are 
 ready to bring you out of prison into safety. 
 And then, you know, these informers are cheaply 
 bought, and there would be no need to spend 
 much upon them. My fortune is at your service, 
 and I think that it is sufficient : and if you have 
 any feeling about making use of my money, 
 there are strangers in Athens, whom you know, 
 ready to use theirs ; and one of them, Simmias
 
 CRITO. 85 
 
 of Thebes, has actually brought enough for this 
 very purpose. And Cebes and many others 
 are ready too. And therefore, I repeat, do not 
 shrink from saving yourself on that ground. 
 And do not let what you said in the Court, that 
 if you went into exile you would not know what 
 to do with yourself, stand in your way ; for 
 there are many places for you to go to, where 
 you will be welcomed. If you choose to go to 
 Thessaly, I have friends there who will make 
 much of you, and shelter you from any annoy- 
 ance from the people of Thessaly. 
 
 And besides, Socrates, I think that you will V. 
 be doing what is wrong, if you abandon your 
 life when you might preserve it. You are 
 simply playing the game of your enemies ; it is 
 exactly the game of those who wanted to destroy 
 you. And what is more, to me you seem to be 
 abandoning your children too : you will leave 
 them to take their chance in life, as far as 
 you are concerned, when you might bring them 
 up and educate them. Most likely their fate 
 will be the usual fate of children who are left 
 orphans. But you ought not to beget children 
 unless you mean to take the trouble of bringing 
 them up and educating them. It seems to me 
 that you are choosing the easy way, and not the 
 way of a good and brave man, as you ought, 
 when you have been talking all your life long of 
 the value that you set upon virtue. For my 
 part, I feel ashamed both for you, and for us 
 who are your friends. Men will think that the 
 whole of this thing which has happened to you
 
 86 CRITO. 
 
 your appearance in court to take your trial, 
 when you need not have appeared at all ; the 
 very way in which the trial was conducted ; and 
 then lastly this, for the crowning absurdity of 
 the whole affair, is due to our cowardice. It 
 will look as if we had shirked the danger out of 
 
 46. miserable cowardice ; for we did not save you, 
 and you did not save yourself, when it was quite 
 possible to do so, if we had been good for any- 
 thing at all. Take care, Socrates, lest these 
 things be not evil only, but also dishonourable 
 to you and to us. Consider then ; or rather 
 the time for consideration is past ; we must 
 resolve ; and there is only one plan possible. 
 Everything must be done to-night. If we delay 
 any longer, we are lost. O Socrates, I implore 
 you not to refuse to listen to me. 
 
 VI. Socr. My dear Crito, if your anxiety to save 
 me be right, it is most valuable : but if it be not 
 right, its greatness makes it all the more danger- 
 ous. We must consider then whether we are 
 to do as you say, or not ; for I am still what I 
 always have been, a man who will listen to no 
 voice but the voice of the reasoning which on 
 consideration I find to be truest. I cannot cast 
 aside my former arguments because this mis- 
 fortune has come to me. They seem to me to 
 be as true as ever they were, and I hold exactly 
 the same ones in honour and esteem as I used 
 to : and if we have no better reasoning to sub- 
 stitute for them, I certainly shall not agree to 
 your proposal, not even though the power of the 
 multitude should scare us with fresh terrors, as
 
 CRITO. 87 
 
 children are scared with hobgoblins, and inflict 
 upon us new fines, and imprisonments, and 
 deaths. How then shall we most fitly examine 
 the question ? Shall we go back first to what 
 you say about the opinions of men, and ask if 
 we used to be right in thinking that we ought 
 to pay attention to some opinions, and not to 
 others ? Used we to be right in saying so 
 before I was condemned to die, and has it now 
 become apparent that we were talking at ran- 
 dom, and arguing for the sake of argument, and 
 that it was really nothing but play and nonsense? 
 I am anxious, Crito, to examine our former 
 reasoning with your help, and to see whether 
 my present position will appear to me to have 
 affected its truth in any way, or not ; and 
 whether we are to set it aside, or to yield assent 
 to it. Those of us who thought at all seriously, 
 used always to say, I think, exactly what I said 
 just now, namely, that we ought to esteem some 
 of the opinions which men form highly, and not 
 others. Tell me, Crito, if you please, do you 
 not think that they were right ? For you, 47. 
 humanly speaking, will not have to die to- 
 morrow, and your judgment will not be biassed 
 by that circumstance. Consider then : do you 
 not think it reasonable to say that we should not 
 esteem all the opinions of men, but only some, 
 nor the opinions of all men, but only of some 
 men ? What do you think ? Is not this true? 
 
 Crito. It is. 
 
 Socr. And we should esteem the good 
 opinions, and not the worthless ones ?
 
 88 CRITO. 
 
 Crito. Yes. 
 
 Socr. But the good opinions are those of 
 the wise, and the worthless ones those of the 
 foolish ? 
 
 Crito. Of course. 
 
 VII. Socr. And what used we to say about this ? 
 Does a man who is in training, and who is in 
 earnest about it, attend to the praise and blame 
 and opinion of all men, or of the one man only 
 who is a doctor or a trainer ? 
 
 Crito. He attends only to the opinion of the 
 one man. 
 
 Socr. Then he ought to fear the blame and 
 welcome the praise of this one man, not of the 
 many? 
 
 Crito. Clearly. 
 
 Socr. Then he must act and exercise, and 
 eat and drink in whatever way the one man 
 who is his master, and who understands the 
 matter, bids him ; not as others bid him ? 
 
 Crito. That is so. 
 
 Socr. Good. But if he disobeys this one 
 man, and disregards his opinion and his praise, 
 and esteems instead what the many, who under- 
 stand nothing of the matter, say, will he not 
 suffer for it ? 
 
 Crito. Of course he will. 
 
 Socr. And how will he suffer? In what 
 direction, and in what part of himself? 
 
 Crito. Of course in his body. That is 
 disabled. 
 
 Socr. You are right. And, Crito, to be 
 brief, is it not the same, in everything ? And,
 
 CRITO. 89 
 
 therefore, in questions of right and wrong, and 
 of the base and the honourable, and of good 
 and evil, which we are now considering, ought 
 we to follow the opinion of the many and fear 
 that, or the opinion of the one man who under- 
 stands these matters (if we can find him), and 
 feel more shame and fear before him than 
 before all other men ? For if we do not follow 
 him, we shall cripple and maim that part of us 
 which, we used to say, is improved by right 
 and disabled by wrong. Or is this not so ? 
 
 Crito. No, Socrates, I agree with you. 
 
 Socr. Now, if, by listening to the opinions VIII 
 of those who do not understand, we disable 
 that part of us which is improved by health 
 and crippled by disease, is our life worth living, 
 when it is crippled ? It is the body, is it not ? 
 
 Crito. Yes. 
 
 Socr. Is life worth living with the body 
 crippled and in a bad state ? 
 
 Crito. No, certainly not. 
 
 Socr. Then is life worth living when that 
 part of us which is maimed by wrong and 
 benefited by right is crippled ? Or do we con- 
 sider that part of us, whatever it is, which has 
 to do with right and wrong to be of less con- 48. 
 sequence than our body ? 
 
 Crito. No, certainly not. 
 
 Socr. But more valuable ? 
 
 Crito. Yes, much more so. 
 
 Socr. Then, my excellent friend, we must 
 not think so much of what the many will say 
 of us ; we must think of what the one man,
 
 90 CRITO. 
 
 who understands right and wrong, and of what 
 Truth herself will say of us. And so you are 
 mistaken to begin with, when you invite us to 
 regard the opinion of the multitude concerning 
 the right and the honourable and the good, 
 and their opposites. But, it may be said, the 
 multitude can put us to death ? 
 
 Crito. Yes, that is evident. That may be 
 said, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. True. But, my excellent friend, to 
 me it appears that the conclusion which we 
 have just reached, is the same as our conclusion 
 of former times. Now consider whether we 
 still hold to the belief, that we should set the 
 highest value, not on living, but on living 
 well ? 
 
 Crito. Yes, we do. 
 
 Socr. And living well and honourably and 
 rightly mean the same thing : do we hold to 
 that or not ? 
 
 Crito. We do. 
 
 IX. Socr. Then, starting from these premises, 
 we have to consider whether it is right or not 
 right for me to try to escape from prison, with- 
 out the consent of the Athenians. If we find 
 that it is right, we will try : if not, we will let 
 it alone. I am afraid that considerations of 
 expense, and of reputation, and of bringing up 
 my children, of which you talk, Crito, are only 
 the reflections of our friends, the many, who 
 lightly put men to death, and who would, if 
 they could, as lightly bring them to life again, 
 without a thought. But reason, which is our
 
 CRITO. 91 
 
 guide, shows us that we can have nothing to 
 consider but the question which I asked just 
 now : namely, shall we be doing right if we 
 give money and thanks to the men who are to 
 aid me in escaping, and if we ourselves take 
 our respective parts in my escape ? Or shall 
 we in truth be doing wrong, if we do all this ? 
 And if we find that we should be doing wrong, 
 then we must not take any account either of 
 death, or of any other evil that may be the 
 consequence of remaining quietly here, but only 
 of doing wrong. 
 
 Crito. I think that you are right, Socrates. 
 But what are we to do ? 
 
 Socr. Let us consider that together, my 
 good sir, and if you can contradict anything 
 that I say, do so, and I will be convinced : 
 but if you cannot, do not go on repeating to 
 me any longer, my dear friend, that I should 
 escape without the consent of the Athenians. I 
 am very anxious to act with your approval : 1 
 I do not want you to think me mistaken. But 
 now tell me if you agree with the doctrine from 
 which I start, and try to answer my questions 
 as you think best. 49. 
 
 Crito. I will try. 
 
 Socr. Ought we never to do wrong inten- X. 
 tionally at all ; or may we do wrong in some 
 ways, and not in others ? Or, as we have often 
 agreed in former times, is it never either good 
 or honourable to do wrong ? Have all our 
 former conclusions been forgotten in these few 
 1 Reading Tret'tras.
 
 92 CRITO. 
 
 days ? Old men as we were, Crito, did we not 
 see, in days gone by, when we were gravely 
 conversing with each other, that we were no 
 better than children ? Or is not what we used 
 to say most assuredly the truth, whether the 
 world agrees with us or not ? Is not wrong- 
 doing an evil and a shame to the wrong-doer 
 in every case, whether we incur a heavier or a 
 lighter punishment than death as the conse- 
 quence of doing right ? Do we believe that ? 
 
 Crito, We do. 
 
 Socr. Then we ought never to do wrong at 
 all? 
 
 Crito. Certainly not. 
 
 Socr. Neither, if we ought never to do wrong 
 at all, ought we to repay wrong with wrong, 
 as the world thinks we may ? 
 
 Crito. Clearly not. 
 
 Socr. Well then, Crito, ought we to do evil 
 to any one ? 
 
 Crito. Certainly I think not, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. And is it right to repay evil with evil, 
 as the world thinks, or not right ? 
 
 Crito. Certainly it is not right. 
 
 Socr. For there is no difference, is there, 
 between doing evil to a man, and wronging 
 him ? 
 
 Crito. True. 
 
 Socr. Then we ought not to repay wrong 
 with wrong or do harm to any man, no matter 
 what we may have suffered from him. And in 
 conceding this, Crito, be careful that you do 
 not concede more than you mean. For I know
 
 CRITO. 93 
 
 that only a few men hold, or ever will hold this 
 opinion. And so those who hold it, and those 
 who do not, have no common ground of argu- 
 ment ; they can of necessity only look with con- 
 tempt on each other's belief. Do you therefore 
 consider very carefully whether you agree with 
 me and share my opinion. Are we to start in 
 our inquiry from the doctrine that it is never 
 right either to do wrong, or to repay wrong 
 with wrong, or to avenge ourselves on any man 
 who harms us, by harming him in return ? Or 
 do you disagree with me and dissent from my 
 principle ? I myself have believed in it for a 
 long time, and I believe in it still. But if you 
 differ in any way, explain to me how. If you 
 still hold to our former opinion, listen to my 
 next point. 
 
 Crito. Yes, I hold to it, and I agree with 
 you. Go on. 
 
 Socr. Then, my next point, or rather my 
 next question, is this : Ought a man to per- 
 form his just agreements, or may he shuffle out 
 of them ? 
 
 Crito. He ought to perform them. 
 
 Socr. Then consider. If I escape without XI. 
 the state's consent, shall I be injuring those 50. 
 whom I ought least to injure, or not ? Shall 
 I be abiding by my just agreements or not ? 
 
 Crito. I cannot answer your question, Soc- 
 rates. I do not understand it. 
 
 Socr. Consider it in this way. Suppose the 
 laws and the commonwealth were to come and 
 appear to me as I was preparing to run away
 
 94 CRITO. 
 
 (if that is the right phrase to describe my escape) 
 and were to ask, ' Tell us, Socrates, what have 
 you in your mind to do ? What do you mean 
 by trying to escape, but to destroy us the laws, 
 and the whole city, so far as in you lies ? Do 
 you think that a state can exist and not be 
 overthrown, in which the decisions of law are 
 of no force, and are disregarded and set at 
 nought by private individuals ? ' How shall we 
 answer questions like that, Crito ? Much might 
 be said, especially by an orator, in defence of 
 the law which makes judicial decisions supreme. 
 Shall I reply, ' But the state has injured me : 
 it has decided my cause wrongly.' Shall we 
 say that ? 
 
 Crito. Certainly we will, Socrates. 
 XII. Socr. And suppose the laws were to reply, 
 ' Was that our agreement ? or was it that you 
 would submit to whatever judgments the state 
 should pronounce ? ' And if we were to wonder 
 at their words, perhaps they would say, ' So- 
 crates, wonder not at our words, but answer us ; 
 you yourself are accustomed to ask questions 
 and to answer them. What complaint have 
 you against us and the city, that you are trying 
 to destroy us ? Are we not, first, your parents ? 
 Through us your father took your mother and 
 begat you. Tell us, have you any fault to find 
 with those of us that are the laws of marriage ? ' 
 ' I have none,' I should reply. ' Or have you any 
 fault to find with those of us that regulate the 
 nurture and education of the child, which you, 
 like others, received ? Did not we do well in
 
 CRITO. 95 
 
 bidding your father educate you in music and 
 gymnastic ? ' ' You did,' I should say. ' Well 
 then, since you were brought into the world 
 and nurtured and educated by us, how, in the 
 first place, can you deny that you are our child 
 and our slave, as your fathers were before you ? 
 And if this be so, do you think that your rights 
 are on a level with ours ? Do you think that 
 you have a right to retaliate upon us if we 
 should try to do anything to you. You had 
 not the same rights that your father had, or 
 that your master would have had, if you had 
 been a slave. You had no right to retaliate 
 upon them if they ill-treated you, or to answer 
 them if they reviled you, or to strike them 51 
 back if they struck you, or to repay them evil 
 with evil in any way. And do you think that 
 you may retaliate on your country and its laws ? 
 If we try to destroy you, because we think it 
 right, will you in return do all that you can to 
 destroy us, the laws, and your country, and say 
 that in so doingyouare doing right, you, the man, 
 who in truth thinks so much of virtue ? Or are 
 you too wise to see that your country is worthier, 
 and more august, and more sacred, and holier, 
 and held in higher honour both by the gods and 
 by all men of understanding, than your father and 
 your mother and all your other ancestors ; and 
 that it is your bounden duty to reverence it, and 
 to submit to it, and to approach it more humbly 
 than you would approach your father, when it 
 is angry with you ; and either to do whatever it 
 bids you to do or to persuade it to excuse you ;
 
 96 CRITO. 
 
 and to obey in silence if it orders you to 
 endure stripes or imprisonment, or if it send 
 you to battle to be wounded or to die ? That is 
 what is your duty. You must not give way, 
 nor retreat, nor desert your post. In war, and 
 in the court of justice, and everywhere, you 
 must do whatever your city and your country 
 bid you do, or you must convince them that 
 their commands are unjust. But it is against 
 the law of God to use violence to your father 
 or to your mother ; and much more so is it 
 against the law of God to use violence to your 
 country.' What answer shall we make, Crito ? 
 Shall we say that the laws speak truly, or 
 not? 
 
 Crito. I think that they do. 
 
 XIII. Socr. l Then consider, Socrates/' perhaps 
 they would say, ' if we are right in saying that 
 by attempting to escape you are attempting to 
 injure us. We brought you into the world, we 
 nurtured you, we educated you, we gave you 
 and every other citizen a share of all the good 
 things we could. Yet we proclaim that if any 
 man of the Athenians is dissatisfied with us, he 
 may take his goods and go away whithersoever 
 he pleases : we give that permission to every 
 man who chooses to avail himself of it, so soon 
 as he has reached man's estate, and sees us, 
 the laws, and the administration of our city. 
 No one of us stands in his way or forbids him to 
 take his goods and go wherever he likes, whether 
 it be to an Athenian colony, or to any foreign 
 country, if he is dissatisfied with us and with
 
 CRITO. 97 
 
 the city. But we say that every man of you 
 who remains here, seeing how we administer 
 justice, and how we govern the city in other 
 matters, has agreed, by the very fact of remain- 
 ing here, to do whatsoever we bid him. And, 
 we say, he who disobeys us, does a threefold 
 wrong : he disobeys us who are his parents, and 
 he disobeys us who fostered him, and he disobeys 
 us after he has agreed to obey us, without 
 persuading us that we are wrong. Yet we 
 did not bid him sternly to do whatever we told 
 him. We offered him an alternative ; we gave 52. 
 him his choice, either to obey us, or to con- 
 vince us that we were wrong : but he does 
 neither. 
 
 ' These are the charges, Socrates, to which XIV. 
 we say that you will expose yourself, if you do 
 what you intend ; and that not less, but more 
 than other Athenians.' And if I were to ask, 
 ' And why ? ' they might retort with justice that 
 I have bound myself by the agreement with 
 them more than other Athenians. They would 
 say, ' Socrates, we have very strong evidence 
 that you were satisfied with us and with the 
 city. You would not have been content to 
 stay at home in it more than other Athenians, 
 unless you had been satisfied with it more than 
 they. You never went away from Athens to 
 the festivals, save once to the Isthmian games, 
 nor elsewhere except on military service ; you 
 never made other journeys like other men ; you 
 had no desire to see other cities or other laws ; 
 you were contented with us and our city. So 
 H
 
 98 CRITO 
 
 strongly did you prefer us, and agree to be 
 governed by us : and what is more, you begat 
 children in this city, you found it so pleasant. 
 And besides, if you had wished, you might at 
 your trial have offered to go into exile. At that 
 time you could have done with the state's con- 
 sent, what you are trying now to do without it. 
 But then you gloried in being willing to die. 
 You said that you preferred death to exile. 
 And now you are not ashamed of those words : 
 you do not respect us the laws, for you are 
 trying to destroy us : and you are acting just 
 as a miserable slave would act, trying to run 
 away, and breaking the covenant and agree- 
 ment which you made to submit to our govern- 
 ment. First, therefore, answer this question. 
 Are we right, or are we wrong, in saying that 
 you have agreed not in mere words, but in 
 reality, to live under our government ?' What 
 are we to say, Crito ? Must we not admit that 
 it is true ? 
 
 Crito. We must, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. Then they would say, ' Are you not 
 breaking your covenants and agreements with 
 us ? And you were not led to make them by 
 force or by fraud : you had not to make up your 
 mind in a hurry. You had seventy years in 
 which you might have gone away, if you had 
 been dissatisfied with us, or if the agreement 
 had seemed to you unjust. But you preferred 
 neither Lacedasmon nor Crete, though you are 
 fond of saying that they are well governed, nor 
 any other state, either of the Hellenes, or the
 
 CRITO. 99 
 
 Barbarians. You went away from Athens less 53. 
 than the lame and the blind and the cripple. 
 Clearly you, far more than other Athenians, 
 were satisfied with the city, and also with us 
 who are its laws : for who would be satisfied 
 with a city which had no laws ? And now will 
 you not abide by your agreement ? If you 
 take our advice, you will, Socrates : then you 
 will not make yourself ridiculous by going away 
 from Athens. 
 
 ' For consider : what good will you do your- XV. 
 self or your friends by thus transgressing, and 
 breaking your agreement ? It is tolerably 
 certain that they, on their part, will at least run 
 the risk of exile, and of losing their civil rights, 
 or of forfeiting their property. For yourself, 
 you might go to one of the neighbouring cities, 
 to Thebes or to Megara for instance for both 
 of them are well governed but, Socrates, you 
 will come as an enemy to these commonwealths ; 
 and all who care for their city will look askance 
 at you, and think that you are a subverter of 
 law. And you will confirm the judges in their 
 opinion, and make it seem that their verdict 
 was a just one. For a man who is a subverter 
 of law, may well be supposed to be a corrupter 
 of the young and thoughtless. Then will you 
 avoid well-governed states and civilised men ? 
 Will life be worth having, if you do ? Or will 
 you consort with such men, and converse with- 
 out shame about what, Socrates ? About the 
 things which you talk of here ? Will you tell 
 them that virtue, and justice, and institutions,
 
 ioo CRITO. 
 
 and law are the most precious things that men 
 can have ? And do you not think that that 
 will be a shameful thing in Socrates ? You 
 ought to think so. But you will leave these 
 places ; you will go to the friends of Crito in 
 Thessaly : for there there is most disorder and 
 licence : and very likely they will be delighted 
 to hear of the ludicrous way in which you 
 escaped from prison, dressed up in peasant's 
 clothes, or in some other disguise which people 
 put on when they are running away, and with 
 your appearance altered. But will no one say 
 how you, an old man, with probably only a few 
 more years to live, clung so greedily to life that 
 you dared to transgress the highest laws ? Per- 
 haps not, if you do not displease them. But if 
 you do, Socrates, you will hear much that will 
 make you blush. You will pass your life as 
 the flatterer and the slave of all men ; and what 
 will you be doing but feasting in Thessaly? It 
 will be as if you had made a journey to Thessaly 
 for an entertainment. And where will be all 
 our old sayings about justice and virtue then ? 
 54. But you wish to live for the sake of your 
 children ? You want to bring them up and 
 educate them ? What ? will you take them 
 with you to Thessaly, and bring them up and 
 educate them there ? Will you make them 
 strangers to their own country, that you may 
 bestow this benefit on them too ? Or supposing 
 that you leave them in Athens, will they be 
 brought up and educated better if you are alive, 
 though you are not with them ? Yes ; your
 
 CRITO. lor 
 
 friends will take care of them. Will your 
 friends take care of them if you make a journey 
 to Thessaly, and not if you make a journey to 
 Hades ? You ought not to think that, at least 
 if those who call themselves your friends are 
 good for anything at all. 
 
 ' No, Socrates, be advised by us who have XVI. 
 fostered you. Think neither of children, nor of 
 life, nor of any other thing before justice, that 
 when you come to the other world you may be 
 able to make your defence before the rulers who 
 sit in judgment there. It is clear that neither 
 you nor any of your friends will be happier, 
 or juster, or holier in this life, if you do this 
 thing, nor will you be happier after you are 
 dead. Now you will go away wronged, not 
 by us, the laws, but by men. But if you repay 
 evil with evil, and wrong with wrong in this 
 shameful way, and break your agreements and 
 covenants with us, and injure those whom you 
 should least injure, yourself, and your friends, 
 and your country, and us, and so escape, then 
 we shall be angry with you while you live, and 
 when you die our brethren, the laws in Hades, 
 will not receive you kindly ; for they will know 
 that on earth you did all that you could to des- 
 troy us. Listen then to us, and let not Crito 
 persuade you to do as he says.' 
 
 Know well, my dear friend Crito, that this XVII. 
 is what I seem to hear, as the worshippers of 
 Cybele seem, in their frenzy, to hear the music 
 of flutes : and the sound of these words rings 
 loudly in my ears, and drowns all other words.
 
 102 CRITO. 
 
 And I feel sure that if you try to change my 
 mind you will speak in vain ; nevertheless, if 
 you think that you will succeed, say on. 
 
 Crito. I can say no more, Socrates. 
 
 Socr. Then let it be, Crito : and let us do as 
 I say, seeing that God so directs us.
 
 PH^EDO
 
 CHARACTERS OF THE DIALOGUE. 
 
 PH.JEDO. 
 
 ECHECRATES. 
 
 SOCRATES. 
 
 CEDES. 
 
 SIMMIAS. 
 
 APOLLODORUS. 
 
 CRITO. 
 
 THE SERVANT OF THE ELEVEN. 
 
 SCENE. First Phlius, then the Prison of 
 Socrates.
 
 PH^EDO 
 
 Echecrates. Were you with Socrates yourself, CHAP. I. 
 Phaedo, on that day when he drank the poison Steph. 
 in the prison, or did you hear the story from P- 58< 
 some one else ? 
 
 Phcedo. I was there myself, Echecrates. 
 
 Ech. Then what was it that our master said 
 before his death, and how did he die ? I should 
 be very glad if you would tell me. None of our 
 citizens go very much to Athens now ; and no 
 stranger has come from there for a long time, 
 who could give us any definite account of these 
 things, except that he drank the poison and 
 died. We could learn nothing beyond that. 
 
 Phcedo. Then have you not heard about the 
 trial either, how that went ? 
 
 Ech. Yes, we were told of that : and we 
 were rather surprised to find that he did not 
 die till so long after the trial. Why was that, 
 Phaedo ? 
 
 Phado. It was an accident, Echecrates. The 
 stern of the ship, which the Athenians send to 
 Delos, happened to have been crowned on the 
 day before the trial. 
 
 Ech. And what is this ship ?
 
 io6 PHMDO. 
 
 Phado. It is the ship, as the Athenians say, 
 in which Theseus took the seven youths and 
 the seven maidens to Crete, and saved them 
 from death, and himself was saved. The 
 Athenians made a vow then to Apollo, the 
 story goes, to send a sacred mission to Delos 
 every year, if they should be saved ; and from 
 that time to this they have always sent it to the 
 god, every year. They have a law to keep the 
 city pure as soon as the mission begins, and 
 not to execute any sentence of death until the 
 ship has returned from Delos ; and sometimes, 
 when it is detained by contrary winds, that is a 
 long while. The sacred mission begins when the 
 priest of Apollo crowns the stern of the ship : and, 
 as I said, this happened to have been done on the 
 day before the trial. That was why Socrates lay 
 so long in prison between his trial and his death. 
 
 Ech. But tell me about his death, Phaedo. 
 What was said and done, and which of his 
 friends were with our master ? Or would not 
 the authorities let them be there ? Did he die 
 alone ? 
 
 Phado. Oh, no : some of them were there, 
 indeed several. 
 
 Ech. It would be very good of you, if you 
 are not busy, to tell us the whole story as 
 exactly as you can. 
 
 Phcedo. No : I have nothing to do and I will 
 try to relate it. Nothing is more pleasant to 
 me than to recall Socrates to my mind, whether 
 by speaking of him myself, or by listening to 
 others.
 
 PH&DO. 107 
 
 Ech. Indeed, Phasdo, you will have an audi- 
 ence like yourself. But try to tell us everything 
 that happened as precisely as you can. 
 
 Phcedo. Well, I myself was strangely moved 
 on that day. I did not feel that I was being 
 present at the death of a dear friend : I did 
 not pity him, for he seemed to me happy, 
 Echecrates, both in his bearing and in his 
 words, so fearlessly and nobly did he die. I 
 could not help thinking that the gods would 
 watch over him still on his journey to the other 
 world, and that when he arrived there it would 
 be well with him, if it was ever well with any 
 man. Therefore I had scarcely any feeling of 59. 
 pity, as you would expect at such a mournful 
 time. Neither did I feel the pleasure which I 
 usually felt at our philosophical discussions ; 
 for our talk was of philosophy. A very singular 
 feeling came over me, a strange mixture of 
 pleasure and of pain when I remembered that 
 he was presently to die. All of us who were 
 there were in much the same state, laughing 
 and crying by turns ; particularly Apollodorus. 
 I think you know the man and his ways. 
 
 Ech. Of course I do. 
 
 Phcedo. Well, he did not restrain himself at 
 all ; and I myself and the others were greatly 
 agitated too. 
 
 Ech. Who were there, Phaedo ? 
 
 Phcedo. Of native Athenians, there was this 
 Apollodorus, and Critobulus, and his father 
 Crito, and Hermogenes, and Epigenes, and 
 .dischines, and Antisthenes. Then there was
 
 io8 Pff^DO. 
 
 Ctesippus the Paeanian, and Menexenus, and 
 some other Athenians. Plato, I believe was ill. 
 
 Ech. Were any strangers there ? 
 
 Phcedo. Yes, there was Simmias of Thebes, 
 and Cebes, and Phaedondes ; and Eucleides and 
 Terpsion from Megara. 
 
 Ech. But Aristippus and Cleombrotus ? were 
 they present ? 
 
 Phtzdo. No, they were not. They were said 
 to be in ./Egina. 
 
 Ech. Was any one else there ? 
 
 Phcedo. No, I think that these were all. 
 
 Ech. Then tell us about your conversation. 
 III. Phado. I will try to relate the whole story 
 to you from the beginning. On the previous 
 days I and the others had always met in the 
 morning at the court where the trial was held, 
 which was close to the prison ; and then we 
 had gone in to Socrates. We used to wait 
 each morning until the prison was opened, con- 
 versing : for it was not opened early. When 
 it was opened we used to go in to Socrates, and 
 we generally spent the whole day with him. But 
 on that morning we met earlier than usual ; for 
 the evening before we had learnt, on leaving 
 the prison, that the ship had arrived from Delos. 
 So we arranged to be at the usual place as early 
 as possible. When we reached the prison the 
 porter, who generally let us in, came out to us 
 and bade us wait a little, and not to go in until 
 he summoned us himself ; ' for the Eleven,' he 
 said, ' are releasing Socrates from his fetters, 
 and giving directions for his death to-day.' In
 
 PHALDO. 109 
 
 no great while he returned and bade us enter. 
 So we went in and found Socrates just released, 6O. 
 and Xanthippe you know her sitting by him, 
 holding his child in her arms. When Xanthippe 
 saw us, she wailed aloud, and cried, in her 
 woman's way, ' This is the last time, Socrates, 
 that you will talk with your friends, or they 
 with you.' And Socrates glanced at Crito, and 
 said, ' Crito, let her be taken home.' So some 
 of Crito's servants led her away, weeping bitterly 
 and beating her breast. But Socrates sat up 
 on the bed, and bent his leg and rubbed it with 
 his hand, and while he was rubbing it said to 
 us, How strange a thing is what men call 
 pleasure ! How wonderful is its relation to 
 pain, which seems to be the opposite of it ! 
 They will not come to a man together : but if 
 he pursues the one and gains it, he is almost 
 forced to take the other also, as if they were 
 two distinct things united at one end. And I 
 think, said he, that if ^sop had noticed them 
 he would have composed a fable about them, 
 to the effect that God had wished to reconcile 
 them when they were quarrelling, and that, when 
 he could not do that, he joined their ends to- 
 gether ; and that therefore whenever the one 
 comes to a man, the other is sure to follow. 
 That is just the case with me. There was 
 pain in my leg caused by the chains : and now, 
 it seems, pleasure is come following the pain. 
 
 Cebes interrupted him and said, By the bye iv. 
 Socrates, I am glad that you reminded me. 
 Several people have been inquiring about your
 
 1 10 PH&DO. 
 
 poems, the hymn to Apollo, and ^sop's fables 
 which you have put into metre, and only a day 
 or two ago Evenus asked me what was your 
 reason for writing poetry on coming here, when 
 you had never written a line before. So if you 
 wish me to be able to answer him when he 
 asks me again, as I know that he will, tell me 
 what to say. 
 
 Then tell him the truth, Cebes, he said. 
 Say that it was from no wish to pose as a rival 
 to him, or to his poems. I knew that it would 
 not be easy to do that. I was only testing the 
 meaning of certain dreams, and acquitting my 
 conscience about them, in case they should be 
 bidding me make this kind of music. The fact 
 is this. The same dream used often to come to 
 me in my past life, appearing in different forms 
 at different times, but always saying the same 
 words, ' Socrates, work at music and compose 
 it.' Formerly I used to think that the dream was 
 encouraging me and cheering me on in what 
 61. was already the work of my life, just as the 
 spectators cheer on different runners in a race. 
 I supposed that the dream was encouraging 
 me to create the music at which I was working 
 already : for I thought that philosophy was the 
 highest music, and my life was spent in philo- 
 sophy. But then, after the trial, when the 
 feast of the god delayed my death, it occurred 
 to me that the dream might possibly be bidding 
 me create music in the popular sense, and that 
 in that case I ought to do so, and not to disobey : 
 I thought that it would be safer to acquit my
 
 PH&DO. in 
 
 conscience by creating poetry in obedience to 
 the dream before I departed. So first I com- 
 posed a hymn to the god whose feast it was. 
 And then I turned such fables of yEsop as I 
 knew, and had ready to my hand, into verse, 
 taking those which came first : for I reflected 
 that a man who means to be a poet has to use 
 fiction and not facts for his poems ; and I could 
 not invent fiction myself. 
 
 Tell Evenus this, Cebes, and bid him fare- V. 
 well from me ; and tell him to follow me as 
 quickly as he can, if he is wise. I, it seems, 
 shall depart to-day, for that is the will of the 
 Athenians. 
 
 And Simmias said, What strange advice to 
 give Evenus, Socrates ! I have often met him, 
 and from what I have seen of him, I think that 
 he is certainly not at all the man to take it, if 
 he can help it. 
 
 What ? he said, is not Evenus a philosopher? 
 
 Yes, I suppose so, replied Simmias. 
 
 Then Evenus will wish to die, he said, and 
 so will ever)' man who is worthy of having any 
 part in this study. But he will not lay violent 
 hands on himself; for that, they say, is wrong. 
 And as he spoke he put his legs off the bed on 
 to the ground, and remained sitting thus for the 
 rest of the conversation. 
 
 Then Cebes asked him, W T hat do you mean, 
 Socrates, by saying that it is wrong for a man 
 to lay violent hands on himself, but that the 
 philosopher will wish to follow the dying man ? 
 
 What, Cebes ? Have you and Simmias been
 
 112 PH.&DO. 
 
 with Philolaus, and not heard about these 
 things ? 
 
 Nothing very definite, Socrates. 
 Well, I myself only speak of them from hear- 
 say : yet there is no reason why I should not 
 tell you what I have heard. Indeed, as I am 
 setting out on a journey to the other world, 
 what could be more fitting for me than to talk 
 about my journey, and to consider what we 
 imagine to be its nature ? How could we better 
 employ the interval between this and sunset ? 
 
 VI. Then what is their reason for saying that it 
 is wrong for a man to kill himself, Socrates ? 
 It is quite true that I have heard Philolaus say, 
 when he was living at Thebes, that it is not 
 right ; and I have heard the same thing from 
 others too : but I never heard anything definite 
 on the subject from any of them. 
 
 62. You must be of good cheer, said he, possibly 
 you will hear something some day. But per- 
 haps you will be surprised if I say that this 
 law, unlike every other law to which mankind 
 are subject, is absolute and without exception ; 
 and that it is not true that death is better 
 than life only for some persons and at some 
 times. And perhaps you will be surprised 
 if I tell you that these men, for whom it 
 would be better to die, may not do themselves 
 a service, but that they must await a benefactor 
 from without. 
 
 Oh indeed, said Cebes, laughing quietly, and 
 speaking in his native dialect. 
 
 Indeed, said Socrates, so stated it may seem
 
 PH&DO. 113 
 
 strange : and yet perhaps a reason may be 
 given for it. The reason which the secret 
 teaching l gives, that man is in a kind of prison, 
 and that he may not set himself free, nor escape 
 from it, seems to me rather profound and not 
 easy to fathom. But I do think, Cebes, that it 
 is true that the gods are our guardians, and 
 that we men are a part of their property. Do 
 you not think so ? 
 
 I do, said Cebes. 
 
 Well then, said he, if one of your possessions 
 were to kill itself, though you had not signified 
 that you wished it to die, should you not be 
 angry with it ? Should you not punish it, if 
 punishment were possible ? 
 
 Certainly, he replied. 
 
 Then in this way perhaps it is not unreason- 
 able to hold that no man has a right to take his 
 own life, but that he must wait until God sends 
 some necessity upon him, as has now been sent 
 upon me. 
 
 Yes, said Cebes, that does seem natural. VII. 
 But you were saying just now that the philo- 
 sopher will desire to die. Is not that a paradox, 
 Socrates, if what we have just been saying, that 
 God is our guardian and that we are his pro- 
 perty, be true. It is not reasonable to say that 
 the wise man will be content to depart from 
 this service, in which the gods, who are the 
 best of all rulers, rule him. He will hardly 
 think that when he becomes free he will take 
 better care of himself than the gods take of him. 
 1 The Esoteric system of the Pythagoreans. 
 I
 
 1 14 PH&DO. 
 
 A fool perhaps might think so, and say that he 
 would do well to run away from his master : he 
 might not consider that he ought not to run 
 away from a good master, but that he ought to 
 remain with him as long as possible, and so in 
 his thoughtlessness he might run away. But 
 the wise man will surely desire to remain always 
 with one who is better than himself. But if 
 this be true, Socrates, the reverse of what you 
 said just now seems to follow. The wise man 
 should grieve to die, and the fool should rejoice. 
 
 I thought Socrates was pleased with Cebes' 
 
 63. insistence. He looked at us, and said, Cebes 
 
 is always examining arguments. He will not 
 
 be convinced at once by anything that one says. 
 
 Yes, Socrates, said Simmias, but I do think 
 that now there is something in what Cebes says. 
 Why should really wise men want to run away 
 from masters who are better than themselves, 
 and lightly quit their service ? And I think 
 Cebes is aiming his argument at you, because 
 you are so ready to leave us, and the gods, who 
 are good rulers, as you yourself admit. 
 
 You are right, he said. I suppose you mean 
 that I must defend myself against your charge, 
 as if I were in a court of justice. 
 
 That is just our meaning, said Simmias. 
 VIII. Well then, he replied, let me try to make a 
 more successful defence to you than I did to 
 the judges at my trial. I should be wrong, 
 Cebes and Simmias, he went on, not to grieve 
 at death, if I did not think that I was going to 
 live both with other gods who are good and
 
 Pff&DO. 115 
 
 wise, and with men who have died, and who 
 are better than the men of this world. But you 
 must know that I hope that I am going to live 
 among good men, though I am not quite sure 
 of that. But I am as sure as I can be in such 
 matters that I am going to live with gods who 
 are very good masters. And therefore I am 
 not so much grieved at death : I am confident 
 that the dead have some kind of existence, and, 
 as has been said of old, an existence that is far 
 better for the good than for the wicked. 
 
 Well, Socrates, said Simmias, do you mean 
 to go away and keep this belief to yourself, or 
 will you let us share it with you ? It seems to 
 me that we too have an interest in this good. 
 And it will also serve as your defence, if you 
 can convince us of what you say. 
 
 I will try, he replied. But I think Crito has 
 been wanting to speak to me. Let us first hear 
 what he has to say. 
 
 Only, Socrates, said Crito, that the man who 
 is going to give you the poison has been telling 
 me to warn you not to talk much. He says 
 that talking heats people, and that the action 
 of the poison must not be counteracted by heat. 
 Those who excite themselves sometimes have 
 to drink it two or three times. 
 
 Let him be, said Socrates : let him mind his 
 own business, and be prepared to give me the 
 poison twice, or, if need be, thrice. 
 
 I knew that would be your answer, said 
 Crito : but the man has been importunate. 
 
 Never mind him, he replied. But I wish
 
 Ii6 PHsEDO. 
 
 now to explain to you, my judges, why it seems 
 to me that a man who has really spent his life 
 in philosophy has reason to be of good cheer 
 64. when he is about to die, and may well hope 
 after death to gain in the other world the 
 greatest good. I will try to show you, Simmias 
 and Cebes, how this may be. 
 
 IX. The world, perhaps, does not see that those 
 who rightly engage in philosophy, study only 
 dying and death. And, if this be true, it would 
 be surely strange for a man all through his life 
 to desire only death, and then, when death 
 comes to him, to be vexed at it, when it has 
 been his study and his desire for so long. 
 
 Simmias laughed, and said : Indeed, Socrates, 
 you make me laugh, though I am scarcely in a 
 laughing humour now. If the multitude heard 
 that, I fancy they would think that what you 
 say of philosophers is quite true; and my country- 
 men would entirely agree with you that philo- 
 sophers are indeed eager to die, and they would 
 say that they know full well that philosophers 
 deserve to be put to death. 
 
 And they would be right, Simmias, except in 
 saying that they know it. They do not know 
 in what sense the true philosopher is eager to 
 die, or what kind of death he deserves, or 
 in what sense he deserves it. Let us dismiss 
 them from our thoughts, and converse by our- 
 selves. Do we believe death to be anything ? 
 
 We do, replied Simmias. 
 
 And do we not believe it to be the separation 
 of the soul from the body ? Does not death
 
 PH^EDO. 117 
 
 mean that the body comes to exist by itself, 
 separated from the soul, and that the soul exists 
 by herself, separated from the body ? What is 
 death but that ? 
 
 It is that, he said. 
 
 Now consider, my good friend, if you and I 
 are agreed on another point which I think will 
 help us to understand the question better. Do 
 you think that a philosopher will care very much 
 about what are called pleasures, such as the 
 pleasures of eating and drinking ? 
 
 Certainly not, Socrates, said Simmias. 
 
 Or about the pleasures of sexual passion ? 
 
 Indeed, no. 
 
 And, do you think that he holds the remain- 
 ing cares of the body in high esteem ? Will he 
 think much of getting fine clothes, and sandals, 
 and other bodily adornments, or will he despise 
 them, except so far as he is absolutely forced 
 to meddle with them ? 
 
 The real philosopher, I think, will despise 
 them, he replied. 
 
 In short, said he, you think that his studies 
 are not concerned with the body ? He stands 
 aloof from it, as far as he can, and turns towards 
 the soul ? 
 
 I do. 
 
 Well then, in these matters, first, it is clear 
 that the philosopher releases his soul from com- 65. 
 munion with the body, so far as he can, beyond 
 all other men ? 
 
 It is. 
 
 And does not the world think, Simmias, that
 
 u8 PHMDO. 
 
 if a man has no pleasure in such things, and 
 does not take his share in them, his life is 
 not worth living ? Do not they hold that 
 he who thinks nothing of bodily pleasures is 
 almost as good as dead ? 
 
 Indeed you are right. 
 
 X. But what about the actual acquisition of 
 wisdom ? If the body is taken as a companion 
 in the search for wisdom, is it a hindrance or 
 not ? For example, do sight and hearing con- 
 vey any real truth to men ? Are not the very 
 poets for ever telling us that we neither hear 
 nor see anything accurately ? But if these 
 senses of the body are not accurate or clear, the 
 others will hardly be so, for they are all less 
 perfect than these, are they not ? 
 
 Yes, I think so, certainly, he said. 
 
 Then when does the soul attain truth ? he 
 asked. We see that, as often as she seeks to 
 investigate anything in company with the body, 
 the body leads her astray. 
 
 True. 
 
 Is it not by reasoning, if at all, that any real 
 truth becomes manifest to her ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 And she reasons best, I suppose, when none 
 of the senses, whether hearing, or sight, or pain, 
 or pleasure, harasses her : when she has dis- 
 missed the body, and released herself as far as 
 she can from all intercourse or contact with it, 
 and so, coming to be as much alone with her- 
 self as is possible, strives after real truth. 
 
 That is so.
 
 PHALDO. 1 19 
 
 And here too the soul of the philosopher very 
 greatly despises the body, and flies from it, and 
 seeks to be alone by herself, does she not ? 
 
 Clearly. 
 
 And what do you say to the next point, Sim- 
 mias ? Do we say that there is such a thing 
 as absolute justice, or not ? 
 
 Indeed we do. 
 
 And absolute beauty, and absolute good ? 
 
 Of course. 
 
 Have you ever seen any of them with your 
 eyes ? 
 
 Indeed, I have not, he replied. 
 
 Did you ever grasp them with any bodily 
 sense ? I am speaking of all absolutes, whether 
 size, or health, or strength ; in a word of the 
 essence or real being of everything. Is the 
 very truth of things contemplated by the body ? 
 Is it not rather the case that the man, who 
 prepares himself most carefully to apprehend 
 by his intellect the essence of each thing which 
 he examines, will come nearest to the know- 
 ledge of it ? 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 And will not a man attain to this pure thought 
 most completely, if he goes to each thing, as far 
 as he can, with his mind alone, taking neither 
 sight, nor any other sense along with his reason 
 in the process of thought, to be an encumbrance? 66. 
 In every case he will pursue pure and absolute 
 being, with his pure intellect alone. He will 
 be set free as far as possible from the eye, and 
 the ear, and, in short, from the whole body,
 
 120 Pff&DO. 
 
 because intercourse with the body troubles the 
 soul, and hinders her from gaining truth and 
 wisdom. Is it not he who will attain the know- 
 ledge of real being, if any man will ? 
 
 Your words are admirably true, Socrates, 
 said Simmias. 
 
 XL And, he said, must not all this cause real 
 philosophers to reflect, and make them say to 
 each other, It seems that there is a narrow path 
 which will bring us safely to our journey's end, 
 with reason as our guide. As long as we have 
 this body, and an evil of that sort is mingled 
 with our souls, we shall never fully gain what 
 we desire ; and that is truth. For the body is 
 for ever taking up our time with the care which 
 it needs : and, besides, whenever diseases attack 
 it, they hinder us in our pursuit of real being. 
 It fills us with passions, and desires, and fears, 
 and all manner of phantoms, and much foolish- 
 ness : and so, as the saying goes, in very truth 
 we can never think at all for it. It alone, and 
 its desires, cause wars and factions and battles : 
 for the origin of all wars is the pursuit of wealth, 1 
 and we are forced to pursue wealth because we 
 live in slavery to the cares of the body. And 
 therefore, for all these reasons, we have no 
 leisure for philosophy. And last of all, if we 
 ever are free from the body for a time, and then 
 turn to examine some matter, it falls in our way 
 at every step of the inquiry, and causes con- 
 fusion and trouble and panic, so that we cannot 
 see the truth for it. Verily we have learnt that 
 1 Cf. Rep. 373 D.
 
 PHsEDO. 121 
 
 if we are to have any pure knowledge at all, we 
 inust be freed from the body ; the soul by her- 
 self must behold things as they are. Then, it 
 seems, after we are dead, we shall gain the 
 wisdom which we desire, and for which we say 
 we have a passion, but not while we are alive, 
 as the argument shows. For if it be not pos- 
 sible to have pure knowledge while the body 
 is with us, one of two things must be true: 
 either we cannot gain knowledge at all, or we 
 can gain it only after death. For then, and 
 not till then, will the soul exist by herself, 67. 
 separate from the body. And while we live, 
 we shall come nearest to knowledge, if we have 
 no communion or intercourse with the body 
 beyond what is absolutely necessary, and if we 
 are not defiled with its nature. We must live 
 pure from it until God himself releases us. 
 And when we are thus pure and released from 
 its follies, we shall dwell, I suppose, with others 
 who are pure like ourselves, and we shall of 
 ourselves know all that is pure ; and that may 
 be the truth. For I think that the impure is 
 not allowed to attain to the pure. Such, Sim- 
 mias, I fancy must needs be the language and 
 the reflections of the true lovers of knowledge. 
 Do you not agree with me ? 
 
 Most assuredly I do, Socrates. 
 
 And, my friend, said Socrates, if this be true, X1L 
 I have good hope that, when I reach the place 
 whither I am going, I shall there, if anywhere, 
 gain fully that which we have sought so ear- 
 nestly in the past. And so I shall set forth
 
 122 PHMDO. 
 
 cheerfully on the journey that is appointed me 
 to-day, and so may every man who thinks that 
 his mind is prepared and purified. 
 
 That is quite true, said Simmias. 
 
 And does not the purification consist, as 
 we have said, in separating the soul from the 
 body, as far as is possible, and in accustoming 
 her to collect and rally herself together from 
 the body on every side, and to dwell alone by 
 herself as much as she can both now and here- 
 after, released from the bondage of the body ? 
 
 Yes, certainly, he said. 
 
 Is not what we call death a release and 
 separation of the soul from the body ? 
 
 Undoubtedly, he replied. 
 
 And the true philosopher, we hold, is alone 
 in his constant desire to set his soul free ? 
 His study is simply the release and separation 
 of the soul from the body, is it not ? 
 
 Clearly. 
 
 Would it not be absurd then, as I began by 
 saying, for a man to complain at death coming 
 to him, when in his life he has been preparing 
 himself to live as nearly in a state of death as 
 he could ? Would not that be absurd ? 
 
 Yes, indeed. 
 
 In truth, then, Simmias, he said, the true 
 philosopher studies to die, and to him of all 
 men is death least terrible. Now look at the 
 matter in this way. In everything he is at 
 enmity with his body, and he longs to possess 
 his soul alone. Would it not then be most 
 unreasonable, if he were to fear and complain
 
 PH^EDO. 123 
 
 when he has his desire, instead of rejoicing to 
 go to the place where he hopes to gain the 68. 
 wisdom that he has passionately longed for all 
 his life, and to be released from the company 
 of his enemy ? Many a man has willingly gone 
 to the other world, when a human love, or wife 
 or son has died, in the hope of seeing there 
 those whom he longed for, and of being with 
 them : and will a man who has a real passion 
 for wisdom, and a firm hope of really finding 
 wisdom in the other world and nowhere else, 
 grieve at death, and not depart rejoicing ? Nay, 
 my friend, you ought not to think that, if he be 
 truly a philosopher. He will be firmly convinced 
 that there and nowhere else will he meet with 
 wisdom in its purity. And if this be so, would 
 it not, I repeat, be very unreasonable for such 
 a man to fear death ? 
 
 Yes, indeed, he replied, it would. 
 
 Does not this show clearly, he said, that any xiIL 
 man whom you see grieving at the approach of 
 death, is after all no lover of wisdom, but a 
 lover of his body ? He is also, most likely, a 
 lover either of wealth, or of honour, or, it may 
 be, of both. 
 
 Yes, he said, it is as you say. 
 
 Well then, Simmias, he went on, does not 
 what is called courage belong especially to the 
 philosopher ? 
 
 Certainly I think so, he replied. 
 
 And does not temperance, the quality which 
 even the world calls temperance, and which 
 means to despise and control and govern the
 
 124 Pff^EDO. 
 
 passions does not temperance belong only to 
 such men as most despise the body, and pass 
 their lives in philosophy ? 
 
 Of necessity, he replied. 
 
 For if you will consider the courage and the 
 temperance of other men, said he, you will find 
 that they are strange things. 
 
 How so, Socrates ? 
 
 You know, he replied, that all other men 
 regard death as one of the great evils to which 
 mankind are subject ? 
 
 Indeed they do, he said. 
 
 And when the brave men of them submit to 
 death, do not they do so from a fear of still 
 greater evils ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Then all men but the philosopher are brave 
 from fear and because they are afraid. Yet it 
 is rather a strange thing for a man to be brave 
 out of fear and cowardice. 
 
 Indeed it is. 
 
 And are not the orderly men of them in 
 exactly the same case ? Are not they temperate 
 from a kind of intemperance ? We should say 
 that this cannot be : but in them this state of 
 foolish temperance comes to that. They desire 
 certain pleasures, and fear to lose them ; and so 
 they abstain from other pleasures because they 
 are mastered by these. Intemperance is defined 
 69. to mean being under the dominion of pleasure : 
 yet they only master certain pleasures because 
 they are mastered by others. But that is 
 exactly what I said just now, that, in a way,
 
 125 
 
 they are made temperate from intemper- 
 ance. 
 
 It seems to be so. 
 
 My dear Simmias, I fear that virtue is noi 
 really to be bought in this way, by bartering 
 pleasure for pleasure, and pain for pain, and 
 fear for fear, and the greater for the less, like 
 coins. There is only one sterling coin for 
 which all these things ought to be exchanged, 
 and that is wisdom. All that is bought and 
 sold for this and with this, whether courage, or 
 temperance, or justice, is real : in one word true 
 virtue cannot be without wisdom, and it matters 
 nothing whether pleasure, and fear, and all other 
 such things, are present or absent. But I think 
 that the vinue which is composed of pleasures 
 and fears bartered with one another, and severed 
 from wisdom, is only a shadow of true virtue, 
 and that it has no freedom, nor health, nor truth. 
 True virtue in reality is a kind of purifying from 
 all these things : and temperance, and justice, 
 and courage, and wisdom itself, are the purifica- 
 tion. And I fancy that the men who estab- 
 lished our mysteries had a very real meaning : 
 in truth they have been telling us in parables all 
 the time that whosoever comes to Hades unin- 
 itiated and profane, will lie in the mire ; while 
 he that has been purified and initiated shall 
 dwell with the gods. For ' the thyrsus-bearers 
 are many,' as they say in the mysteries, ' but 
 the inspired few.' And by these last, I believe, 
 are meant only the true philosophers. And I 
 in my life have striven as hard as I was able,
 
 126 PffJEDO. 
 
 and have left nothing undone that I might 
 become one of them. Whether I have striven 
 in the right way, and whether I have succeeded 
 or not, I suppose that I shall learn in a little 
 while, when I reach the other world, if it be 
 the will of God. 
 
 That is my defence, Simmias and Cebes, to 
 show that I have reason for not being angry 
 or grieved at leaving you and my masters here. 
 I believe that in the next world, no less than in 
 this, I shall meet with good masters and friends, 
 though the multitude are incredulous of it. 
 And if I have been more successful with you 
 in my defence than I was with my Athenian 
 judges, it is well. 
 
 XIV. When Socrates had finished, Cebes replied 
 to him, and said, I think that for the most part 
 you are right, Socrates. But men are very 
 7O. incredulous of what you have said of the soul. 
 They fear that she will no longer exist anywhere 
 when she has left the body, but that she will 
 be destroyed and perish on the very day of 
 death. They think that the moment that she 
 is released and leaves the body, she will be 
 dissolved and vanish away like breath or smoke, 
 and thenceforward cease to exist at all. If 
 she were to exist somewhere as a whole, released 
 from the evils which you enumerated just now, 
 we should have good reason to hope, Socrates, 
 that what you say is true. But it will need no 
 little persuasion and assurance to show that the 
 soul exists after death, and continues to possess 
 any power or wisdom.
 
 PHSEDO. 127 
 
 True, Cebes, said Socrates ; but what are we 
 to do ? Do you wish to converse about these 
 matters and see if what I say is probable ? 
 
 I for one, said Cebes, should gladly hear 
 your opinion about them. 
 
 I think, said Socrates, that no one who heard 
 me now, even if he were a comic poet, would 
 say that I am an idle talker about things which 
 do not concern me. So, if you wish it, let us 
 examine this question. 
 
 Let us consider whether or no the souls of XV. 
 men exist in the next world after death, thus. 
 There is an ancient belief, which we remember, 
 that on leaving this world they exist there, and 
 that they return hither and are born again from 
 the dead. But if it be true that the living are 
 born from the dead, our souls must exist in the 
 other world : otherwise they could not be born 
 again. It will be a sufficient proof that this is 
 so if we can really prove that the living are born 
 only from the dead. But if this is not so, we 
 shall have to find some other argument. 
 
 Exactly, said Cebes. 
 
 Well, said he, the easiest way of answering 
 the question will be to consider it not in relation 
 to men only, but also in relation to all animals 
 and plants, and in short to all things that are 
 generated. Is it the case that everything, which 
 has an opposite, is generated only from its 
 opposite. By opposites I mean, the honourable 
 and the base, the just and the unjust, and so 
 on in a thousand other instances. Let us con- 
 sider then whether it is necessary for everything
 
 128 PIf/EDO. 
 
 that has an opposite to be generated only from 
 its own opposite. For instance, when anything 
 becomes greater, I suppose it must first have 
 been less and then become greater ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 And if a thing becomes less, it must have 
 71. been greater, and afterwards become less ? 
 
 That is so, said he. 
 
 And further, the weaker is generated from 
 the stronger, and the swifter from the slower ? 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 And the worse is generated from the better, 
 and the more just from the more unjust ? 
 
 Of course. 
 
 Then it is sufficiently clear to us that all 
 things are generated in this way, opposites from 
 opposites ? 
 
 Quite so. 
 
 And in every pair of opposites, are there not 
 two generations between the two members of 
 the pair, from the one to the other, and then 
 back again from the other to the first ? Between 
 the greater and the less are growth and diminu- 
 tion, and we say that the one grows and the 
 other diminishes, do we not ? 
 
 Yes, he said. 
 
 And there is division and composition, and 
 cold and hot, and so on. In fact is it not a 
 universal law, even though we do not always 
 express it in so many words, that opposites are 
 generated always from one another, and that 
 there is a process of generation from one to the 
 other ?
 
 PH&DO. 129 
 
 It is, he replied. 
 
 Well, said he, is there an opposite to life, in XVI. 
 the same way that sleep is the opposite of being 
 awake ? 
 
 Certainly, he answered. 
 
 What is it ? 
 
 Death, he replied. 
 
 Then if life and death are opposites, they are 
 generated the one from the other : they are two, 
 and between them there are two generations. 
 Is it not so ? 
 
 Of course. 
 
 Now, said Socrates, I will explain to you one 
 of the two pairs of opposites of which I spoke 
 just now, and its generations, and you shall 
 explain to me the other. Sleep is the opposite 
 of waking. From sleep is produced the state 
 of waking : and from the state of waking is 
 produced sleep. Their generations are, first, 
 to fall asleep ; secondly, to awake. Is that 
 clear ? he asked. 
 
 Yes, quite. 
 
 Now then, said he, do you tell me about life 
 and death. Death is the opposite of life, is it 
 not? 
 
 It is. 
 
 And they are generated the one from the 
 other ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Then what is that which is generated from 
 the living ? 
 
 The dead, he replied. 
 
 And what is generated from the dead ? 
 K
 
 130 PH^EDO. 
 
 I must admit that it is the living. 
 
 Then living things and living men are gener- 
 ated from the dead, Cebes ? 
 
 Clearly, said he. 
 
 Then our souls exist in the other world ? he 
 said. 
 
 Apparently. 
 
 Now of these two generations the one is 
 certain ? Death I suppose is certain enough, 
 is it not ? 
 
 Yes, quite, he replied. 
 
 What then shall we do ? said he. Shall we 
 not assign an opposite generation to correspond ? 
 Or is nature imperfect here ? Must we not 
 assign some opposite generation to dying? 
 
 I think so, certainly, he said. 
 
 And what must it be ? 
 
 To come to life again. 
 
 And if there be such a thing as a return to 
 72. life, he said, it will be a generation from the 
 dead to the living, will it not ? 
 
 It will, certainly. 
 
 Then we are agreed on this point : namely, 
 that the living are generated from the dead no 
 less than the dead from the living. But we 
 agreed that, if this be so, it is a sufficient proof 
 that the souls of the dead must exist somewhere, 
 whence they come into being again. 
 
 I think, Socrates, that that is the necessary 
 result of our premises. 
 
 XVII. And I think, Cebes, said he, that our con- 
 clusion has not been an unfair one. For if 
 opposites did not always correspond with op-
 
 PHMDO. 131 
 
 posites as they are generated, moving as it were 
 round in a circle, and there were generation in 
 a straight line forward from one opposite only, 
 with no turning or return to the other, then, 
 you know, all things would come at length to 
 have the same form and be in the same state, 
 and would cease to be generated at all. 
 
 What do you mean ? he asked. 
 
 It is not at all hard to understand my mean- 
 ing,- he replied. If, for example, the one 
 opposite, to go to sleep, existed, without the 
 corresponding opposite, to wake up, which is 
 generated from the first, then all nature would 
 at last make the tale of Endymion meaningless, 
 and he would no longer be conspicuous ; for 
 everything else would be in the same state of 
 sleep that he was in. And if all things were 
 compounded together and never separated, the 
 Chaos of Anaxagoras would soon be realised. 
 Just in the same way, my dear Cebes, if all 
 things, in which there, is any life, were to die, 
 and when they were dead were to remain in 
 that form and not come to life again, would not 
 the necessary result be that everything at last 
 would be dead, and nothing alive ? For if 
 living things were generated from other sources 
 than death, and were to die, the result is inevit- 
 able that all things would be consumed by 
 death. Is it not so ? 
 
 It is indeed, I think, Socrates, said Cebes ; 
 I think that what you say is perfectly true. 
 
 Yes, Cebes, he said, I think it is certainly so. 
 We are not misled into this conclusion. The
 
 132 Pff^EDO. 
 
 dead do come to life again, and the living are 
 generated from them, and the souls of the dead 
 exist ; and with the souls of the good it is well, 
 and with the souls of the evil it is evil. 
 XVIII. And besides, Socrates, rejoined Cebes, if the 
 doctrine which you are fond of stating, that our 
 learning is only a process of recollection, be 
 true, then I suppose we must have learnt at 
 some former time what we recollect now. And 
 that would be impossible unless our souls- had 
 existed somewhere before they came into this 
 73. human form. So that is another reason for 
 believing the soul immortal. 
 
 But, Cebes, interrupted Simmias, what are 
 the proofs of that ? Recall them to me : I am 
 not very clear about them at present. 
 
 One argument, answered Cebes, and the 
 strongest of all, is that if you question men 
 about anything in the right way, they will answer 
 you correctly of themselves. But they would 
 not have been able to do that, unless they had 
 had within themselves knowledge and right 
 reason. Again, show them such things as 
 geometrical diagrams, and the proof of the 
 doctrine is complete. 1 
 
 And if that does not convince you, Simmias, 
 said Socrates, look at the matter in another way 
 and see if you agree then. You have doubts, 
 
 1 For an example of this see Meno, 82 A. seq. , where, 
 as here, Socrates proves the doctrine of Reminiscence, 
 and therefore the Immortality of the Soul, by putting 
 judicious questions about geometry to a slave who was 
 quite ignorant of geometry, and, with the help of dia- 
 grams, obtaining from him correct answers.
 
 PH&DO. 133 
 
 I know, how what is called knowledge can be 
 recollection. 
 
 Nay, replied Simmias, I do not doubt. But 
 I want to recollect the argument about recollec- 
 tion. What Cebes undertook to explain has 
 nearly brought your theory back to me and 
 convinced me. But I am none the less ready 
 to hear how you undertake to explain it. 
 
 In this way, he returned. We are agreed, 
 I suppose, that if a man remembers anything, 
 he must have known it at some previous time. 
 
 Certainly, he said. 
 
 And are we agreed that when knowledge 
 comes in the following way, it is recollection ? 
 When a man has seen or heard anything, or 
 has perceived it by some other sense, and then 
 knows not that thing only, but has also in his 
 mind an impression of some other thing, of 
 which the knowledge is quite different, are we 
 not right in saying that he remembers the thing 
 of which he has an impression in his mind ? 
 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 I mean this. The knowledge of a man is 
 different from the knowledge of a lyre, is it 
 not? 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 And you know that when lovers see a lyre, 
 or a garment, or anything that their favourites 
 are wont to use, they have this feeling. They 
 know the lyre, and in their mind they receive 
 the image of the youth whose the lyre was. 
 That is recollection. For instance, some one 
 seeing Simmias often is reminded of Cebes ;
 
 134 PH&DO. 
 
 and there are endless examples of the same 
 thing. 
 
 Indeed there are, said Simmias. 
 
 Is not that a kind of recollection, he said ; 
 and more especially when a man has this 
 feeling with reference to things which the 
 lapse of time and inattention have made him 
 forget ? 
 
 Yes, certainly, he replied. 
 
 Well, he went on, is it possible to recollect 
 a man on seeing the picture of a horse, or the 
 picture of a lyre ? or to recall Simmias on see- 
 ing a picture of Cebes ? 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 And it is possible to recollect Simmias him- 
 self on seeing a picture of Simmias ? 
 74. No doubt, he said. 
 
 XIX. Then in all these cases there is recollection 
 caused by similar objects, and also by dissimilar 
 objects ? 
 
 There is. 
 
 But when a man has a recollection caused 
 by similar objects, will he not have a further 
 feeling, and consider whether the likeness to 
 that which he recollects is defective in any way 
 or not ? 
 
 He will, he said. 
 
 Now see if this is true, he went on. Do we 
 not believe in the existence of equality, not 
 the equality of pieces of wood, or of stones ; 
 but something beyond that, equality in the 
 abstract ? Shall we say that there is such a 
 thing, or not ?
 
 Pff&DO. 135 
 
 Yes indeed, said Simmias, most emphatically 
 we will. 
 
 And do we know what this abstract equality 
 is? 
 
 Certainly, he replied. 
 
 Where did we get the knowledge of it ? Was 
 it not from seeing the equal pieces of wood, 
 and stones, and the like, which we were speak- 
 ing of just now ? Did we not form from them 
 the idea of abstract equality, which is different 
 from them ? Or do you think that it is not 
 different ? Consider the question in this way. 
 Do not equal pieces of wood and stones appear 
 to us sometimes equal, and sometimes unequal, 
 though in fact they remain the same all the 
 time ? 
 
 Certainly they do. 
 
 But did absolute equals ever seem to you to 
 be unequal, or abstract equality to be inequality? 
 
 No, never, Socrates. 
 
 Then equal things, he said, are not the same 
 as abstract equality ? 
 
 No, certainly not, Socrates. 
 
 Yet it was from these equal things, he said, 
 which are different from abstract equality, that 
 you have conceived and got your knowledge of 
 abstract equality ? 
 
 That is quite true, he replied. 
 
 And that whether it is like them or unlike 
 them ? 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 But that makes no difference, he said. As 
 long as the sight of one thing brings another
 
 136 PJf^EDO. 
 
 thing to your mind, there must be recollection, 
 whether or no the two things are like. 
 
 That is so. 
 
 Well then, said he, do the equal pieces of 
 wood, and other similar equal things, of which 
 we have been speaking, affect us at all in this 
 way ? Do they seem to us to be equal, in the 
 way that abstract equality is equal ? Do they 
 come short of being like abstract equality, or 
 not? 
 
 Indeed, they come very short of it, he replied. 
 
 Are we agreed about this ? A man sees some- 
 thing and thinks to himself, ' This thing that I 
 see aims at being like some other thing ; but 
 it comes short, and cannot be like that other 
 thing; it is inferior:' must not the man who 
 thinks that, have known at some previous time 
 that other thing, which he says that it resembles, 
 and to which it is inferior? 
 
 He must. 
 
 Well, have we ourselves had the same sort 
 of feeling with reference to equal things, and to 
 abstract equality ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 75. Then we must have had knowledge of equality 
 before we first saw equal things, and perceived 
 that they all strive to be like equality, and all 
 come short of it. 
 
 That is so. 
 
 And we are agreed also that we have not, 
 nor could we have, obtained the idea of equality 
 except from sight or touch or some other sense : 
 the same is true of all the senses.
 
 PIfsEDO. 137 
 
 Yes, Socrates, for the purposes of the argu- 
 ment that is so. 
 
 At any rate it is by the senses that we must 
 perceive that all sensible objects strive to 
 resemble absolute equality, and are inferior to 
 it. Is not that so ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Then before we began to see, and to hear, 
 and to use the other senses, we must have re- 
 ceived the knowledge of the nature of abstract 
 and real equality ; otherwise we could not have 
 compared equal sensible objects with abstract 
 equality, and seen that the former in all cases 
 strive to be like the latter, though they are 
 always inferior to it ? 
 
 That is the necessary consequence of what 
 we have been saying, Socrates. 
 
 Did we not see, and hear, and possess the 
 other senses as soon as we were born ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 And we must have received the knowledge 
 of abstract equality before we had these 
 senses ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Then, it seems, we must have received that 
 knowledge before we were born ? 
 
 It does. 
 
 Now if we received this knowledge before XX. 
 our birth, and were born with it, we knew, both 
 before, and at the moment of our birth, not only 
 the equal, and the greater, and the less, but 
 also everything of the same kind, did we not ? 
 Our present reasoning does not refer only to
 
 138 PH&DO. 
 
 equality. It refers just as much to absolute 
 good, and absolute beauty, and absolute justice, 
 and absolute holiness ; in short, I repeat, to 
 everything which we mark with the name of 
 the real, in the questions and answers of our 
 dialectic. So we must have received our 
 knowledge of all realities before we were 
 born. 
 
 That is so. 
 
 And we must always be born with this know- 
 ledge, and must always retain it throughout life, 
 if we have not each time forgotten it, after hav- 
 ing received it. For to know means to receive 
 and retain knowledge, and not to have lost it. 
 Do not we mean by forgetting the loss of 
 knowledge, Simmias ? 
 
 Yes, certainly, Socrates, he said. 
 
 But, I suppose, if it be the case that we lost 
 at birth the knowledge which we received 
 before we were born, and then afterwards, by 
 using our senses on the objects of sense, re- 
 covered the knowledge which we had previously 
 possessed, then what we call learning is the 
 recovering of knowledge which is already ours 
 And are we not right in calling that recollec- 
 tion ? 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 For we have found it possible to perceive a 
 thing by sight, or hearing, or any other sense, 
 and thence to form a notion of some other 
 thing, like or unlike, which had been forgotten, 
 but with which this thing was associated. And 
 therefore, I say, one of two things must be true.
 
 PHsEDO. 139 
 
 Either we are all born with this knowledge, and 
 retain it all our life ; or, after birth, those whom 
 we say are learning are only recollecting, and 
 our knowledge is recollection. 
 
 Yes indeed, that is undoubtedly true, Socrates. 
 
 Then which do you choose, Simmias ? Are XXI. 
 we born with knowledge, or do we recollect the 
 things of which we have received knowledge 
 before our birth ? 
 
 I cannot say at present, Socrates. 
 
 Well, have you an opinion about this ques- 
 tion ? Can a man who knows give an account 
 of what he knows, or not ? What do you 
 think about that ? 
 
 Yes, of course he can, Socrates. 
 
 And do you think that every one can give 
 an account of the ideas of which we have been 
 speaking ? 
 
 I wish I did, indeed, said Simmias : but I 
 am very much afraid that by this time to-morrow 
 there will no longer be any man living able to 
 do so as it should be done. 
 
 Then, Simmias, he said, you do not think 
 that all men know these things ? 
 
 Certainly not. 
 
 Then they recollect what they once learned ? 
 
 Necessarily. 
 
 And when did our souls gain this knowledge? 
 It cannot have been after we were born men. 
 
 No, certainly not. 
 
 Then it was before ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Then, Simmias, our souls existed formerly,
 
 140 PH&DO. 
 
 apart from our bodies, and possessed intelli- 
 gence before they came into man's shape. 1 
 
 Unless we receive this knowledge at the 
 moment of birth, Socrates. That time still 
 remains. 
 
 Well, my friend : and at what other time do 
 we lose it ? We agreed just now that we are 
 not born with it : do we lose it at the same 
 moment that we gain it ? or can you suggest 
 any other time ? 
 
 I cannot, Socrates. I did not see that I was 
 talking nonsense. 
 
 Then, Simmias, he said, is not this the truth ? 
 XXII. If, as we are for ever repeating, beauty, and 
 good, and the other ideas 2 really exist, and if 
 we refer all the objects of sensible perception 
 to these ideas which were formerly ours, and 
 which we find to be ours still, and compare 
 sensible objects with them, then, just as they 
 exist, our souls must have existed before ever 
 we were born. But if they do not exist, then 
 our reasoning will have been thrown away. 
 Is it so ? If these ideas exist, does it not at 
 
 1 Cf. Wordsworth's famous Ode on Intimations of 
 Immortality. It must be noticed that in one respect 
 Wordsworth exactly reverses Plato's theory. With 
 Wordsworth ' ' Heaven lies about us in our infancy " : 
 and as we grow to manhood we gradually forget it. 
 With Plato, we lose the knowledge which we possessed 
 in a prior state of existence, at birth, and recover it, as 
 we grow up. [Mr. Archer-Hind has a similar remark 
 in his note on this passage.] 
 
 2 For a fuller account of the ideas, see post. ch. 
 xlix. , 100 B. seq.
 
 PH^EDO. 141 
 
 once follow that our souls must have existed 
 before we were born, and if they do not exist, 
 then neither did our souls ? 
 
 Admirably put, Socrates, said Simmias. I 
 think that the necessity is the same for the one 
 as for the other. The reasoning has reached 77. 
 a place of safety in the common proof of the 
 existence of our souls before we were born, 
 and of the existence of the ideas of which you 
 spoke. Nothing is so evident to me as that 
 beauty, and good, and the other ideas, which you 
 spoke of just now, have a very real existence 
 indeed. Your proof is quite sufficient for me. 
 
 But what of Cebes ? said Socrates. I must 
 convince Cebes too. 
 
 I think that he is satisfied, said Simmias, 
 though he is the most sceptical of men in 
 argument. But I think that he is perfectly 
 convinced that our souls existed before we were 
 born. 
 
 But I do not think myself, Socrates, he con- XXIII. 
 tinued, that you have proved that the soul will 
 continue to exist when we are dead. The 
 common fear which Cebes spoke of, that she 
 may be scattered to the winds at death, and 
 that death may be the end of her existence, still 
 stands in the way. Assuming that the soul is 
 generated and comes together from some other 
 elements, and exists before she ever enters the 
 human body, why should she not come to an 
 end and be destroyed, after she has entered 
 into the body, when she is released from it ? 
 
 You are right, Simmias, said Cebes. I think
 
 142 PHMDO. 
 
 that only half the required proof has been given. 
 It has been shown that our souls existed before 
 we were born ; but it must also be shown that 
 our souls will continue to exist after we are 
 dead, no less than that they existed before we 
 were born, if the proof is to be complete. 
 
 That has been shown already, Simmias and 
 Cebes, said Socrates, if you will combine this 
 reasoning with our previous conclusion, that all 
 life is generated from death. For if the soul 
 exists in a previous state, and if when she 
 comes into life and is born, she can only be born 
 from death, and from a state of death, must she 
 not exist after death too, since she has to be 
 born again ? So the point which you speak of 
 has been already proved. 
 
 XXIV. Still I think that you and Simmias would be 
 glad to discuss this question further. Like 
 children, you are afraid that the wind will really 
 blow the soul away and disperse her when she 
 leaves the body ; especially if a man happens 
 to die in a storm and not in a calm. 
 
 Cebes laughed and said, Try and convince 
 us as if we were afraid, Socrates ; or rather, do 
 not think that we are afraid ourselves. Per- 
 haps there is a child within us who has these 
 fears. Let us try and persuade him not to be 
 afraid of death, as if it were a bugbear. 
 
 You must charm him every day, until you 
 have charmed him away, said Socrates. 
 78. And where shall we find a good charmer, 
 Socrates, he asked, now that you are leaving 
 us ?
 
 PH&DO. 143 
 
 Hellas is a large country, Cebes, he replied, 
 and good men may doubtless be found in it ; 
 and the nations of the Barbarians are many. 
 You must search them all through for such a 
 charmer, sparing neither money nor labour ; 
 for there is nothing on which you could spend 
 money more profitably. And you must search 
 for him among yourselves too, for you will 
 hardly find a better charmer than yourselves. 
 
 That shall be done, said Cebes. But let us 
 return to the point where we left off, if you will. 
 
 Yes, I will : why not ? 
 
 Very good, he replied. 
 
 Well, said Socrates, must we not ask our- XXV. 
 selves this question ? What kind of thing is 
 liable to suffer dispersion, and for what kind of 
 thing have we to fear dispersion ? And then 
 we must see whether the soul belongs to that 
 kind or not, and be confident or afraid about 
 our own souls accordingly. 
 
 That is true, he answered. 
 
 Now is it not the compound and composite 
 which is naturally liable to be dissolved in 
 the same way in which it was compounded ? 
 And is not what is uncompounded alone not 
 liable to dissolution, if anything is not ? 
 
 I think that that is so, said Cebes. 
 
 And what always remains in the same state 
 and unchanging is most likely to be uncom- 
 pounded, and what is always changing and never 
 the same is most likely to be compounded, I 
 suppose ? 
 
 Yes, I think so.
 
 144 PH&DO. 
 
 Now let us return to what we were speaking 
 of before in the discussion, he said. Does the 
 being, which in our dialectic we define as mean- 
 ing absolute existence, remain always in exactly 
 the same state, or does it change ? Do absolute 
 equality, absolute beauty, and every other abso- 
 lute existence, admit of any change at all ? or 
 does absolute existence in each case, being 
 essentially uniform, remain the same and un- 
 changing, and never in any case admit of any 
 sort or kind of change whatsoever ? 
 
 It must remain the same and unchanging, 
 Socrates, said Cebes. 
 
 And what of the many beautiful things, such 
 as men, and horses, and garments, and the like, 
 and of all which bears the names of the ideas, 
 whether equal, or beautiful, or anything else ? 
 Do they remain the same, or is it exactly the 
 opposite with them ? In short, do they never 
 remain the same at all, either in themselves or 
 in their relations ? 
 
 These things, said Cebes, never remain the 
 same. 
 
 79. You can touch them, and see them, and 
 perceive them with the other senses, while you 
 can grasp the unchanging only by the reasoning 
 of the intellect. These latter are invisible and 
 not seen. Is it not so ? 
 
 That is perfectly true, he said. 
 
 XXVI. Let us assume then, he said, if you will, that 
 there are two kinds of existence, the one visible, 
 the other invisible. 
 
 Yes, he said.
 
 PH&DO. 145 
 
 And the invisible is unchanging, while the 
 visible is always changing. 
 
 Yes, he said again. 
 
 Are not we men made up of body and soul ? 
 
 There is nothing else, he replied. 
 
 And which of these kinds of existence should 
 we say that the body is most like, and most 
 akin to ? 
 
 The visible, he replied ; that is quite obvious. 
 
 And the soul ? Is that visible or invisible ? 
 
 It is invisible to man, Socrates, he said. 
 
 But we mean by visible and invisible, visible 
 and invisible to man ; do we not ? 
 
 Yes ; that is what we mean. 
 
 Then what do we say of the soul ? Is it 
 visible, or not visible ? 
 
 It is not visible. 
 
 Then is it invisible ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Then the soul is more like the invisible than 
 the body ; and the body is like the visible. 
 
 That is necessarily so, Socrates. 
 
 Have we not also said that, when the soul XXVIL 
 employs the body in any inquiry, and makes 
 use of sight, or hearing, or any other sense, 
 for inquiry with the body means inquiry with 
 the senses, she is dragged away by it to the 
 things which never remain the same, and 
 wanders about blindly, and becomes confused 
 and dizzy, like a drunken man, from dealing 
 with things that are ever changing ? 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 But when she investigates any question by 
 L
 
 146 PH&DO. 
 
 herself, she goes away to the pure, and eternal, 
 and immortal, and unchangeable, to which she 
 is akin, and so she comes to be ever with it, as 
 soon as she is by herself, and can be so : and 
 then she rests from her wanderings, and dwells 
 with it unchangingly, for she is dealing with 
 what is unchanging? And is not this state of 
 the soul called wisdom ? 
 
 Indeed, Socrates, you speak well and truly, he 
 replied. 
 
 Which kind of existence do you think from 
 our former and our present arguments that the 
 soul is more like and more akin to ? 
 
 I think, Socrates, he replied, that after this 
 inquiry the very dullest man would agree that 
 the soul is infinitely more like the unchangeable 
 than the changeable. 
 
 And the body ? 
 
 That is like the changeable. 
 
 XXVIII. Consider the matter in yet another way. 
 80. When the soul and the body are united, nature 
 ordains the one to be a slave and to be ruled, 
 and the other to be master and to rule. Tell 
 me once again, which do you think is like the 
 divine, and which is like the mortal ? Do you 
 not think that the divine naturally rules and 
 has authority, and that the mortal naturally is 
 ruled and is a slave ? 
 
 I do. 
 
 Then which is the soul like ? 
 
 That is quite plain, Socrates. The soul is 
 like the divine, and the body is like the mortal. 
 
 Now tell me, Cebes ; is the result of all that
 
 PH^EDO. 147 
 
 we have said that the soul is most like the 
 divine, and the immortal, and the intelligible, 
 and the uniform, and the indissoluble, and the 
 unchangeable ; while the body is most like the 
 human, and the mortal, and the unintelligible, 
 and the multiform, and the dissoluble, and the 
 changeable ? Have we any other argument to 
 show that this is not so, my dear Cebes ? 
 
 We have not. 
 
 Then if this is so, is it not the nature of the XXIX. 
 body to be dissolved quickly, and of the soul to 
 be wholly or very nearly indissoluble? 1 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 You observe, he said, that after a man is 
 dead, the visible part of him, his body, which 
 lies in the visible world, and which we call the 
 corpse, which is subject to dissolution and de- 
 composition, is not dissolved and decomposed 
 at once ? It remains as it was for a consider- 
 able time, and even for a long time, if a man 
 dies with his body in good condition, and in the 
 vigour of life. And when the body falls in and 
 is embalmed, like the mummies of Egypt, it 
 remains nearly entire for an immense time. 
 And should it decay, yet some parts of it, such 
 as the bones and muscles, may almost be said 
 to be immortal. Is it not so ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 1 Compare Bishop Butler's Analogy, Pt. i. ch. i, 
 where a similar argument is used : the soul being indis- 
 cerptible is immortal. The argument based on the 
 ' divine ' nature of the soul is, of course, also a modern 
 one. See^. Lord Tennyson, In Menwriam, LIV. -LVI.
 
 148 PHMDO. 
 
 And shall we believe that the soul, which is 
 invisible, and which goes hence to a place that 
 is like herself, glorious, and pure, and invisible, 
 to Hades, which is rightly called the unseen 
 world, to dwell with the good and wise God, 
 whither, if it be the will of God, my soul too 
 must shortly go ; shall we believe that the 
 soul, whose nature is so glorious, and pure, and 
 invisible, is blown away by the winds and 
 perishes as soon as she leaves the body, as the 
 world says ? Nay, dear Cebes and Simmias, 
 it is not so. I will tell you what happens to a 
 soul which is pure at her departure, and which 
 in her life has had no intercourse that she could 
 avoid with the body, and so draws after her, 
 when she dies, no taint of the body, but has 
 shunned it, and gathered herself into herself, 
 for such has been her constant study ; and 
 that only means that she has loved wisdom 
 81 rightly, and has truly practised how to die. Is 
 not this the practice of death ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 Does not the soul, then, which is in that 
 state, go away to the invisible that is like her- 
 self, and to the divine, and the immortal, and 
 the wise, where she is released from error, and 
 folly, and fear, and fierce passions, and all the 
 other evils that fall to the lot of men, and is 
 happy, and for the rest of time lives in very 
 truth with the gods, as they say that the 
 initiated do ? Shall we affirm this, Cebes ? 
 
 Yes, certainly, said Cebes. 
 XXX. But if she be defiled and impure when she
 
 PH&DO. 149 
 
 leaves the body, from being ever with it, and 
 serving it and loving it, and from being besotted 
 by it, and by its desires and pleasures, so that 
 she thinks nothing true, but what is bodily, and 
 can be touched, and seen, and eaten, and drunk, 
 and used for men's lusts ; if she has learnt to 
 hate, and tremble at, and fly from what is dark 
 and invisible to the eye, and intelligible and 
 apprehended by philosophy do you think 
 that a soul which is in that state will be pure 
 and without alloy at her departure ? 
 
 No, indeed, he replied. 
 
 She is penetrated, I suppose, by the cor- 
 poreal, which the unceasing intercourse and 
 company and care of the body has made a part 
 of her nature. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 And, my dear friend, the corporeal must be 
 burdensome, and heavy, and earthy, and visible ; 
 and it is by this that such a soul is weighed 
 down and dragged back to the visible world, 
 because she is afraid of the invisible world of 
 Hades, and haunts, it is said, the graves and 
 tombs, where shadowy forms of souls have been 
 seen, which are the phantoms of souls which 
 were impure at their release, and still cling to 
 the visible ; which is the reason why they are 
 
 seen. 
 
 That is likely enough, Socrates. 
 
 That is likely, certainly, Cebes : and these 
 are not the souls of the good, but of the evil, 
 which are compelled to wander in such places 
 1 Professor Jowett compares Milton, Comus, 463 foil.
 
 150 PH&DO. 
 
 as a punishment for the wicked lives that they 
 have lived ; and their wanderings continue 
 until, from the desire for the corporeal that 
 clings to them, they are again imprisoned in a 
 body. 
 
 XXXI. And, he continued, they are imprisoned, 
 probably, in the bodies of animals with habits 
 similar to the habits which were theirs in their 
 lifetime. 
 
 What do you mean by that, Socrates ? 
 
 I mean that men who have practised un- 
 bridled gluttony, and wantonness, and drunken- 
 ness, probably enter the bodies of asses, and 
 82. suchlike animals. Do you not think so ? 
 
 Certainly that is very likely. 
 
 And those who have chosen injustice, and 
 tyranny, and robbery, enter the bodies of wolves, 
 and hawks, and kites. Where else should we 
 say that such souls go ? 
 
 No doubt, said Cebes, they go into such 
 animals. 
 
 In short, it is quite plain, he said, whither 
 each soul goes ; each enters an animal with 
 habits like its own. 
 
 Certainly, he replied, that is so. 
 
 And of these, he said, the happiest, who go 
 to the best place, are those who have prac- 
 tised the popular and social virtues which are 
 called temperance and justice, and which come 
 from habit and practice, without philosophy or 
 reason ? 
 
 And why are they the happiest ? 
 
 Because it is probable that they return into
 
 151 
 
 a mild and social nature like their own, such 
 as that of bees, or wasps, or ants ; or, it may 
 be, into the bodies of men, and that from them 
 are made worthy citizens. 
 
 Very likely. 
 
 But none but the philosopher or the lover of XXXII. 
 knowledge, who is wholly pure when he goes 
 hence, is permitted to go to the race of the 
 gods ; and therefore, my friends Simmias and 
 Cebes, the true philosopher is temperate, and 
 refrains from all the pleasures of the body, and 
 does not give himself up to them. It is not 
 squandering his substance and poverty that he 
 fears, as the multitude and the lovers of wealth 
 do ; nor again does he dread the dishonour and 
 disgrace of wickedness, like the lovers of power 
 and honour. It is not for these reasons, that 
 he is temperate. 
 
 No, it would be unseemly in him if he were, 
 Socrates, said Cebes. 
 
 Indeed it would, he replied : and therefore 
 all those who have any care for their souls, and 
 who do not spend their lives in forming and 
 moulding their bodies, bid farewell to such 
 persons, and do not walk in their ways, think- 
 ing that they know not whither they are going. 
 They themselves turn and follow whithersoever 
 philosophy leads them, for they believe that 
 they ought not to resist philosophy, or its 
 deliverance and purification. 
 
 How, Socrates ? 
 
 I will tell you, he replied. The lovers of XXXIII. 
 knowledge know that when philosophy receives
 
 152 PH&DO. 
 
 the soul, she is fast bound in the body, and 
 fastened to it : she is unable to contemplate 
 what is, by herself, or except through the bars 
 of her prison - house, the body ; and she is 
 wallowing in utter ignorance. And philosophy 
 sees that the dreadful thing about the imprison- 
 ment is that it is caused by lust, and that the 
 83. captive herself is an accomplice in her own 
 captivity. The lovers of knowledge, I repeat, 
 know that philosophy takes the soul when she 
 is in this condition, and gently encourages her, 
 and strives to release her from her captivity, 
 showing her that the perceptions of the eye, and 
 the ear, and the other senses, are full of deceit, 
 and persuading her to stand aloof from the 
 senses, and to use them only when she must, 
 and exhorting her to rally and gather herself 
 together, and to trust only to herself, and to the 
 real existence which she of her own self appre- 
 hends : and to believe that nothing which is 
 subject to change, and which she perceives by 
 other faculties, has any truth, for such things 
 are visible and sensible, while what she herself 
 sees is apprehended by reason and invisible. 
 The soul of the true philosopher thinks that it 
 would be wrong to resist this deliverance from 
 captivity, and therefore she holds aloof, so far 
 as she can, from pleasure, and desire, and pain, 
 and fear ; for she reckons that when a man has 
 vehement pleasure, or fear, or pain, or desire, he 
 suffers from them, not merely the evils which 
 might be expected, such as sickness, or some 
 loss arising from the indulgence of his desires ;
 
 153 
 
 he suffers what is the greatest and last of evils, 
 and does not take it into account. 
 
 What do you mean, Socrates ? asked Cebes. 
 
 I mean that when the soul of any man feels 
 vehement pleasure or pain, she is forced at the 
 same time to think that the object, whatever it 
 be, of these sensations is the most distinct and 
 truest, when it is not. Such objects are chiefly 
 visible ones, are they not ? 
 
 They are. 
 
 And is it not in this state that the soul is 
 most completely in bondage to the body ? 
 
 How so ? 
 
 Because every pleasure and pain has a kind 
 of nail, and nails and pins her to the body, and 
 gives her a bodily nature, making her think 
 that whatever the body says is true. And so, 
 from having the same fancies and the same 
 pleasures as the body, she is obliged, I suppose, 
 to come to have the same ways, and way of life : 
 she must always be defiled with the body when 
 she leaves it, and cannot be pure when she 
 reaches the other world ; and so she soon falls 
 back into another body, and takes root in it, 
 like seed that is sown. Therefore she loses all 
 part in intercourse with the divine, and pure, 
 and uniform. 
 
 That is very true, Socrates, said Cebes. 
 
 It is for these reasons then, Cebes, that the XXXIV, 
 real lovers of knowledge are temperate and 
 brave ; and not for the world's reasons. Or 
 do you think so ? 84. 
 
 No, certainly I do not.
 
 154 P HAL DO. 
 
 Assuredly not. 1 The soul of a philosopher 
 will consider that it is the office of philosophy 
 to set her free. She will know that she must 
 not give herself up once more to the bondage 
 of pleasure and pain, from which philosophy is 
 releasing her, and, like Penelope, do a work, 
 only to undo it continually, weaving instead of 
 unweaving her web. She gains for herself 
 peace from these things, and follows reason 
 and ever abides in it, contemplating what is 
 true and divine and real, and fostered up by 
 them. So she thinks that she should live in 
 this life, and when she dies she believes that 
 she will go to what is akin to and like herself, 
 and be released from human ills. A soul, 
 Simmias and Cebes, that has been so nurtured, 
 and so trained, will never fear lest she should 
 be torn in pieces at her departure from the 
 body, and blown away by the winds, and vanish, 
 and utterly cease to exist. 
 
 XXXV. At these words there was a long silence. 
 Socrates himself seemed to be absorbed in his 
 argument, and so were most of us. Cebes and 
 Simmias conversed for a little by themselves. 
 When Socrates observed them, he said : What ? 
 Do you think that our reasoning is incomplete ? 
 It still offers many points of doubt and attack, 
 if it is to be examined thoroughly. If you are 
 discussing another question, I have nothing to 
 say. But if you have any difficulty about this 
 one, do not hesitate to tell me what it is, and, 
 if you are of opinion that the argument should 
 1 Reading, ov yap' d\X', with Stallbaum.
 
 155 
 
 be stated in a better way, explain your views 
 yourselves : and take me along with you, if 
 you think that you will be more successful in 
 my company. 
 
 Simmias replied : Well, Socrates, I will tell 
 you the truth. Each of us has a difficulty, and 
 each has been pushing on the other, and urging 
 him to ask you about it. We were anxious 
 to hear what you have to say ; but we were 
 reluctant to trouble you, for we were afraid 
 that it might be unpleasant to you to be asked 
 questions now. 
 
 Socrates smiled at this answer, and said, 
 Dear me! Simmias; I shall find it hard to 
 convince other people that I do not consider 
 my fate a misfortune, when I cannot convince 
 even you of it, and you are afraid that I am 
 more peevish now than I used to be. You 
 seem to think me inferior in prophetic power 
 to the swans, which, when they find that they 
 have to die, sing more loudly than they ever 
 sang before, for joy that they are about to depart 85. 
 into the presence of God, whose servants they 
 are. The fear which men have of death them- 
 selves makes them speak falsely of the swans, 
 and they say that the swan is wailing at its 
 death, and that it sings loud for grief. They 
 forget that no bird sings when it is hungry, or 
 cold, or in any pain ; not even the nightingale, 
 nor the swallow, nor the hoopoe, which, they 
 assert, wail and sing for grief. But I think 
 that neither these birds nor the swan sing for 
 grief. I believe that they have a prophetic
 
 156 PH^EDO. 
 
 power and foreknowledge of the good things in 
 the next world, for they are Apollo's birds : and 
 so they sing and rejoice on the day of their 
 death, more than in all their life. And I believe 
 that I myself am a fellow slave with the swans, 
 and consecrated to the service of the same God, 
 and that I have prophetic power from my master 
 no less than they ; and that I am not more 
 despondent than they are at leaving this life. 
 So, as far as vexing me goes, you may talk to 
 me and ask questions as you please, as long as 
 the Eleven of the Athenians 1 will let you. 
 
 Good, said Simmias ; I will tell you my 
 difficulty, and Cebes will tell you why he is 
 dissatisfied with your statement. I think, Soc- 
 rates, and I daresay you think so too, that it is 
 very difficult, and perhaps impossible, to obtain 
 clear knowledge about these matters in this life. 
 Yet I should hold him to be a very poor creature 
 who did not test what is said about them in 
 every way, and persevere until he had examined 
 the question from every side, and could do no 
 more. It is our duty to do one of two things. 
 We must learn, or we must discover for our- 
 selves, the truth of these matters ; or, if that be 
 impossible, we must take the best and most 
 irrefragable of human doctrines, and embarking 
 on that, as on a raft, risk the voyage of life, 2 
 unless a stronger vessel, some divine word, 
 could be found, on which we might take our 
 
 1 Officials whose duty it was to superintend executions. 
 Cp. ante, 59. E. 
 
 2 See Bishop Butler's Analogy, Introduction.
 
 Pff^DO. 157 
 
 journey more safely and more securely. And 
 now, after what you have said, I shall not be 
 ashamed to put a question to you : and then 
 I shall not have to blame myself hereafter for 
 not having said now what I think. Cebes and 
 I have been considering your argument ; and 
 we think that it is hardly sufficient. 
 
 I daresay you are right, my friend, said XXXVI. 
 Socrates. But tell me, where is it insufficient? 
 
 To me it is insufficient, he replied, because 
 the very same argument might be used of a 
 harmony, and a lyre, and its strings. It might 
 be said that the harmony in a tuned lyre is 
 something unseen, and incorporeal, and per- 
 fectly beautiful, and divine, while the lyre and its 86. 
 strings are corporeal, and with the nature of 
 bodies, and compounded, and earthly, and akin 
 to the mortal. Now suppose that, when the lyre 
 is broken and the strings are cut or snapped, a 
 man were to press the same argument that you 
 have used, and were to say that the harmony 
 cannot have perished, and that it must still exist : 
 for it cannot possibly be that the lyre and the 
 strings, with their mortal nature, continue to 
 exist, though those strings have been broken, 
 while the harmony, which is of the same nature 
 as the divine and the immortal, and akin to 
 them, has perished, and perished before the 
 mortal lyre. He would say that the harmony 
 itself must still exist somewhere, and that the 
 wood and the strings will rot away before any- 
 thing happens to it. And I think, Socrates, 
 that you too must be aware that many of us
 
 158 PH^EDO. 
 
 believe the soul to be most probably a mixture 
 and harmony of the elements by which our 
 body is, as it were, strung and held together, 
 such as heat and cold, and dry and wet, and 
 the like, when they are mixed together well and 
 in due proportion. Now if the soul is a har- 
 mony, it is clear that, when the body is relaxed 
 out of proportion, or over-strung by disease or 
 other evils, the soul, though most divine, must 
 perish at once, like other harmonies of sound 
 and of all works of art, while what remains of 
 each body must remain for a long time, until it 
 be burnt or rotted away. What then shall we 
 say to a man who asserts that the soul, being a 
 mixture of the elements of the body, perishes 
 first, at what is called death ? 
 
 XXXVII. Socrates looked keenly at us, as he often 
 used to do, and smiled. Simmias' objection is 
 a fair one, he said. If any of you is readier 
 than I am, why does he not answer ? For 
 Simmias looks like a formidable assailant. But 
 before we answer him, I think that we had 
 better hear what fault Cebes has to find with 
 my reasoning, and so gain time to consider our 
 reply. And then, when we have heard them 
 both, we must either give in to them, if they 
 seem to harmonise, or, if they do not, we must 
 proceed to argue in defence of our reasoning. 
 Come, Cebes, what is it that troubles you, and 
 makes you doubt ? 
 
 I will tell you, replied Cebes. I think that 
 
 the argument is just where it was, and still open 
 
 87. to our former objection. You have shown very
 
 PHsEDO. 159 
 
 cleverly, and, if it is not arrogant to say so, 
 quite conclusively, that our souls existed before 
 they entered the human form. I don't re- 
 tract my admission on that point. But I am 
 not convinced that they will continue to exist 
 after we are dead. I do not agree with Simmias' 
 objection, that the soul is not stronger and 
 more lasting than the body : I think that it is 
 very much superior in those respects. ' Well, 
 then,' the argument might reply, ' do you still 
 doubt, when you see that the weaker part of 
 a man continues to exist after his death ? 
 Do you not think that the more lasting part 
 of him must necessarily be preserved for as 
 long ? ' See, therefore, if there is anything in 
 what I say ; for I think that I, like Simmias, 
 shall best express my meaning in a figure. It 
 seems to me that a man might use an argument 
 similar to yours, to prove that a weaver, who 
 had died in old age, had not in fact perished, but 
 was still alive somewhere ; on the ground that 
 the garment, which the weaver had woven for 
 himself and used to wear, had not perished or 
 been destroyed. And if any one were incredu- 
 lous, he might ask whether a human being, or 
 a garment constantly in use and wear, lasts the 
 longest ; and on being told that a human being 
 lasts much the longest, he might think that he 
 had shown beyond all doubt that the man was 
 safe, because what lasts a shorter time than the 
 man had not perished. But that, I suppose, is 
 not so, Simmias ; for you too must examine 
 what I say. Every one would understand that
 
 160 PHMDO. 
 
 such an argument was simple nonsense. This 
 weaver wove himself many such garments and 
 wore them out ; he outlived them all but the 
 last, but he perished before that one. Yet a 
 man is in no wise inferior to his cloak, or weaker 
 than it, on that account. And I think that the 
 soul's relation to the body may be expressed in a 
 similar figure. Why should not a man very 
 reasonably say in just the same way that the 
 soul lasts a long time, while the body is weaker 
 and lasts a shorter time ? But, he might go 
 on, each soul wears out many bodies, especially 
 if she lives for many years. For if the body is 
 in a state of flux and decay in the man's life- 
 time, and the soul is ever repairing the worn- 
 out part, it will surely follow that the soul, on 
 perishing, will be clothed in her last robe, and 
 perish before that alone. But when the soul 
 has perished, then the body will show its 
 weakness and quickly rot away. So as yet we 
 have no right to be confident, on the strength 
 of this argument, that our souls continue to 
 88. exist after we are dead. And a man might con- 
 cede even more than this to an opponent who 
 used your argument ; l he might admit not only 
 that our souls existed in the period before we 
 were born, but also that there is no reason why 
 some of them should not continue to exist in 
 the future, and often come into being, and die 
 again, after we are dead ; for the soul is strong 
 enough by nature to endure coming into being 
 many times. He might grant that, without 
 1 Reading T$ \eyovri & crv \tyeis (Schanz).
 
 PH&DO. 161 
 
 conceding that she suffers no harm in all these 
 births, or that she is not at last wholly destroyed 
 at one of the deaths ; and he might say that no 
 man knows when this death and dissolution of 
 the body, which brings destruction to the soul, 
 will be, for it is impossible for any man to find 
 out that. But if this is true, a man's confidence 
 about death must be an irrational confidence, 
 unless he can prove that the soul is wholly 
 indestructible and immortal. Otherwise every 
 one who is dying must fear that his soul will 
 perish utterly this time in her separation from 
 the body. 
 
 It made us all very uncomfortable to listen XXXVIII. 
 to them, as we afterwards said to each other. 
 We had been fully convinced by the previous 
 argument ; and now they seemed to overturn 
 our conviction, and to make us distrust all the 
 arguments that were to come, as well as the 
 preceding ones, and to doubt if our judgment 
 was worth anything, or even if certainty could 
 be attained at all. 
 
 Ech. By the gods, Pha?do, I can understand 
 your feelings very well. I myself felt inclined 
 while you were speaking to ask myself, ' Then 
 what reasoning are we to believe in future ? 
 That of Socrates was quite convincing, and 
 now it has fallen into discredit.' For the 
 doctrine that our soul is a harmony has always 
 taken a wonderful hold of me, and your mention- 
 ing it reminded me that I myself had held it. 
 And now I must begin again and find some 
 other reasoning which shall convince me that 
 M
 
 162 PffsEDO. 
 
 a man's soul does not die with him at his death. 
 So tell me, I pray you, how did Socrates pursue 
 the argument ? Did he show any signs of 
 uneasiness, as you say that you did, or did he 
 come to the defence of his argument calmly ? 
 And did he defend it satisfactorily or no ? Tell 
 me the whole story as exactly as you can. 
 89. Phtzdo. I have often, Echecrates, wondered at 
 Socrates ; but I never admired him more than 
 I admired him then. There was nothing very 
 strange in his having an answer : what I chiefly 
 wondered at was, first, the kindness and good- 
 nature and respect with which he listened to 
 the young men's objections ; and, secondly, the 
 quickness with which he perceived their effect 
 upon us ; and, lastly, how well he healed our 
 wounds, and rallied us as if we were beaten and 
 flying troops, and encouraged us to follow him, 
 and to examine the reasoning with him. 
 
 Ech. How? 
 
 Phcedo. I will tell you. I was sitting by the 
 bed on a stool at his right hand, and his seat 
 was a good deal higher than mine. He stroked 
 my head and gathered up the hair on my neck 
 in his hand you know he used often to play 
 with my hair and said, To-morrow, Phaedo, 
 I daresay you will cut off these beautiful locks. 
 
 I suppose so, Socrates, I replied. 
 
 You will not, if you take my advice. 
 
 Why not ? I asked. 
 
 You and I will cut off our hair to-day, he 
 said, if our argument be dead indeed, and we 
 cannot bring it to life again. And I, if I were
 
 PH^DO. 163 
 
 you, and the argument were to escape me, 
 would swear an oath, as the Argives did, not 
 to wear my hair long again, until I "had renewed 
 the fight and conquered the argument of Simmias 
 and Cebes. 
 
 But Heracles himself, they say, is not a 
 match for two, I replied. 
 
 Then summon me to aid you, as your lolaus, 
 while there is still light. 
 
 Then I summon you, not as Heracles 
 summoned lolaus, but as lolaus might summon 
 Heracles. 
 
 It will be the same, he replied. But first let XXXIX. 
 us take care not to make a mistake. 
 
 What mistake ? I asked. 
 
 The mistake of becoming misologists, or 
 haters of reasoning, as men become misan- 
 thropists, he replied : for to hate reasoning is 
 the greatest evil that can happen to us. Miso- 
 logy and misanthropy both come from similar 
 causes. The latter arises out of the implicit 
 and irrational confidence which is placed in 
 a man, who is believed by his friend to be 
 thoroughly true and sincere and trustworthy, 
 and who is soon afterwards discovered to be a 
 bad man and untrustworthy. This happens 
 again and again ; and when a man has had 
 this experience many times, particularly at 
 the hands of those whom he has believed to 
 be his nearest and dearest friends, and he has 
 quarrelled with many of them, he ends by hating 
 all men, and thinking that there is no good at 
 all in any one. Have you not seen this happen?
 
 164 PHJZDO. 
 
 Yes, certainly, said I. 
 
 Is it not discreditable ? he said. Is it not 
 clear that sach a man tries to deal with men 
 without understanding human nature ? Had 
 he understood it he would have known that, 
 9O. in fact, good men and bad men are very few 
 indeed, and that the majority of men are 
 neither one nor the other. 
 
 What do you mean ? I asked. 
 
 Just what is true of extremely large and 
 extremely small things, he replied. What is 
 rarer than to find a man, or a dog, or anything 
 else which is either extremely large or ex- 
 tremely small ? Or again, what is rarer than 
 to find a man who is extremely swift or slow, 
 or extremely base or honourable, or extremely 
 black or white ? Have you not noticed that in 
 all these cases the extremes are rare and few, 
 and that the average specimens are abundant 
 and many ? 
 
 Yes, certainly, I replied. 
 
 And in the same way, if there were a com- 
 petition in wickedness, he said, don't you think 
 that the leading sinners would be found to be 
 very few ? 
 
 That is likely enough, said I. 
 
 Yes, it is, he replied. But this is not the 
 point in which arguments are like men : it was 
 you who led me on to discuss this point. The 
 analogy is this. When a man believes some 
 reasoning to be true, though he does not under- 
 stand the art of reasoning, and then soon after- 
 wards, rightly or wrongly, comes to think that
 
 Pff^DO. 165 
 
 it is false, and this happens to him time after 
 time, he ends by disbelieving in reasoning alto- 
 gether. You know that persons who spend 
 their time in disputation, come at last to think 
 themselves the wisest of men, and to imagine 
 that they alone have discovered that there is 
 no soundness or certainty anywhere, either in 
 reasoning or in things ; and that all existence 
 is in a state of perpetual flux, like the currents 
 of the Euripus, and never remains still for a 
 moment. 
 
 Yes, I replied, that is certainly true. 
 
 And, Phasdo, he said, if there be a system of 
 reasoning which is true, and certain, and which 
 our minds can grasp, it would be very lament- 
 able that a man, who has met with some of 
 these arguments which at one time seem true 
 and at another false, should at last, in the bitter- 
 ness of his heart gladly put all the blame on 
 the reasoning, instead of on himself and his own 
 unskilfulness, and spend the rest of his life in 
 hating and reviling reasoning, and lose the 
 truth and knowledge of reality. 
 
 Indeed, I replied, that would be very lament- 
 able. 
 
 First then, he said, let us be careful not to XL. 
 admit into our souls the notion that all reason- 
 ing is very likely unsound : let us rather think 
 that we ourselves are not yet sound. And we 
 must strive earnestly like men to become sound, 
 you, my friends, for the sake of all your future 
 life ; and I, because of my death. For I am 91. 
 afraid that at present I can hardly look at
 
 166 PHsEDO, 
 
 death like a philosopher ; I am in a conten- 
 tious mood, like the uneducated persons who 
 never give a thought to the truth of the 
 question about which they are disputing, but 
 are only anxious to persuade their audience that 
 they themselves are right. And I think that 
 to-day I shall differ from them only in one 
 thing. I shall not be anxious to persuade my 
 audience that I am right, except by the way ; 
 but I shall be very anxious indeed to persuade 
 myself. For see, my dear friend, how selfish 
 my reasoning is. If what I say is true, it is 
 well to believe it. But if there is nothing after 
 death, at any rate I shall pain my friends less 
 by my lamentations in the interval before I die. 
 And this ignorance will not last for ever that 
 would have been an evil it will soon come to 
 an end. So prepared, Simmias and Cebes, he 
 said, I come to the argument. And you, if 
 you take my advice, will think not of Socrates, 
 but of the truth ; and you will agree with me, 
 if you think that what I say is true : otherwise 
 you will oppose me with every argument that 
 you have : and be careful that, in my anxiety to 
 convince you, I do not deceive both you and 
 myself, and go away, leaving my sting behind 
 me, like a bee. 
 
 XLI. Now let us proceed, he said. And first, if 
 you find I have forgotten your arguments, 
 repeat them. Simmias, I think, has fears and 
 misgivings that the soul, being of the nature of 
 a harmony, may perish before the body, though 
 she is more divine and nobler than the body.
 
 PH&DO. 167 
 
 Cebes, if I am not mistaken, conceded that the 
 soul is more enduring than the body ; but he 
 said that no one could tell whether the soul, 
 after wearing out many bodies many times, did 
 not herself perish on leaving her last body, and 
 whether death be not precisely this, the destruc- ' 
 tion of the soul ; for the destruction of the 
 body is unceasing. Is there anything else, 
 Simmias and Cebes, which we have to 
 examine ? 
 
 They both agreed that these were the ques- 
 tions. 
 
 Do you reject all our previous conclusions, 
 he asked, or only some of them ? 
 
 Only some of them, they replied. 
 
 Well, said he, what do you say of our doctrine 
 that knowledge is recollection, and that therefore 
 our souls must necessarily have existed some- 
 where else, before they were imprisoned in our 
 bodies ? 92. 
 
 I, replied Cebes, was convinced by it at the 
 time in a wonderful way : and now there is no 
 doctrine to which I adhere more firmly. 
 
 And I am of that mind too, said Simmias ; 
 and I shall be very much surprised if I ever 
 change it. 
 
 But, my Theban friend, you will have to 
 change it, said Socrates, if this opinion of 
 yours, that a harmony is a composite thing, and 
 that the soul is a harmony composed of the ele- 
 ments of the body at the right tension, is to stand. 
 You will hardly allow yourself to assert that the 
 harmony was in existence before the things from
 
 1 68 PH^DO. 
 
 which it was to be composed ? Will you do 
 that ? 
 
 Certainly not, Socrates. 
 
 But you see that that is what your assertion 
 comes to when you say that the soul existed 
 before she came into the form and body of man, 
 and yet that she is composed of elements which 
 did not yet exist ? Your harmony is not like 
 what you compare it to : the lyre and the strings 
 and the sounds, as yet untuned, come into exist- 
 ence first : and the harmony is composed last 
 of all, and perishes first. How will this belief 
 of yours accord with the other ? 
 
 It will not, replied Simmias. 
 
 And yet, said he, an argument about harmony 
 is hardly the place for a discord. 
 
 No, indeed, said Simmias. 
 
 Well, there is a discord in your argument, 
 he said. You must choose which doctrine you 
 will retain, that knowledge is recollection, or 
 that the soul is a harmony. 
 
 The former, Socrates, certainly, he replied. 
 The latter has never been demonstrated to me ; 
 it rests only on probable and plausible grounds, 
 which make it a popular opinion. I know that 
 doctrines which ground their proofs on prob- 
 abilities are impostors, and that they are very 
 apt to mislead, both in geometry and everything 
 else, if one is not on one's guard against them. 
 But the doctrine about recollection and know- 
 ledge rests upon a foundation which claims 
 belief. We agreed that the soul exists before 
 she ever enters the body, as surely as the
 
 PH&DO. 169 
 
 essence itself which has the name of real being, 
 exists. 1 And I am persuaded that I believe in 
 this essence rightly and on sufficient evidence. 
 It follows therefore, I suppose, that I cannot 
 allow myself or any one else to say that the 
 soul is a harmony. 
 
 And, consider the question in another way, XLII. 
 Simmias, said Socrates. Do you think that a 93. 
 harmony or any other composition can exist in 
 a state other than the state of the elements of 
 which it is composed ? 
 
 Certainly not. 
 
 Nor, I suppose, can it do or suffer anything 
 beyond what they do and suffer ? 
 
 He assented. 
 
 A harmony therefore cannot lead the ele- 
 ments of which it is composed ; it must follow 
 them ? 
 
 He agreed. 
 
 And much less can it be moved, or make a 
 sound, or do anything else, in opposition to its 
 parts. 
 
 Much less, indeed, he replied. 
 
 Well ; is not every harmony by nature a 
 harmony according as it is adjusted ? 
 
 I don't understand you, he replied. 
 
 If it is tuned more, and to a greater extent, 
 he said, supposing that to be possible, will it 
 not be more a harmony, and to a greater extent, 
 while if it is tuned less, and to a smaller extent, 
 will it not be less a harmony, and to a smaller 
 extent ? 
 
 1 Reading ai/rrj for avrijt (Schanz).
 
 1 70 PH&DO. 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 Well, is this true of the soul ? Can one soul 
 be more a soul, and to a greater extent, or less 
 a soul, and to a smaller extent, than another, 
 even in the smallest degree ? 
 
 Certainly not, he replied. 
 
 Well then, he replied, please tell me this ; is 
 not one soul said to have intelligence and virtue 
 and to be good, while another is said to have 
 folly and vice and to be bad ? And is it not 
 true ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 What then will those, who assert that the soul 
 is a harmony, say that the virtue and the vice 
 which are in our souls are ? Another harmony 
 and another discord ? Will they say that the 
 good soul is in tune, and that, herself a harmony, 
 she has within herself another harmony, and 
 that the bad soul is out of tune herself, and has 
 no other harmony within her ? 
 
 I, said Simmias, cannot tell. But it is clear 
 that they would have to say something of the 
 kind. 
 
 But it has been conceded, he said, that one 
 soul is never more or less a soul than another. 
 In other words, we have agreed that one har- 
 mony is never more, or to a greater extent, or 
 less, or to a smaller extent a harmony than 
 another. Is it not so ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 And the harmony which is neither more nor 
 less a harmony, is not more or less tuned. Is 
 that so ?
 
 PHJEDO, 171 
 
 Yes. 
 
 And has that which is neither more nor less 
 tuned, a greater, or a less, or an equal share of 
 harmony ? 
 
 An equal share. 
 
 Then, since one soul is never more nor less 
 a soul than another, it has not been more or less 
 tuned either ? 
 
 True. 
 
 Therefore it can have no greater share of 
 harmony or of discord ? 
 
 Certainly not. 
 
 And, therefore, can one soul contain more 
 vice or virtue than another, if vice be discord, 
 and virtue harmony ? 
 
 By no means. 
 
 Or rather, Simmias, to speak quite accurately, 94. 
 I suppose that there will be no vice in any soul, 
 if the soul is a harmony. I take it, there can 
 never be any discord in a harmony, which is a 
 perfect harmony. 
 
 Certainly not. 
 
 Neither can a soul, if it be a perfect soul, 
 have any vice in it ? 
 
 No ; that follows necessarily from what has 
 been said. 
 
 Then the result of this reasoning is that all 
 the souls of all living creatures will be equally 
 good, if the nature of all souls is to be equally 
 souls. 
 
 Yes, I think so, Socrates, he said. 
 
 And do you think that this is true, he asked, 
 and that this would have been the fate of our
 
 172 PffsEDO. 
 
 argument, if the hypothesis that the soul is a 
 harmony had been correct ? 
 
 No, certainly not, he replied. 
 
 XLIII. Well, said he, of all the parts of a man, should 
 you not say that it was the soul, and particularly 
 the wise soul, which rules ? 
 
 I should. 
 
 Does she yield to the passions of the body, 
 or does she oppose them ? I mean this. . When 
 the body is hot and thirsty, does not the soul 
 drag it away and prevent it from drinking, and 
 when it is hungry does she not prevent it from 
 eating ? And do we not see her opposing the 
 passions of the body in a thousand other ways ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 But we have also agreed that, if she is a 
 harmony, she can never give a sound contrary 
 to the tensions, and relaxations, and vibrations, 
 and other changes of the elements of which she 
 is composed ; that she must follow them, and 
 can never lead them ? 
 
 Yes, he replied, we certainly have. 
 
 Well, now do we not find the soul acting in 
 just the opposite way, and leading all the 
 elements of which she is said to consist, and 
 opposing them in almost everything all through 
 life ; and lording it over them in every way, 
 and chastising them, sometimes severely, and 
 with a painful discipline, such as gymnastic and 
 medicine, and sometimes lightly ; sometimes 
 threatening and sometimes admonishing the 
 desires and passions and fears, as though she 
 were speaking to something other than herself,
 
 PH&DO. 173 
 
 as Homer makes Odysseus do in the Odyssey, 
 where he says that 
 
 " He smote upon his breast, and chid his heart : 
 ' Endure, my heart, e'en worse hast thou endured.'" 1 
 
 Do you think that when Homer wrote that, he 
 supposed the soul to be a harmony, and capable 
 of being led by the passions of the body, and 
 not of a nature to lead them, and be their lord, 
 being herself far too divine a thing to be like a 
 harmony ? 
 
 Certainly, Socrates, I think not. 
 
 Then, my excellent friend, it is quite wrong 
 to say that the soul is a harmony. For then, 
 you see, we should not be in agreement either 
 with the divine poet Homer, or with ourselves. 95. 
 
 That is true, he replied. 
 
 Very good, said Socrates ; I think that we XLIV. 
 have contrived to appease our Theban Har- 
 monia with tolerable success. But how about 
 Cadmus, Cebes ? he said. How shall we 
 appease him, and with what reasoning ? 
 
 I daresay that you will find out how to do 
 it, said Cebes. At all events you have argued 
 that the soul is not a harmony in a way which 
 surprised me very much. When Simmias 
 was stating his objection, I wondered how any 
 one could possibly dispose of his argument : 
 and so I was very much surprised to see it fall 
 before the very first onset of yours. I should 
 not wonder if the same fate awaited the argu- 
 ment of Cadmus. 
 
 1 Horn. Od., xx. 17.
 
 174 PHSEDO. 
 
 My good friend, said Socrates, do not be 
 over confident, or some evil eye will overturn 
 the argument that is to come. However, that 
 we will leave to God ; let us, like Homer's 
 heroes, ' advancing boldly,' see if there is any- 
 thing in what you say. The sum of what you 
 seek is this. You require me to prove to you 
 that the soul is indestructible and immortal ; 
 for if it be not so, you think that the confidence 
 of a philosopher, who is confident in death, and 
 who believes that when he is dead he will fare 
 infinitely better in the other world than if he 
 had lived a different sort of life in this world, 
 is a foolish and idle confidence. You say 
 that to show that the soul is strong and 
 godlike, and that she existed before we were 
 born men, is not enough ; for that does not 
 necessarily prove her immortality, but only 
 that she lasts a long time, and has existed 
 an enormous while, and has known and done 
 many things in a previous state. Yet she 
 is not any the more immortal for that : her 
 very entrance into man's body was, like a disease, 
 the beginning of her destruction. And, you 
 say, she passes this life in misery, and at last 
 perishes in what we call death. You think that 
 it makes no difference at all to the fears of each 
 one of us, whether she enters the body once or 
 many times : for every one but a fool must fear 
 death, if he does not know and cannot prove 
 that she is immortal. That, I think, Cebes, is 
 the substance of your objection. I state it 
 again and again on purpose, that nothing may
 
 175 
 
 escape us, and that you may add to it or take 
 away from it anything that you wish. 
 
 Cebes replied : No, that is my meaning. I 
 don't want to add or to take away anything at 
 present. 
 
 Socrates paused for some time and thought. XLV. 
 Then he said, It is not an easy question that 
 you are raising, Cebes. We must examine 
 fully the whole subject of the causes of genera- 
 tion and decay. If you like, I will give you QQ. 
 my own experiences, and if you think that you 
 can make use of anything that I say, you may 
 employ it to satisfy your misgivings. 
 
 Indeed, said Cebes, I should like to hear 
 your experiences. 
 
 Listen, then, and I will tell you, Cebes, he 
 replied. When I was a young man, I had a 
 passionate desire for the wisdom which is called 
 Physical Science. I thought it a splendid thing 
 to know the causes of everything ; why a thing 
 comes into being, and why it perishes, and why 
 it exists. I was always worrying myself with 
 such questions as, Do living creatures take a 
 definite form, as some persons say, from the 
 fermentation of heat and cold ? Is it the 
 blood, or the air, or fire by which we think ? 
 Or is it none of these, but the brain which gives 
 the senses of hearing and sight and smell, and 
 do memory and opinion come from these, and 
 knowledge from memory and opinion when in 
 a state of quiescence ? Again, I used to examine 
 the destruction of these things, and the changes 
 of the heaven and the earth, until at last I con-
 
 176 Pff^EDO. 
 
 eluded that I was wholly and absolutely unfitted 
 for these studies. I will prove that to you 
 conclusively. I was so completely blinded by 
 these studies, that I forgot what I had formerly 
 seemed to myself and to others to know quite 
 well : I unlearnt all that I had been used to 
 think that I understood ; even the cause of 
 man's growth. Formerly I had thought it 
 evident on the face of it that the cause of 
 growth was eating and drinking ; and that, 
 when from food flesh is added to flesh, and 
 bone to bone, and in the same way to the 
 other parts of the body their proper elements, 
 then by degrees the small bulk grows to be 
 large, and so the boy becomes a man. Don't 
 you think that my belief was reasonable ? 
 
 I do, said Cebes. 
 
 Then here is another experience for you. 
 I used to feel no doubt, when I saw a tall man 
 standing by a short one, that the tall man was, 
 it might be, a head the taller, or, in the same 
 way, that one horse was bigger than another. 
 I was even clearer that ten was more than 
 eight by the addition of two, and that a thing 
 two cubits long was longer by half its length 
 than a thing one cubit long. 
 
 And what do you think now ? asked Cebes. 
 
 I think that I am very far from believing 
 that I know the cause of any of these things. 
 Why, when you add one to one, I am not sure 
 either that the one to which one is added has 
 become two, or that the one added and the one 
 97. to which it is added become, by the addition,
 
 PHALDO. 177 
 
 two. I cannot understand how, when they are 
 brought together, this union, or placing of one 
 by the other, should be the cause of their 
 becoming two, whereas, when they were 
 separated, each of them was one, and they were 
 not two. Nor, again, if you divide one into 
 two, can I convince myself that this division is 
 the cause of one becoming two : for then a thing 
 becomes two from exactly the opposite cause. 
 In the former case it was because two units 
 were brought together, and the one was added 
 to the other ; while now it is because they are 
 separated, and the one divided from the other. 
 Nor, again, can I persuade myself that I know 
 how one is generated ; in short, this method 
 does not show me the cause of the generation or 
 destruction or existence of anything : I have in 
 my own mind a confused idea of another method, 
 but I cannot admit this one for a moment. 
 
 But one day I listened to a man who said XLVI. 
 that he was reading from a book of Anaxagoras, 
 which affirmed that it is Mind which orders 
 and is the cause of all things. I was delighted 
 with this theory; it seemed to me to be right 
 that Mind should be the cause of all things, 
 and I thought to myself, If this is so, then 
 Mind will order and arrange each thing in the 
 best possible way. So if we wish to discover 
 the cause of the generation or destruction or 
 existence of a thing, we must discover how it 
 is best for that thing to exist, or to act, or to 
 be acted on. Man therefore has only to con- 
 sider what is best and fittest for himself, or for 
 N
 
 178 PH&DO. 
 
 other things, and then it follows necessarily 
 that he will know what is bad ; for both are 
 included in the same science. These reflec- 
 tions made me very happy : I thought that I 
 had found in Anaxagoras a teacher of the 
 cause of existence after my own heart, and I 
 expected that he would tell me first whether 
 the earth is flat or round, and that he would 
 then go on to explain to me the cause and the 
 necessity, and tell me what is best, and that 
 it is best for the earth to be of that shape. If 
 he said that the earth was in the centre of the 
 universe, I thought that he would explain that 
 it was best for it to be there ; and I was pre- 
 98, pared not to require any other kind of cause, 
 if he made this clear to me. In the same way 
 I was prepared to ask questions about the sun, 
 and the moon, and the stars, about their 
 relative speeds, and revolutions, and changes ; 
 and to hear why it is best for each of them to 
 act and be acted on as they are acted on. I 
 never thought that, when he said that things 
 are ordered by Mind, he would introduce any 
 reason for their being as they are, except that 
 they are best so. I thought that he would 
 assign a cause to each thing, and a cause 
 to the universe, and then would go on to 
 explain to me what was best for each thing, 
 and what was the common good of all. I 
 would not have sold my hopes for a great deal : 
 I seized the books very eagerly, and read them 
 as fast as I could, in order that I might know 
 what is best and what is worse.
 
 PH&DO. 179 
 
 All my splendid hopes were dashed to the XLVII. 
 ground, my friend, for as I went on reading I 
 found that the writer made no use of Mind at 
 all, and that he assigned no causes for the order 
 of things. His causes were air, and ether, and 
 water, and many other strange things. I thought 
 that he was exactly like a man who should 
 begin by saying that Socrates does all that he 
 does by Mind, and who, when he tried to give 
 a reason for each of my actions, should say, 
 first, that I am sitting here now, because my 
 body is composed of bones and muscles, and 
 that the bones are hard and separated by joints, 
 while the muscles can be tightened and loosened, 
 and, together with the flesh, and the skin which 
 holds them together, cover the bones ; and that 
 therefore, when the bones are raised in their 
 sockets, the relaxation and contraction of the 
 muscles makes it possible for me now to bend 
 my limbs, and that that is the cause of my sitting 
 here with my legs bent. And in the same way 
 he would go on to explain why I am talking to 
 you : he would assign voice, and air, and hear- 
 ing, arid a thousand other things as causes ; but 
 he would quite forget to mention the real cause, 
 which is that since the Athenians thought it 
 right to condemn me, I have thought it right 
 and just to sit here and to submit to what- 
 ever sentence they may think fit to impose. 
 For, by the dog of Egypt, I think that these 
 muscles and bones would long ago have been 99. 
 in Megara or Bceotia, prompted by their opinion 
 of what is best, if I had not thought it better
 
 180 PH&DO. 
 
 and more honourable to submit to whatever 
 penalty the state inflicts, rather than escape by 
 flight. But to call these things causes is too 
 absurd ! If it were said that without bones and 
 muscles and the other parts of my body I could 
 not have carried my resolutions into effect, that 
 would be true. But to say that they are the 
 cause of what I do, and that in this way I am 
 acting by Mind, and not from choice of what is 
 best, would be a very loose and careless way of 
 talking. It simply means that a man cannot dis- 
 tinguish the real cause from that without which 
 the cause cannot be the cause, and this it is, I 
 think, which the multitude, groping about in the 
 dark, speak of as the cause, giving it a name 
 which does not belong to it. And so one man 
 surrounds the earth with a vortex, and makes 
 the heavens sustain it. Another represents the 
 earth as a flat kneading-trough, and supports it 
 on a basis of air. But they never think of 
 looking for a power which is involved in these 
 things being disposed as it is best for them 
 to be, nor do they think that such a power 
 has any divine strength: they expect to find 
 an Atlas who is stronger and more immortal 
 and abler to hold the world together, and 
 they never for a moment imagine that it is 
 the binding force of good which really binds 
 and holds things together. I would most 
 gladly learn the nature of that kind of cause 
 from any man ; but I wholly failed either 
 to discover it myself, or to learn it from any 
 one else. However, I had a second string
 
 PffsEDO. 181 
 
 to my bow, and perhaps, Cebes, you would 
 like me to describe to you how I proceeded 
 in my search for the cause. 
 
 I should like to hear very much indeed, he 
 replied. 
 
 When I had given up inquiring into real XLVIII. 
 existence, he proceeded, I thought that I must 
 take care that I did not suffer as people do who 
 look at the sun during an eclipse. For they 
 are apt to lose their eyesight, unless they look 
 at the sun's reflection in water or some such 
 medium. That danger occurred to me. I was 
 afraid that my soul might be completely blinded 
 if I looked at things with my eyes, and tried to 
 grasp them with my senses. So I thought that 
 I must have recourse to conceptions, 1 and 
 examine the truth of existence by means of 
 them. Perhaps my illustration is not quite 
 accurate. I am scarcely prepared to admit that 10O. 
 he who examines existence through concep- 
 tions is dealing with mere reflections, any 
 more than he who examines it as manifested in 
 sensible objects. However I began in this way. 
 I assumed in each case whatever principle I 
 judged to be strongest ; and then I held as true 
 whatever seemed to agree with it, whether 
 in the case of the cause or of anything else, and 
 as untrue, whatever seemed not to agree with 
 it. I should like to explain my meaning more 
 clearly : I don't think you understand me yet. 
 
 1 The conception is the imperfect image in man's 
 mind of the self -existing idea, which Plato speaks of in 
 the next chapter. See ante, 74. A. seq. ; Rep. 507. A. seq.
 
 1 82 PHMDO. 
 
 Indeed I do not very well, said Cebes. 
 XLIX, I mean nothing new, he said ; only what I 
 have repeated over and over again, both in our 
 conversation to-day and at other times. I am 
 going to try to explain to you the kind of cause 
 at which I have worked, and I will go back to 
 what we have so often spoken of, and begin 
 with the assumption that there exists an absolute 
 beauty, and an absolute good, and an absolute 
 greatness, and so on. If you grant me this, 
 and agree that they exist, I hope to be able to 
 show you what my cause is, and to discover 
 that the soul is immortaL 
 
 You may assume that I grant it you, said 
 Cebes ; go on with your proof. 
 
 Then do you agree with me in what follows ? 
 he asked. It appears to me that if anything 
 besides absolute beauty is beautiful, it is so 
 simply because it partakes of absolute beauty, 
 and I say the same of all phenomena. Do you 
 allow that kind of cause ? 
 
 I do, he answered. 
 
 Well then, he said, I no longer recognise, 
 nor can I understand, these other wise causes : 
 if I am told that anything is beautiful because 
 it has a rich colour, or a goodly form, or the 
 like, I pay no attention, for such language only 
 confuses me ; and in a simple and plain, and 
 perhaps a foolish way, I hold to the doctrine 
 that the thing is only made beautiful by the 
 presence or communication, or whatever you 
 please to call it, of absolute beauty I do 
 not wish to insist on the nature of the com-
 
 PHsEDO. 183 
 
 munication, but what I am sure of is, that it 
 is absolute beauty which makes all beautiful 
 things beautiful. This seems to me to be 
 the safest answer that I can give myself or 
 others ; I believe that I shall never fall if I 
 hold to this ; it is a safe answer to make to 
 myself or any one else, that it is absolute 
 beauty which makes beautiful things beautiful. 
 Don't you think so ? 
 
 I do. 
 
 And it is size that makes large things large, 
 and larger things larger, and smallness that 
 makes smaller things smaller ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 And if you were told that one man was taller 
 than another by a head, and that the shorter 
 man was shorter by a head, you would not 
 accept the statement. You would protest that 101. 
 you say only that the greater is greater by size, 
 and that size is the cause of its being greater ; 
 and that the less is only less by smallness, and 
 that smallness is the cause of its being less. 
 You would be afraid to assert that a man is 
 greater or smaller by a head, lest you should 
 be met by the retort, first, that the greater is 
 greater, and the smaller smaller, by the same 
 thing, and secondly, that the greater is greater 
 by a head, which is a small thing, and that it is 
 truly marvellous that a small thing should make 
 a man great. Should you not be afraid of that ? 
 
 Yes, indeed, said Cebes, laughing. 
 
 And you would be afraid to say that ten is 
 more than eight by two, and that two is the
 
 184 PHsEDO. 
 
 cause of the excess ; you would say that ten 
 was more than eight by number, and that 
 number is the cause of the excess ? And in 
 just the same way you would be afraid to say 
 that a thing two cubits long was longer than 
 a thing one cubit long by half its length, instead 
 of by size, would you not ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 Again, you would be careful not to affirm 
 that, if one is added to one, the addition is the 
 cause of two, or, if one is divided, that the 
 division is the cause of two ? You would pro- 
 test loudly that you know of no way in which a 
 thing can be generated, except by participation 
 in its own proper essence ; and that you can 
 give no cause for the generation of two except 
 participation in duality ; and that all things 
 which are to be two must participate in duality, 
 while whatever is to be one must participate in 
 unity. You would leave the explanation of these 
 divisions and additions and all such subtleties 
 to wiser men than yourself. You would be 
 frightened, as the saying is, at your own shadow 
 and ignorance, and would hold fast to the safety 
 of our principle, and so give your answer. But 
 if any one should attack the principle itself, you 
 would not mind him or answer him until you 
 had considered whether the consequences of it 
 are consistent or inconsistent, and when you 
 had to give an account of the principle itself, 
 you would give it in the same way, by assum- 
 ing some other principle which you think the 
 strongest of the higher ones, and so go on until
 
 PH&DO. 185 
 
 you had reached a satisfactory resting-place. 
 You would not mix up the first principle and its 
 consequences in your argument, as mere dis- 
 putants do, if you really wish to discover any- 
 thing of existence. Such persons will very 
 likely not spend a single word or thought upon 
 that : for they are clever enough to be able to 
 please themselves entirely, though their argu- 
 ment is a chaos. But you, I think, if you are 
 a philosopher, will do as I say. 1O2. 
 
 Very true, said Simmias and Cebes together. 
 
 Ech. And they were right, Phaedo. I think 
 the clearness of his reasoning, even to the 
 dullest, is quite wonderful. 
 
 Phcedo. Indeed, Echecrates, all who were 
 there thought so too. 
 
 Ech. So do we who were not there, but who 
 are listening to your story. But how did the 
 argument proceed after that ? 
 
 Phcedo. They had admitted that each of the L. 
 Ideas exists, and that Phenomena take the 
 names of the Ideas as they participate in them. 
 Socrates, I think, then went on to ask, 
 
 If you say this, do you not, in saying that 
 Simmias is taller than Socrates and shorter 
 than Phaedo, say that Simmias possesses both 
 the attribute of tallness and the attribute of 
 shortness ? 
 
 I do. 
 
 But you admit, he said, that the proposition 
 that Simmias is taller than Socrates is not 
 exactly true, as it is stated : Simmias is not 
 really taller because he is Simmias, but because
 
 186 PHsEDO. 
 
 of his height. Nor again is he taller than 
 Socrates because Socrates is Socrates, but 
 because of Socrates' shortness compared with 
 Simmias' tallness. 
 
 True. 
 
 Nor is Simmias shorter than Phasdo because 
 Phaedo is Phaedo, but because of Phasdo's tall- 
 ness compared with Simmias' shortness. 
 
 That is so. 
 
 Then in this way Simmias is called both 
 short and tall, when he is between the two : he 
 exceeds the shortness of one by the excess of 
 his height, and gives the other a tallness exceed- 
 ing his own shortness. I daresay you think, 
 he said, smiling, that my language is like a 
 legal document for precision and formality. 
 But I think that it is as I say. 
 
 He agreed. 
 
 I say it because I want you to think as I do. 
 It seems to me not only that absolute greatness 
 will never be great and small at once, but also 
 that greatness in us never admits smallness, 
 and will not be exceeded. One of two things 
 must happen : either the greater will give way 
 and fly at the approach of its opposite, the less, 
 or it will perish. It will not stand its ground, 
 and receive smallness, and be other than it was, 
 just as I stand my ground, and receive smallness 
 and remain the very same small man that I was. 
 But greatness cannot endure to be small, being 
 great. Just in the same way again smallness 
 in us will never become nor be great : nor will 
 any opposite, while it remains what it was,
 
 PH&DO. 187 
 
 become or be at the same time the opposite of 
 what it was. Either it goes away, or it perishes 1O3. 
 in the change. 
 
 That is exactly what I think, said Cebes. LI. 
 
 Thereupon some one I am not sure who 
 said, 
 
 But surely is not this Just the reverse of 
 what we agreed to be true earlier in the argu- 
 ment, that the greater is generated from the 
 less, and the less from the greater, and, in short, 
 that opposites are generated from opposites ? l 
 But now it seems to be denied that this can 
 ever happen. 
 
 Socrates inclined his head to the speaker 
 and listened. Well and bravely remarked, he 
 said : but you have not noticed the difference 
 between the two propositions. What we said 
 then was that a concrete thing is generated 
 from its opposite : what we say now is that the 
 absolute opposite can never become opposite to 
 itself, either when it is in us, or when it is in 
 nature. We were speaking then of things in 
 which the opposites are, and we named them 
 after those opposites : but now we are speaking 
 of the opposites themselves, whose inherence 
 gives the things their names ; and they, we say, 
 will never be generated from each other. At 
 the same time he turned to Cebes and asked, 
 Did his objection trouble you at all, Cebes ? 
 
 No, replied Cebes ; 1 don't feel that difficulty. 
 But I will not deny that many other things 
 trouble me. 
 
 1 70 E. seq.
 
 i88 PHMDO. 
 
 Then we are quite agreed on this point, he 
 said. An opposite will never be opposite to 
 itself. 
 
 No, never, he replied. 
 
 LII. Now tell me again, he said ; do you agree 
 with me in this ? Are there not things which 
 you call heat and cold ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Are they the same as snow and fire ? 
 
 No, certainly not. 
 
 Heat is different from fire, and cold from 
 snow ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 But I suppose, as we have said, that you do 
 not think that snow can ever receive heat, and 
 yet remain what it was, snow and hot : it will 
 either retire or perish at the approach of heat. 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 And fire, again, will either retire or perish 
 at the approach of cold. It will never endure 
 to receive the cold and still remain what it was, 
 fire and cold. 
 
 True, he said. 
 
 Then, it is true of some of these things, that 
 not only the idea itself has a right to its name 
 for all time, but that something else too, which 
 is not the idea, but which has the form of 
 the idea wherever it exists, shares the name. 
 Perhaps my meaning will be clearer by an 
 example. The odd ought always to have the 
 name of odd, ought it not ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 Well, my question is this. Is the odd the only
 
 PH&DO. 189 
 
 thing with this name, or is there something else, 
 which is not the same as the odd, but which 104. 
 must always have this name, together with its 
 own, because its nature is such that it is never 
 separated from the odd ? There are many 
 examples of what I mean : let us take one of 
 them, the number three, and consider it. Do 
 you not think that we must always call it by 
 the name of odd, as well as by its own name, 
 although the odd is not the same as the number 
 three ? Yet the nature of the number three, 
 and of the number five, and of half the whole 
 series of numbers, is such that each of them is 
 odd, though none of them is the same as the 
 odd. In the same way the number two, and 
 the number four, and the whole of the other 
 series of numbers, are each of them always even, 
 though they are not the same as the even. Do 
 you agree or not ? 
 
 Yes, of course, he replied. 
 
 Then see what I want to show you. It is 
 not only opposite ideas which appear not to 
 admit their opposites ; things also which are not 
 opposites, but which always contain opposites, 
 seem as if they would not admit the idea which 
 is opposite to the idea that they contain : they 
 either perish, or retire at its approach. Shall 
 we not say that the number three would perish 
 or endure anything sooner than become even 
 while it remains three ? 
 
 Yes, indeed, said Cebes. 
 
 And yet, said he, the number two is not the 
 opposite of the number three.
 
 190 
 
 No, certainly not. 
 
 Then it is not only the ideas which will not 
 endure the approach of their opposites ; there 
 are some other things besides which will not 
 endure such an approach. 
 LIII. That is quite true, he said. 
 
 Shall we determine, if we can, what is their 
 nature ? he asked. 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 Will they not be those things, Cebes, which 
 force whatever they are in to have always not 
 its own idea only, but the idea of some opposite 
 as well ? 
 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 Only what we were saying just now. You 
 know, I think, that whatever the idea of three is 
 in, is bound to be not three only, but odd as well. 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 Well, we say that the opposite idea to the 
 form which produces this result will never come 
 to that thing. 
 
 Indeed, no. 
 
 But the idea of the odd produces it ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 And the idea of the even is the opposite of 
 the idea of the odd ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Then the idea of the even will never come 
 to three ? 
 
 Certainly not. 
 
 So three has no part in the even ? 
 
 None. 
 
 Then the number three is uneven ?
 
 PHJEDO. 191 
 
 Yes. 
 
 So much for the definition which I under- 
 took to give of things which are not opposites, 
 and yet do not admit opposites ; thus we have 
 seen that the number three does not admit the 
 even, though it is not the opposite of the even, 
 for it always brings with it the opposite of the 
 even ; and the number two does not admit the 
 odd, nor fire cold, and so on. Do you agree 1O5. 
 with me in saying that not only does the 
 opposite not admit the opposite, but also that 
 whatever brings with it an opposite of anything 
 to which it goes, never admits the opposite of 
 that which it brings ? Let me recall this to 
 you again ; there is no harm in repetition. 
 Five will not admit the idea of the even, nor 
 will the double of five ten admit the idea of 
 the odd. It is not itself an opposite, 1 yet 
 it will not admit the idea of the odd. Again, 
 one and a half, a half, and the other num- 
 bers of that Jcind will not admit the idea of 
 the whole, nor again will such numbers as a 
 third. Do you follow and agree ? 
 
 I follow you and entirely agree with you, he 
 said. 
 
 Now begin again, and answer me, he said. LIV. 
 And imitate me ; do not answer me in the terms 
 of my question : I mean, do not give the old 
 safe answer which I have already spoken of, for 
 I see another way of safety, which is the result 
 of what we have been saying. If you ask me, 
 what is that which must be in the body to make 
 1 Reading owe tvavriov (Schanz).
 
 192 PHJE.DO. 
 
 it hot, I shall not give our old safe and stupid 
 answer, and say that it is heat ; I shall make a 
 more refined answer, drawn from what we have 
 been saying, and reply, fire. If you ask me, what 
 is that which must be in the body to make it sick, 
 I shall not say sickness, but fever : and again 
 to the question what is that which must be 
 in number to make it odd, I shall not reply 
 oddness, but unity, and so on. Do you under- 
 stand my meaning clearly yet ? 
 
 Yes, quite, he said. 
 
 Then, he went on, tell me, what is that which 
 must be in a body to make it alive ? 
 
 A soul, he replied. 
 
 And is this always so ? 
 
 Of course, he said. 
 
 Then the soul always brings life to whatever 
 contains her? 
 
 No doubt, he answered. 
 
 And is there an opposite to life, or not ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 What is it ? 
 
 Death. 
 
 And we have already agreed that the soul 
 cannot ever receive the opposite of what she 
 brings ? 
 LV. Yes, certainly we have, said Cebes. 
 
 Well ; what name did we give to that which 
 does not admit the idea of the even ? 
 
 The uneven, he replied. 
 
 And what do we call that which does not 
 admit justice or music ? 
 
 The unjust, and the unmusical.
 
 Pff^EDO. 193 
 
 Good ; and what do we call that which does 
 not admit death ? 
 
 The immortal, he said. 
 
 And the soul does not admit death ? 
 
 No. 
 
 Then the soul is immortal ? 
 
 It is. 
 
 Good, he said. Shall we say that this is 
 proved ? What do you think ? 
 
 Yes, Socrates, and very sufficiently. 
 
 Well, Cebes, he said, if the odd had been 
 necessarily imperishable, must not three have 1O6. 
 been imperishable ? 
 
 Of course. 
 
 And if cold had been necessarily imperish- 
 able, snow would have retired safe and unmelted, 
 whenever warmth was applied to it. It would 
 not have perished, and it would not have stayed 
 and admitted the heat. 
 
 True, he said. 
 
 In the same way, I suppose, if warmth were 
 imperishable, whenever cold attacked fire, the 
 fire would never have been extinguished or have 
 perished. It would have gone away in safety. 
 
 Necessarily, he replied. 
 
 And must we not say the same of the im- 
 mortal ? he asked. If the immortal is imperish- 
 able, the soul cannot perish when death comes 
 upon her. It follows from what we have said 
 that she will not ever admit death, or be in 
 a state of death, any more than three, or the 
 odd itself, will ever be even, or fire, or the heat 
 itself which is in fire, cold. But, it may be said,
 
 194 PffjEDO. 
 
 Granted that the odd does not become even at 
 the approach of the even ; why, when the odd 
 has perished, may not the even come into its 
 place ? We could not contend in reply that it 
 does not perish, for the uneven is not imperish- 
 able : if we had agreed that the uneven was 
 imperishable, we could have easily contended 
 that the odd and three go 1 away at the approach 
 of the even ; and we could have urged the 
 same contention about fire and heat and the 
 rest, could we not ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 And now, if we are agreed that the immortal 
 is imperishable, then the soul will be not im- 
 mortal only, but also imperishable ; otherwise 
 we shall require another argument. 
 
 Nay, he said, there is no need of that, as far 
 as this point goes ; for if the immortal, which 
 is eternal, will admit of destruction, what will 
 not? 
 
 LVI. And all men would admit, said Socrates, that 
 God, and the essential form of life, and all else 
 that is immortal, never perishes. 
 
 All men, indeed, he said, and, what is more, 
 I think, all gods would admit that. 
 
 Then if the immortal is indestructible, must 
 not the soul, if it be immortal, be imperishable ? 
 
 Certainly, it must. 
 
 Then, it seems, when death attacks a man, 
 his mortal part dies, but his immortal part 
 retreats before death, and goes away safe and 
 indestructible. 
 
 It seems so.
 
 Pff^DO. 195 
 
 Then, Cebes, said he, beyond all question 
 the soul is immortal and imperishable ; and our 1O7. 
 souls will indeed exist in the other world. 
 
 I, Socrates, he replied, have no more objec- 
 tions to urge ; your reasoning has quite satisfied 
 me. If Simmias, or any one else, has anything 
 to say, it would be well for him to say it now : 
 for I know not to what other season he can 
 defer the discussion, if he wants to say or to 
 hear anything touching this matter. 
 
 No, indeed, said Simmias ; neither have I 
 any further ground for doubt after what you 
 have said. Yet I cannot help feeling some 
 doubts still in my mind ; for the subject of our 
 conversation is a vast one, and I distrust the 
 feebleness of man. 
 
 You are right, Simmias, said Socrates, and 
 more than that, you must re-examine our ori- 
 ginal assumptions, however certain they seem 
 to you ; and when you have analysed them 
 sufficiently, you will, I think, follow the argu- 
 ment, as far as man can follow it ; and when 
 that becomes clear to you, you will seek for 
 nothing more. 
 
 That is true he said. 
 
 But then, my friends, said he, we must think LVII. 
 of this. If it be true that the soul is immortal, 
 we have to take care of her, not merely on 
 account of the time which we call life, but also 
 on account of all time. Now we can see how- 
 terrible is the danger of neglect. For if death 
 had been a release from all things, it would 
 have been a godsend to the wicked ; for when
 
 196 PHJEDO. 
 
 they died they would have been released with 
 their souls from the body and from their own 
 wickedness. But now we have found that the 
 soul is immortal ; and so her only refuge and 
 salvation from evil is to become as perfect and 
 wise as possible. For she takes nothing with 
 her to the other world but her education and 
 culture ; and these, it is said, are of the greatest 
 service or of the greatest injury to the dead 
 man, at the very beginning of his journey 
 thither. For it is said that the genius, who 
 has had charge of each man in his life, proceeds 
 to lead him, when he is dead, to a certain place, 
 where the departed have to assemble and receive 
 judgment, and then go to the world below with 
 the guide who is appointed to conduct them 
 thither. And when they have received their 
 deserts there, and remained the appointed time, 
 another guide brings them back again after 
 many long revolutions of ages. So this journey 
 is not as .^Lschylus describes it in the Telephus, 
 1O8. where he says that ' a simple way leads to 
 Hades.' But I think that the way is neither 
 simple nor single ; there would have been no 
 need of guides had it been so ; for no one could 
 miss the way, if there were but one path. But this 
 road must have many branches and many wind- 
 ings, as I judge from the rites of burial on earth. 1 
 The orderly and wise soul follows her leader, 
 and is not ignorant of the things of that world ; 
 but the soul which lusts after the body, flutters 
 
 1 Sacrifices were offered to the gods of the lower 
 world in places where three roads met.
 
 PHsEDO. 197 
 
 about the body and the visible world for a long 
 time, as I have said, and struggles hard and 
 painfully, and at last is forcibly and reluctantly 
 dragged away by her appointed genius. And 
 when she comes to the place where the other . 
 souls are, if she is impure and stained with evil, 
 and has been concerned in foul murders, or if 
 she has committed any other crimes that are 
 akin to these, and the deeds of kindred souls, 
 then every one shuns her and turns aside from 
 meeting her, and will neither be her companion 
 nor her guide, and she wanders about by herself 
 in extreme distress until a certain time is com- 
 pleted, and then she is borne away by force to 
 the habitation which befits her. But the soul 
 that has spent her life in purity and temperance 
 has the gods for her companions and guides, 
 and dwells in the place which befits her. There 
 are many wonderful places in the earth ; and 
 neither its nature nor its size is what those who 
 are wont to describe it imagine, as a friend has 
 convinced me. 
 
 What do you mean, Socrates ? said Simmias. 
 I have heard a great deal about the earth my- LVTII. 
 self, but I have never heard the view of which 
 you are convinced. I should like to hear it 
 very much. 
 
 Well, Simmias, I don't think that it needs 
 the skill of Glaucus to describe it to you, but I 
 think that it is beyond the skill of Glaucus to 
 prove it true : I am sure that I could not do so ; 
 and besides, Simmias, even if I knew how, I 
 think that my life would come to an end before
 
 I 9 8 
 
 the argument was finished. But there is nothing 
 to prevent my describing to you what I believe 
 to be the form of the earth, and its regions. 
 
 Well, said Simmias, that will do. 
 
 In the first place then, said he, I believe 
 that the earth is a spherical body placed in the 
 centre of the heavens, and that therefore it has 
 no need of air or of any other force to support 
 109. it : the equiformity of the heavens in all their 
 parts, and the equipoise of the earth itself, 
 are sufficient to hold it up. A thing in equi- 
 poise placed in the centre of what is equiform 
 cannot incline in any direction, either more or 
 less : it will remain unmoved and in perfect 
 balance. That, said he, is the first "thing that 
 I believe. 
 
 And rightly, said Simmias. 
 
 Also, he proceeded, I think that the earth is 
 of vast extent, and that we who dwell between 
 the Phasis and the pillars of Heracles inhabit 
 only a small portion of it, and dwell round the 
 sea, like ants or frogs round a marsh ; and I 
 believe that many other men dwell elsewhere 
 in similar places. For everywhere on the earth 
 there are many hollows of every kind of shape 
 and size, into which the water and the mist and 
 the air collect ; but the earth itself lies pure in 
 the purity of the heavens, wherein are the stars, 
 and which men who speak of these things 
 commonly call ether. The water and the mist 
 and the air, which collect into the hollows of 
 the earth, are the sediment of it. Now we 
 dwell in these hollows though we think that we
 
 PffsEDO. 199 
 
 are dwelling on the surface of the earth. We 
 are just like a man dwelling in the depths of 
 the ocean, who thought that he was dwelling 
 on its surface, and believed that the sea was 
 the heaven, because he saw the sun and the 
 stars through the water ; but who was too weak 
 and slow ever to have reached the water's sur- 
 face, and to have lifted his head from the sea, 
 and come out from his depths to our world, 
 and seen, or heard from one who had seen, 
 how much purer and fairer our world was than 
 the place wherein he dwelt. We are just in that 
 state ; we dwell in a hollow of the earth, and 
 think that we are dwelling on its surface ; and 
 we call the air heaven, and think it to be the 
 heaven wherein the stars run their courses. But 
 the truth is that we are too weak and slow to 
 pass through to the surface of the air. 1 For if 
 any man could reach the surface, or take wings 
 and fly upward, he would look up and see a 
 world beyond, just as the fishes look forth from 
 the sea, and behold our world. And he would 
 know that that was the real heaven, and the real 
 light, and the real earth, if his nature were able 110. 
 to endure the sight. For this earth, and its 
 stones, and all its regions have been spoilt and 
 corroded, as things in the sea are corroded by 
 the brine : nothing of any worth grows in the 
 sea, nor, in short, is there anything therein 
 without blemish, but, wherever land does exist, 
 there are only caves, and sand, and vast tracts 
 of mud and slime, which are not worthy even 
 1 Omitting elvai ravrbv (Schanz).
 
 200 PH^DO. 
 
 to be compared with the fair things of our 
 world. But you would think that the things of 
 that other world still further surpass the things 
 of our world. I can tell you a tale, Simmias, 
 about what is on the earth that lies beneath 
 the heavens, which is worth your hearing. 
 
 Indeed, Socrates, said Simmias, we should 
 like to hear your tale very much. 
 LIX. Well, my friend, he said, this is my tale. 
 In the first place, the earth itself, if a man 
 could look at it from above, is like one of those 
 balls which are covered with twelve pieces of 
 leather, and is marked with various colours, of 
 which the colours that our painters use here 
 are, as it were, samples. But there the whole 
 earth is covered with them, and with others 
 which are far brighter and purer ones than 
 they. For part of it is purple of marvellous 
 beauty, and part of it is golden, and the white 
 of it is whiter than chalk or snow. It is made 
 up of the other colours in the same way, and 
 also of colours which are more beautiful than 
 any that we have ever seen. The very hollows 
 in it, that are* filled with water and air, have 
 themselves a kind of colour, and glisten amid 
 the diversity of the others, so that its form 
 appears as one unbroken and varied surface. 
 And what grows in this fair earth its trees 
 and flowers and fruit is more beautiful than 
 what grows with us in the same proportion : 
 and so likewise are the hills and the stones 
 in their smoothness and transparency and 
 colour : the pebbles which we prize in this
 
 PH^EDO. 201 
 
 world, our cornelians, and jaspers, and emeralds, 
 and the like, are but fragments of them : but 
 there all the stones are as our precious stones, 
 and even more beautiful still. The reason of 
 this is that they are pure, and not corroded 
 or spoilt, as ours are, with the decay and brine 
 from the sediment that collects in the hollows, 
 and brings to the stones and the earth and 
 all animals and plants deformity and disease. 
 All these things, and with them gold and silver 
 and the like, adorn the real earth : and they 11L 
 are conspicuous from their multitude and size, 
 and the many places where they are found; so 
 that he who could behold it would be a happy 
 man. Many creatures live upon it ; and there 
 are men, some dwelling inland, and others round 
 the air, as we dwell round the sea, and others 
 in islands encircled by the air, which lie near 
 the continent. In a word, they use the air as 
 we use water and the sea, and the ether as we 
 use the air. The temperature of their seasons 
 is such that they are free from disease, and live 
 much longer than we do ; and in sight, and 
 hearing, and smell, and the other senses, they 
 are as much more perfect than we, as air is 
 purer than water, and ether than air. Moreover 
 they have sanctuaries and temples of the gods, 
 in which the gods dwell in very truth ; they 
 hear the voices and oracles of the gods, and 
 see them in visions, and have intercourse with 
 them face to face : and they see the sun and 
 moon and stars as they really are ; and in other 
 matters their happiness is of a piece with this.
 
 202 PH^DO. 
 
 LX. That is the nature of the earth as a whole, 
 and of what is upon it ; and everywhere 
 on its globe there are many regions in 
 the hollows, some of them deeper and more 
 open than that in which we dwell ; and others 
 also deeper, but with narrower mouths ; and 
 others again shallower and broader than ours. 
 All these are connected by many channels 
 beneath the earth, some of them narrow and 
 others wide ; and there are passages, by which 
 much water flows from one of them to another, 
 as into basins, and vast and never-failing rivers 
 of both hot and cold water beneath the earth, 
 and much fire, and great rivers of fire, and 
 many rivers of liquid mud, some clearer and 
 others more turbid, like the rivers of mud 
 which precede the lava stream in Sicily, and 
 the lava stream itself. These fill each hollow 
 in turn, as each stream flows round to it. 
 All of them are moved up and down by a 
 certain oscillation which is in the earth, and 
 which is produced by a natural cause of 
 the following kind. One of the chasms in 
 the earth is larger than all the others, and 
 
 112. pierces right through it, from side to side. 
 Homer describes it in the words 
 
 ' Far away, where is the deepest depth beneath the 
 earth.' 1 
 
 And elsewhere he and many others of the poets 
 have called it Tartarus. All the rivers flow into 
 this chasm, and out of it again ; and each of 
 
 1 //. viii. 14.
 
 PH&DO. 203 
 
 them comes to be like the soil through which it 
 flows. The reason why they all flow into and 
 out of the chasm is that the liquid has no bottom 
 or base to rest on : it oscillates and surges up 
 and down, and the air and wind around it do 
 the same : for they accompany it in its passage 
 to the other side of the earth, and in its return ; 
 and just as in breathing the breath is always in 
 process of being exhaled and inhaled, so there 
 the wind, oscillating with the water, produces 
 terrible and irresistible blasts as it comes in and 
 goes out. When the water retires with a rush 
 to what we call the lower parts of the earth, it 
 flows through to the regions of those streams, 
 and fills them, as if it were pumped into them. 
 And again, when it rushes back hither from 
 those regions, it fills the streams here again, and 
 then they flow through the channels of the earth, 
 and make their way to their several places, and 
 create seas, and lakes, and rivers, and springs. 
 Then they sink once more into the earth, and 
 after making, some a long circuit through many 
 regions, and some a shorter one through fewer, 
 they fall again into Tartarus, some at a point 
 much lower than that at which they rose, and 
 others only a little lower ; but they all flow in 
 below their point of issue. And some of them 
 burst forth again on the side on which they 
 entered ; others again on the opposite side ; 
 and there are some which completely encircle 
 the earth, twining round it, like snakes, once 
 or perhaps oftener, and then fall again into 
 Tartarus, as low down as they can. They can
 
 204 PHMDO. 
 
 descend as far as the centre of the earth from 
 either side but no farther. Beyond that point 
 on either side they would have to flow uphill. 
 LXI. These streams are many, and great, and 
 various ; but among them all are four, of which 
 the greatest and outermost, which flows round 
 the whole of the earth, is called Oceanus. 
 Opposite Oceanus, and flowing in the reverse 
 direction, is Acheron, which runs through 
 113. desert places, and then under the earth until it 
 reaches the Acherusian lake, whither the souls 
 of the dead generally go, and after abiding there 
 the appointed time, which for some is longer, 
 and for others shorter, are sent forth again to 
 be born as animals. The third river rises 
 between these two, and near its source falls 
 into a vast and fiery region, and forms a lake 
 larger than our sea, seething with water and 
 mud. Thence it goes forth turbid and muddy 
 round the earth, and after many windings comes 
 to the end of the Acherusian lake, but it does 
 not mingle with the waters of the lake ; and 
 after many windings more beneath the earth, 
 it falls into the lower part of Tartarus. This 
 is the river that men name Pyriphlegethon ; 
 and portions of it are discharged in the lava 
 streams, wherever they are found on the earth. 
 The fourth river is on the opposite side : it is 
 said to fall first into a terrible and savage 
 region, of which the colour is one dark blue. 
 It is called the Stygian stream, and the lake 
 which its waters create is called Styx. After 
 falling into the lake and receiving strange
 
 Pff^DO. 205 
 
 powers in -its waters, it sinks into the earth, 
 and runs winding about in the opposite direc- 
 tion to Pyriphlegethon, which it meets in the 
 Acherusian lake from the opposite side. Its 
 waters too mingle with no other waters : it 
 flows round in a circle and falls into Tartarus 
 opposite to Pyriphlegethon. Its name, the poets 
 say, is Cocytus. 
 
 Such is the nature of these regions ; and LXII. 
 when the dead come to the place whither each 
 is brought by his genius, sentence is first passed 
 on them according as their lives have been good 
 and holy, or not. Those whose lives seem to 
 have been neither very good nor very bad, go 
 to the river Acheron, and embarking on the 
 vessels which they find there, proceed to the 
 lake. There they dwell, and are punished for 
 the crimes which they have committed, and are 
 purified and absolved ; and for their good deeds 
 they are rewarded, each according to his deserts. 
 But all who appear to be incurable from the 
 enormity of their sins those who have com- 
 mitted many and great sacrileges, and foul and 
 lawless murders, or other crimes like these 
 are hurled down to Tartarus by the fate which 
 is their due, whence they never come forth 
 again. Those who have committed sins which 
 are great, but not too great for atonement, such, 
 for instance, as those who have used violence 
 towards a father or a mother in wrath, and then 
 repented of it for the rest of their lives, or who 
 have committed homicide in some similar way, 114. 
 have also to descend into Tartarus : but then
 
 206 
 
 when they have been there a year, a wave casts 
 them forth, the homicides by Cocytus, and the 
 parricides and matricides by Pyriphlegethon ; 
 and when they have been carried as far as the 
 Acherusian lake they cry out and call on those 
 whom they slew or outraged, and beseech and 
 pray that they may be allowed to come out into 
 the lake, and be received as comrades. And if 
 they prevail, they come out, and their sufferings 
 cease ; but if they do not, they are carried back 
 to Tartarus, and thence into the rivers again, 
 and their punishment does not end until they 
 have prevailed on those whom they wronged : 
 such is the sentence pronounced on them by 
 their judges. But such as have been pre- 
 eminent for holiness in their lives are set free 
 and released from this world, as from a prison : 
 they ascend to their pure habitation, and dwell 
 on the earth's surface. And those of them 
 who have sufficiently purified themselves with 
 philosophy, live thenceforth without bodies, and 
 proceed to dwellings still fairer than these, 
 which are not easily described, and of which I 
 have not time to speak now. 1 But for all these 
 reasons, Simmias, we must leave nothing un- 
 done that we may obtain virtue and wisdom in 
 this life. Noble is the prize, and great the 
 hope. 
 LXIII. A man of sense will not insist that these 
 
 1 The account of the rewards and punishments of the 
 next world given in Rep. x. 614 B. seq. , the story of Er 
 the son of Armenius, is worth comparing with the pre- 
 ceding passage.
 
 PH&DO. 207 
 
 things are exactly as I have described them. 
 But I think that he will believe that something 
 of the kind is true of the soul and her habita- 
 tions, seeing that she is shown to be immortal, 
 and that it is worth his while to stake everything 
 on this belief. The venture is a fair one, and 
 he must charm his doubts with spells like these. 
 That is why I have been prolonging the fable 
 all this time. For these reasons a man should 
 be of good cheer about his soul, if in his life 
 he has renounced the pleasures and adorn- 
 ments of the body, because they were nothing 
 to him, and because he thought that they 
 would do him not good but harm ; and if he 
 has instead earnestly pursued the pleasures 
 of learning, and adorned his soul with the 
 adornment of temperance, and justice, and 
 courage, and freedom, and truth, which be- 115. 
 longs to her, and is her own, and so awaits 
 his journey to the other world, in readiness 
 to set forth whenever fate calls him. You, 
 Simmias and Cebes, and the rest will set forth 
 at some future day, each at his own time. But 
 me now, as a tragic poet would say, fate calls 
 at once ; and it is time for me to betake myself 
 to the bath. I think that I had better bathe 
 before I drink the poison, and not give the 
 women the trouble of washing my dead body. 
 
 When he had finished speaking Crito said, LXIV. 
 Be it so, Socrates. But have you any com- 
 mands for your friends or for me about your 
 children, or about other things ? How shall 
 we serve you best ?
 
 208 PHMDO. 
 
 Simply by doing what I always tell you, Crito. 
 Take care of your own selves, and you will 
 serve me and mine and yourselves in all that 
 you do, even though you make no promises now. 
 But if you are careless of your own selves, and 
 will not follow the path of life which we have 
 pointed out in our discussions both to-day and 
 at other times, all your promises now, however 
 profuse and earnest they are, will be of no 
 avail. 
 
 We will do our best, said Crito. But how 
 shall we bury you ? 
 
 As you please, he answered ; only you must 
 catch me first, and not let me escape you. 
 And then he looked at us with a smile and said, 
 My friends, I cannot convince Crito that I am 
 the Socrates who has been conversing with you, 
 and arranging his arguments in order. He 
 thinks that I am the body which he will pre- 
 sently see a corpse, and he asks how he is to 
 bury me. All the arguments which I have 
 used to prove that I shall not remain with you 
 after I have drunk the poison, but that I shall 
 go away to the happiness of the blessed, with 
 which I tried to comfort you and myself, have 
 been thrown away on him. Do you therefore 
 be my sureties to him, as he was my surety at 
 the trial, but in a different way. He was surety 
 for me then that I would remain ; but you 
 must be my sureties to him that I shall go away 
 when I am dead, and not remain with you : 
 then he will feel my death less ; and when he 
 sees my body being burnt or buried, he will not
 
 PffsEDO. 209 
 
 be grieved because he thinks that I am suffering 
 dreadful things : and at my funeral he will not 
 say that it is Socrates whom he is laying out, 
 or bearing to the grave, or burying. For, dear 
 Crito, he continued, you must know that to use 
 words wrongly is not only a fault in itself; it 
 also creates evil in the soul. You must be of 
 good cheer, and say that you are burying my 
 body : and you must bury it as you please, and 116. 
 as you think right. 
 
 With these words he rose and went into LXV. 
 another room to bathe himself : Crito went with 
 him and told us to wait. So we waited, talking 
 of the argument, and discussing it, and then 
 again dwelling on the greatness of the calamity 
 which had fallen upon us : it seemed as if we 
 were going to lose a father, and to be orphans 
 for the rest of our life. When he had bathed, 
 and his children had been brought to him, he 
 had two sons quite little, and one grown up, 
 and the women of his family were come, he 
 spoke with them in Crito's presence, arid gave 
 them his last commands ; then he sent the 
 women and children away, and returned to us. 
 By that time it was near the hour of sunset, for 
 he had been a long while within. When he 
 came back to us from the bath he sat down, 
 but not much was said after that. Presently the 
 servant of the Eleven came and stood before 
 him and said, ' I know that I shall not find you 
 unreasonable like other men, Socrates. They 
 are angry with me and curse me when I bid 
 them drink the poison because the authorities 
 p
 
 210 PH^EDO. 
 
 make me do it. But I have found you all along 
 the noblest and gentlest and best man that has 
 ever come here ; and now I am sure that you 
 will not be angry with me, but with those who 
 you know are to blame. And so farewell, and 
 try to bear what must be as lightly as you can ; 
 you know why I have come.' With that he 
 turned away weeping, and went out. 
 
 Socrates looked up at him, and replied, Fare- 
 well : I will do as you say. Then he turned to 
 us and said, How courteous the man is ! And 
 the whole time that I have been here, he has 
 constantly come in to see me, and sometimes 
 he has talked to me, and has been the best of 
 men ; and now, how generously he weeps for 
 me ! Come, Crito, let us obey him : let the 
 poison be brought if it is ready ; and if it is not 
 ready, let it be prepared. 
 
 Crito replied : Nay, Socrates, I think that 
 the sun is still upon the hills ; it has not set. 
 Besides, I know that other men take the poison 
 quite late, and eat and drink heartily, and even 
 enjoy the company of their chosen friends, after 
 the announcement has been made. So do not 
 hurry ; there is still time. 
 
 Socrates replied : And those whom you speak 
 of, Crito, naturally do so ; for they think that they 
 will be gainers by so doing. And I naturally 
 shall not do so ; for I think that I should gain 
 117. nothing by drinking the poison a little later, 
 but my own contempt for so greedily saving up 
 a life which is already spent. So do not refuse 
 to do as I say.
 
 PH&DO. 211 
 
 Then Crito made a. sign to his slave who was LXVL 
 standing by ; and the slave went out, and after 
 some delay returned with the man who was to 
 give the poison, carrying it prepared in a cup. 
 When Socrates saw him, he asked, You under- 
 stand these things, my good sir, what have I 
 to do? 
 
 You have only to drink this, he replied, and 
 to walk about until your legs feel heavy, and 
 then lie down ; and it will act of itself. With 
 that he handed the cup to Socrates, who took it 
 quite cheerfully, Echecrates, without trembling, 
 and without any change of colour or of feature, 
 and looked up at the man with that fixed glance 
 of his, and asked, What say you to making a 
 libation from this draught ? May I, or not ? 
 We only prepare so much as we think sufficient, 
 Socrates, he answered. I understand, said 
 Socrates. But I suppose that I may, and must, 
 pray to the gods that my journey hence may be 
 prosperous : that is my prayer ; be it so. With 
 these words he put the cup to his lips and drank 
 the poison quite calmly and cheerfully. Till then 
 most of us had been able to control our grief 
 fairly well ; but when we saw him drinking, and 
 then the poison finished, we could do so no 
 longer: my tears came fast in spite of myself, and 
 I covered my face and wept for myself : it was 
 not for him, but at my own misfortune in losing 
 such a friend. Even before that Crito had been 
 unable to restrain his tears, and had gone away ; 
 and Apollodorus, who had never once ceased 
 weeping the whole time, burst into a loud cry,
 
 212 PHMDO. 
 
 and made us one and all break down by his 
 sobbing and grief, except only Socrates himself. 
 What are you doing, my friends ? he exclaimed. 
 I sent away the women chiefly in order that 
 they might not offend in this way ; for I have 
 heard that a man should die in silence. So 
 calm yourselves and bear up. When we heard 
 that we were ashamed, and we ceased from 
 weeping. But he walked about, until he said 
 that his legs were getting heavy, and then he 
 lay down on his back, as he was told. And 
 the man who gave the poison began to examine 
 his feet and legs, from time to time : then he 
 pressed his foot hard, and asked if there was 
 any feeling in it ; and Socrates said, No : and 
 118. then his legs, and so higher and higher, and 
 showed us that he was cold and stiff. And 
 Socrates felt himself, and said that when it 
 came to his heart, he should be gone. He was 
 already growing cold about the groin, when he 
 uncovered his face, which had been covered, 
 and spoke for the last time. Crito, he said, I 
 owe a cock to Asclepius ; do not forget to pay 
 it. 1 It shall be done, replied Crito. Is there 
 anything else that you wish ? He made no 
 answer to this question ; but after a short 
 interval there was a movement, and the man 
 
 1 These words probably refer to the offering usually 
 made to Asclepius on recovery from illness. Death is 
 a release from the ' fitful fever of life. ' See, for instance, 
 66 B. seq. , 67 C. Another explanation is to make 
 the word refer to the omission of a trifling religious 
 duty.
 
 PHsEDO. 213 
 
 uncovered him, and his eyes were fixed. Then 
 Crito closed his mouth and his eyes. 
 
 Such was the end, Echecrates, of our friend, 
 a man, I think, who was the wisest and justest, 
 and the best man that I have ever known. 
 
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