Plato, Apology of Socrates (ΑΠΟΛΟΓΙΑ ΣΩΚΡΑΤΟΥΣ)

translated by John Bauschatz, 2018,
from the Greek of the 1995 Oxford Classical Text edition of E.A. Duke, et al.

free to use and distribute for non-commercial purposes with acknowledgement of the translator

[17a] What you, Athenian men, have experienced at the hands of my accusers, I do not know; I, indeed, for my part, almost forgot myself because of them, so persuasively were they speaking. And yet, they have spoken nothing true, as the saying goes. But most of all, I was amazed at them for one of the many things which they lied about: when they were saying that it was necessary for you to beware, lest you be deceived by me, [17b] since I am skilled at speaking. This, to me, seemed to be the most disgraceful thing, the fact that they were not ashamed of it. But as for this accusation, straightaway they will be refuted by me, when I appear to be clever at speaking in no way whatsoever—unless these men call a man clever at speaking if he speaks the truth. For if they are saying this, then I would agree that I am an orator, but not the way they are. For these men, just as I say, have spoken either something or nothing true; but you will hear nothing but the truth from me—and, moreover, by Zeus, not in beautified language, Athenian men, like that of these men, [17c] nor in speeches decked out with phrases and words; but you will hear me speaking at random, with whatever words spring up. For I trust that what I am saying is just, and let none of you expect otherwise. It would perhaps not be fitting, men, for me, at my age, shaping speeches like a young man, to send them your way. So very much so do I need this from you, and ask permission: if you hear me making my defense using the same words with which I have been accustomed to speak both in the agora, at the money changers’ tables, where many of you have heard me, and elsewhere, don’t [17d] be amazed or make a din because of it. For this is how things stand: now is the first time I have come before the court in my 70 years. I am completely foreign to the manner of speaking here. Therefore, just as if I truly happened to be a stranger, you would, perhaps, excuse me if I spoke in that tongue and manner [18a] in which I had been raised, especially now do I need from you—and a just thing, as it seems to me—that you allow this manner of speaking, for perhaps it might be worse, and it might be better; and I ask that you carefully examine this very thing and turn your minds to it, whether I am speaking justly or not. For this is the virtue of the judge, whereas the virtue of an orator is speaking the truth.

First of all, then, it is just that I defend myself against the first lies alleged about me and the first accusers, and then against the later lies and [18b] the later accusers. Many men have made accusations about me before you already now for many years, saying nothing true, men whom I fear more than those associated with Anytos, although these men are also dangerous; but those men are more dangerous, men, who, taking control of many of you back when you were children, were persuading you and accusing me more of nothing true, saying that there is a certain Socrates, a wise man, a deep thinker about things in the sky and a man who has sought out things beneath the earth, and a man who makes the worse argument [18c] better. These men, Athenians, who have spread this characterization, are my dangerous accusers. For those who hear them believe that those who investigate things like this don’t believe in the gods. And what is more, these accusers are many, and have been making their accusations for a long time already. Moreover, they were speaking to you at an age at which you would have believed them most readily—some of you being but children and young men—and were making their accusations with no defendant and in a lawsuit that was completely one-sided. But the most absurd thing of all is that it is not possible [18d] to know or say their names, unless a certain comic poet happens to be one of them. And however many persuaded you by employing ill-will and slander—and the same men, having been persuaded, then persuaded others—all of these men are most difficult to deal with: for it is not possible to make any of them appear here in court, nor to cross-examine any of them, but it is necessary for me, in defending myself, to simply fight with shadows, as it were, and to cross-examine with no one responding. Therefore, please think it right that, just as I say, my accusers have been of two types, the one group that has accused me recently, and the others [18e] who accused me long ago, whom I was just speaking about. Please understand that first I must defend myself against the latter. For you heard them accusing me earlier and much more often than these later accusers.

Well, then, I must make my defense, Athenian men, and I must attempt [19a] to remove from you this slander which you have held for so long, and I must do so in so short a time. I would wish that this occur in this way, if it is something better for you and for me, and that I achieve something in making my defense. But I think that it is going to be difficult, and it does not entirely escape me, what sort of thing it is. Nevertheless, let this proceed in whatever way is dear to the god. I must obey the law and make my defense.

Let us take up, then, from the beginning, what the accusation is, from which [19b] the slander against me has come, and trusting in which Meletos filed this lawsuit against me. Saying what, then, were they slandering me? I must read their plaintiff’s oath, as though they were accusers: “Socrates does wrong, and he is a busybody in seeking things below the earth and in the sky and in making the worse argument [19c] better and in teaching others these same things.” It is something like that. For you yourselves, even, have seen these things in the comedy of Aristophanes: a certain Socrates being carried around there, asserting that he was walking on air and talking a whole lot of other nonsense. Concerning these things I know nothing, neither big nor small. But not to dishonor it do I speak of such knowledge, if someone is wise about such things­. (May I not defend against Meletos at such a trial!) Again, though, of these things, Athenian men, there is no share belonging to me.

[19d] And I call the many of you as witnesses, and I ask that you teach each other and tell, as many of you have ever heard me speaking—for many of you are in that category—tell each other if any of you ever heard me speaking about things of such a sort, either a little or a lot, and from this you will know that of the same sort are the other things which the many say about me.

But none of these things is true, and if you have heard from someone that I try to teach men and I make [19e] money, this is not true, either. And yet, it seems to me, at least, to be a good thing, if someone should be able to teach men like Gorgias of Leontiti and Prodikos of Keos and Hippias the Eleian. For each of these men, Athenians, is able to go into each city-state and persuade the youth—at least, those who are permitted to be with whichever of their own citizens they want for free—to be with them, [20a] abandoning the company of their fellow-citizens, giving them money and being grateful to them.

And moreover there is another wise man here, a Parian, whom I learned was present. For I happened to meet a man who has paid more money to the sophists than all the others, Kallias, son of Hipponikos. Therefore, I asked this man—for he has two sons—“Kallias,” I said, “if your two sons had been two colts or bulls, we would be able to obtain and hire a trainer for them, who [20b] would make them beautiful and noble with regard to the right kind of virtue, and he would be one of the horse trainers or farmers. But since the two of them are human, whom do you have in mind to get for them as a trainer? Who is there knowledgeable about the virtue of a man and a citizen? For I imagine that you have investigated this, since you have sons. Is there someone,” I said, “or not?” “By all means, yes,” he said. “Who is he?” I said, “And from what country, and for how much does he teach?” “Euenos,” he said, “Socrates, from Paros, and for five mnae.” And I considered Euenos fortunate, if truly [20c] he should have this skill and he teaches it at so reasonable a rate. And I myself, if I understood these things, I would pride myself on it and be quite satisfied. But I do not understand them, Athenian men.

Perhaps one of you might interrupt: “But Socrates, what is your business, then? From where have these slanders against you come? For doubtless, if you had been busied about nothing more unusual than the pursuits of other people, no reputation and repute so great would have arisen, unless you were doing something different from the many. Therefore, tell us what [20d] it is, so that we may better understand you.” The man who says these things seems to me to speak justly, and I will attempt to show to you what it is which has created for me the reputation and the slander. Listen, then. But perhaps I shall seem to some of you to be playing. Know well, however, that I will tell you the whole truth. For I, Athenian men, on account of nothing other than a kind of wisdom have come to have this reputation. What sort of wisdom is this? The kind which, perhaps, pertains to man. For I really might be wise in this regard. And these men, about whom [20e] I was speaking just now, would swiftly be wise with respect to a kind of wisdom greater than human, or I don’t know what to say. For I, at least, do not understand it, but whoever says that I do is lying and speaking so as to slander me. And do not interrupt me, Athenian men, not even if I seem to you to be speaking boastfully: for what I am saying is not my own opinion, but I will make reference to another authority for you, a trustworthy one. For of my wisdom—if I possess some sort of wisdom, and of what sort it is—I will provide to you as witness the god at Delphi. For you know Chairephon, I think. This man [21a] was my friend from youth, and was also a friend to most of you, and went into exile with you recently and came back with you. And you know what kind of man Chairephon was, how passionate he was about whatever he started in on. Once, going to Delphi, he even endeavored to ask the oracle this—and don’t be upset by what I say, men—for he asked whether anyone were wiser than I. In turn, the Pythia replied that no one was wiser. Concerning these matters Chairephon’s brother, here, will serve as witness for you, since he has died.

[21b] Now consider why I am saying these things: for I intend to teach you from where the slander against me has come. I, after hearing these things, was pondering them in this way: ”What in the world does the god mean, and what is he intimating? For I know that I am wise in neither a great nor a small respect. What in the world, then, does he mean in saying that I am the wisest? For surely he is not lying; for he is not permitted to.” And for a long time I was at a loss with regards to what he meant. Then, with great difficulty, I turned myself to a kind of investigation of him, of the following kind. I went to one of the people reputed for wisdom, intending [21c] there, if anywhere, to refute the oracular response and to demonstrate to the oracle that, “This man here is wiser than I, but you said that I was wisest.” Therefore, examining this man—for I do not need to call him by name, but it was one of the politicians whom I examined and with whom I spoke and had this experience, Athenian men—this man seemed to me to seem to be wise to many other men and most of all to himself, but he seemed to me to not be wise. And then I attempted to demonstrate to him that he thought that he was wise, but that he was not.

[21d] And thereupon I became hateful to this man, and to many of those present. So, going off on my own, I was thinking to myself that I was wiser than this man: “For neither of us likely knows anything beautiful or good, but this man supposes that he knows something while not knowing anything, whereas I, since I do not know anything, do not suppose that I do. Thus I seem to be wiser than this man in some small respect: namely in that whatever things I do not know, I do not think that I know them.” Then I went to another man, one of those reputed to be wiser than that man, and [21e] the same things seemed to me to be true. And then both to him and to many others I became hateful.

Then, after these events, I went, in succession, to one man after another, perceiving that I was hated, and being grieved and fearing, but all the same it seemed necessary to consider the god’s business of the highest importance—so I had to go, investigating the oracle—namely, what it had meant—to all the people reputed [22a] to know something. And by the dog, Athenian men—for I must tell you the truth—in truth I experienced something like this: as I investigated in accordance with the god’s pronouncement, those with the best reputations almost seemed to me to be lacking the most, but others, reputed to be more simple-minded, seemed to me to be men more capable of being sensible. (I must demonstrate my wandering to you as though I were enduring great toils so that the oracular response might be proven irrefutable for me.) And after the politicians I went to the poets, those of tragedies and those [22b] of dithyrambs and the others, so as to catch myself being clearly less knowledgeable than they were. Taking up, then, their poems, the ones which seemed to me to have been best elaborated by them, I asked them what they meant, so that at the same time I might learn something from them. I am ashamed to tell you the truth, men; but all the same, it must be spoken. In a word, almost all of those present here would speak better than they concerning the things which they themselves had written. So, in a brief space, I also knew the following concerning the poets: that they were not composing with wisdom [22c] the things which they were composing, but that they were being inspired by a certain nature, like prophets or oracle givers. For these, too, also say many beautiful things, but they know nothing about the things they say. As I saw it, the poets had experienced something similar. But at the same time, I perceived that they supposed, on account of their poetry, that they were the wisest with respect to other things, which they were not. So I went away from them, as well, supposing that I was superior to them I the same way in which I was superior to the political men.

Finally, then, I went to the people who work with their hands. For I knew [22d] that I knew nothing, as it were, but I thought that I would discover that these men knew many beautiful things. And I was not deceived in this: they knew things which I did not, and in this they were wiser than I. But, Athenian men, they seemed to me to possess the same error which both the poets and the good craftsmen did: on account of practicing his trade well, each man also thought he was the wisest with regard to other great things. This error of theirs seemed to me to be [22e] obscuring their wisdom. The result was that I asked myself, on behalf of the oracle, whether I would prefer to be just as I am—being not at all wise with regard to their wisdom, but also not at all ignorant with regards to their ignorance—or whether I would prefer to have both of the things which those men had. So I answered myself and the oracle that it was in my best interest to remain just as I am.

So: from this examination, Athenian men, [23a] a lot of hostility has arisen against me, and very harsh and burdensome, with the result that much slander has come from it, and the reputation that I am “wise.” For every time I converse with someone, those present suppose that I myself am wise with respect to the things I refute in another. But in reality, it is likely that the god is wise, and that he is saying this in his oracle, that human wisdom is worth little or nothing. And he seems to say this with respect to Socrates, but he also seems to have employed [23b] my name, making me an example, just as if he should say, “This man is the wisest of you, men, whoever, like Socrates, knows that, in truth, he is worth nothing with regard to wisdom.” Therefore, going about even now do I seek and search out these things, in accordance with the god, if I think that someone of the townspeople or foreigners is wise. And when he does not appear to me to be wise, so as to assist the god I demonstrate that he is not wise. And because of this business, I have had no leisure to attend to any of the business of the city worthy of note, nor to any of my own affairs, but I am [23c] in great poverty on account of my service to the god.

And in addition, the youths who follow me of their own free will—the children of the wealthiest men, for whom there is the greatest leisure—they enjoy listening to men being examined, and they themselves often imitate me, and then they attempt to examine others. And then they find, I think, that there is a great abundance of people who think that they know something, but know few things or nothing. Then those being examined by them get angry with me, not with themselves, [23d] and say that Socrates is most foul and corrupts the youth. And when someone asks them, “In doing what?” or, “By teaching what?”, they are not able to say anything, but do not know; and so that they may not seem to be at a loss, they say these things, the usual slanders against philosophers, the ones about “things in the sky and beneath the earth,” and “not believing in the gods,” and “making the worse argument better." For they would not wish to tell the truth, I think, that it is very clear that they pretend to be knowledgeable, but do not know anything.

Because, as I think, they are honor-hungry [23e] and passionate and numerous, and speak eagerly and persuasively about me, they have filled up your ears, slandering me vehemently both long ago and now. From mong these men Meletos and Anytos and Lykon attacked me, Meletos aggrieved for the poets, Anytos for the craftsmen and  [24a] politicians, and Lykon for the public speakers. The result is that, as I was saying at the beginning, I would be amazed if I should be able to remove from you this slander that has existed for so long a time in so short a time. This is the truth, Athenian men, and as I address you I conceal nothing, neither great nor small, nor refrain from mentioning anything. Indeed I know that it is likely that I am making myself hated because of these very things, which is an indication that I am telling the truth, and that this is the slander against me, and that these [24b] are the reasons. And if you examine these things now or later, you will find them so.

Concerning, then, the things which my first accusers accused me of, let this be a sufficient defense before you. But against Meletos the good and city-loving, as he claims, and the later accusers, I will attempt to make a defense next. Once again, then, as though these men were different accusers, let us take up their prosecution oath. It goes something like this: they say that Socrates does wrong, corrupting the youth and not believing in the gods [24c] in which the city believes, but believing in other, new divinities. The accusation is something like that. But let us examine each part of this accusation. For they say, in fact, that I do wrong in corrupting the youth. But I, at least, Athenian men, declare that Meletos is doing wrong, because he jokes in earnest, easily putting men into trials, pretending to be impassioned and grieved about things about which there has never been a care to him. That this is how things are I will attempt to show you.

Meletos, come here, and tell me this: Do you consider that [24d] the youth becoming as good as possible is anything other than of the greatest importance?

Meletos: Yes, I do.

Come, then, and tell these men: Who makes them better? For it is clear that you know, as it is a concern to you. For having discovered the one who corrupts them—me, as you claim—you bring me before these men and accuse me. Come, then, and tell them the man who makes them better and disclose who he is. Do you see, Meletos, that you are silent and don’t know what to say? And further, does it not seem shameful to you, and a sufficient proof of what I am saying, that this has not been a concern to you at all? But speak, my good man: Who makes them better?

Meletos: The laws.

[24e] But I am not asking you this, my excellent man, but who is the man who knows first of all this very thing, the laws?

Meletos: These men here do, Socrates: the judges.

How do you mean, Meletos? These men here are able to educate the youth and make them better?

Meletos: Absolutely.

All of them are able to do so, or some of them are, and others are not?

Meletos: All of them are.

By Hera, you speak well and say that there is a great abundance of helpful men. But what about this: Do the listeners make them better, [25a] or not?

Meletos: These men do, too.

And what about the council members?

Meletos: The counselors do, as well.

But, Meletos, it can’t be that the men in the assembly, the assemblymen, corrupt the youth, can it? Or do all of them, too, make them better?

Meletos: They do, too.

So, as it seems, all of the Athenians make them beautiful and good, save for me, and I alone corrupt them. Is this what you mean?

Meletos: Very much so do I mean these things.

You have pronounced a sentence of great misfortune against me! But answer me this: Does it, in fact, also seem to you to be the same with horses? Namely, that all [25b] men, on the one hand, make them better and that some one man is corrupting them? Or is it completely the opposite of this, that some one man is able to make them better, or very few men are able, namely the horse trainers, but that the many, if they are with horses and make use of them, corrupt them? Is this not so, Meletos, not only in the case of horses, but also for all other animals? It is entirely so, whether you and Anytos disagree or not. For there would be a great amount of a certain kind of good fortune in the case of the youth if one man alone corrupts them, but the others [25c] help them. But, Meletos, you are demonstrating sufficiently that you never cared about the youth, and you clearly reveal your lack of concern, that the things for which you are bringing me in here have not been a concern to you. But also tell us, by Zeus, Meletos, whether it is better to dwell among useful citizens or worthless ones. Respond, sir! For I am not asking anything difficult for you. Is it not the case that the worthless bring about some bad effect in those who are always closest to them, and that the good bring about some good effect?

Meletos: By all means, yes.

[25d] Is there, then, someone who wants to be harmed by those who are with him, rather than to be helped? Respond, my good man: for the law commands you to respond. Is there someone who wishes to be harmed?

Meletos: Indeed no.

Come then, are you bringing me in here because (as you assert) I am corrupting the youth and making them worse willingly, or unwillingly?

Meletos: I think you do so willingly.

What’s this, Meletos? Are you, being of such an age, so much wiser than I at my age, that you have discovered that bad men always do something bad to those closest to them, [25e] and that good men always do something good, but that I, in fact, have reached such a point of ignorance that I am unaware even of this, that if I make someone of those who are with me wretched, I will run the risk of being badly treated by him, with the result that I willingly commit this evil, as great as it is, as you claim? I don’t agree with you with regards to these things, Meletos, and I don’t think that any other man does, either; but, either I do not corrupt them, or, if I do corrupt them, [26a] I do so unwillingly, with the result that you are lying in both cases. But if I corrupt them unwillingly, it is not the law to bring me here on a charge of committing unwilling errors of such a kind, but it is customary, taking me privately, to teach and admonish me. For it is clear that if I learn, I will cease doing the thing that I do unwillingly. But you fled from being with me and teaching me, and were unwilling; and you bring me in here, where it is the law to bring in those in need of correction, but not instruction. But, Athenian men, this, in fact, is clear, [26b] what I am saying, that Meletos never had either a big or a small concern for any of these things. But all the same, tell us, Meletos, how you think I corrupt the youth. Or is it clear, according to the lawsuit that you filed, that I am teaching the youth to not believe in the gods in which the city believes, but rather other, new divinities? Are you not saying these things, that in teaching them I corrupt them?

Meletos: Very much so do I say this.

In their presence, then, Meletos, in the presence of these gods about whom we are now speaking, speak more clearly to me and these [26c] men. For I am not able to understand whether you are saying that I teach them to believe that there are certain gods—and I myself believe that there are gods, and I am not entirely atheist and I do not do wrong in this way—not, however, those in whom the city believes, but others, and this is the thing which you accuse me of, or whether you are saying that in every manner I myself do not believe in the gods, and that I teach others these things.

Meletos: I am saying this: that you do not believe in the gods at all.

[26d] My, Meletos! To what end do you say this? Do I not think that the sun or the moon is a god, just as other men do?

Meletos: No, by Zeus, judges, since he says that the sun is a stone and the moon, earth.

Do you think that you are accusing Anaxagoras, my dear Meletos? And do you look down on these men so much, and think that they are so unacquainted with letters as to not know that the books of Anaxagoras of Klazomenai are full of these words? And, indeed, the youth learn these things from me, things which it is possible sometimes for them to buy for a drachma (a very high price) from the orchestra so as to laugh at Socrates, if he pretends they are his, and especially being so absurd. But, by Zeus, do I seem this way to you? Do I believe that there is no god?

Meletos: By Zeus, you do not believe there is a god in any way whatsoever.

You, Meletos, are not to be believed with regard to these things, and, moreover, as it seems to me, even by yourself. For this man, Athenian men, seems to me to be entirely hybristic and undisciplined, and he seems to me to have filed this lawsuit clumsily, with a certain hybris and lack of discipline and impetuosity. [27a] For he is like someone putting together a puzzle, as it were, making a test: “Will Socrates the wise recognize that I am jesting and that I am contradicting myself, or will I utterly deceive him and the other listeners?” For this man seems to me to be contradicting himself in his lawsuit, as if he should say, “Socrates does wrong by not believing in gods, but by believing in gods.” And this is characteristic of a jokester. So join me in examining, men, in what way he seems to me to say these things. And you, Meletos, respond to us. And you men, recall that which [27b] I asked from you at the beginning: to not make a disturbance at me if I fashion my words in my accustomed way. Is there someone among men, Meletos, who believes that there are things related to men, but does not believe in men? Let him respond, men, and let him not make a disturbance with regard to some things or other things. Is there a man who does not believe in horses, but believes that there are horse-related things? Or is there a man who does not believe in flute-players, but believes that there are flute player-related things? There is not, best of men. If you do not want to respond, I will say it to you and these other men. But respond, at least, to this next thing: [27c] Is there someone who believes that there are divine things, but does not believe that there are divinities?

Meletos: There is not.

How you gratified me, that you grudgingly responded, forced by these men! Therefore, you deny that I believe in divine things and teach about them, whether new or old, but therefore, I believe in divine things, at least, by your own account, and you even swore these things in your indictment. But if I believe in divine things, there is also, I think, a great necessity that I believe in divinities. Is this not right? It is. For I assume that you agree, since you are not responding. And do we [27d] not consider that divinities are either gods or children of gods? Do you agree, or not?

Meletos: I agree, by all means.

Therefore, if really I believe in divinities, as you say, if, on the one hand, divinities are certain types of gods, then this would be the thing that I say that you are riddling about and jesting, that you say that I, not believing in gods, in turn believe in gods, since surely I believe in divinities, at least; but if, in turn, divinities are certain bastard children of gods, from either nymphs or some others, from whom they are said to have been born, who of men would believe that there are children of gods, but not gods? For it would [27e] be similarly ridiculous if someone should believe that there are children of horses and donkeys, namely mules, but should not believe that horses and donkeys exist. But, Meletos, there is no way in which you brought this lawsuit either not to make trial of us or being at a loss with respect to what true offense you would accuse me of; for there is no device by which you might persuade someone, even if he had little sense, that it is not characteristic of the same man to believe in both divinities and gods, and again that it is characteristic of the same man [28a] to believe in neither divinities, nor gods, nor heroes.

But, Athenian men, that I am not doing wrong in accordance with Meletos’ lawsuit does not seem to me to require much of a defense, but even these things are enough. But that thing which I was also saying before, that much hatred has come into being for me against many people, know well that this is true. And this is the thing which convicts me, if really it convicts, not Meletos nor Anytos but the slander and ill-will of the many. These things have, in fact, convicted many other [28b] good men, and I think they also will convict them, and there is no fear that it will stop with me.

Perhaps, then, someone might say, “Are you not ashamed, Socrates, of having followed such a pursuit from which you now run the risk of dying?” And I would make a just reply to this man: “You are not speaking well, man, if you think it is necessary for a man to whom even some small amount of worth belongs to take into account the danger of life or death, but not to examine this one thing alone whenever he does something, whether he is doing just or unjust things, and the deeds of a good or bad man. For according [28c] to your line of reasoning, at least, as many of the demigods who died at Troy would be worthless, the others and the son of Thetis, who so greatly despised danger in the face of allowing something shameful that, when his mother, a goddess, said to him something like this, when he was eager to kill Hector: “If you will avenge Patroklos, your comrade, for his murder, and will kill Hektor, you yourself will die. For straightaway for you,” she said, “your fate is ready, after Hektor.” He thought little of death and danger, hearing this, but fearing living [28d] as a bad man much more and not avenging his friends, he said, “Straightaway may I die, giving justice to the wrongdoer, so that I may not remain here, a laughingstock, aside the curved ships, a grief of the earth.” You don’t think he gave thought to death and danger, do you?

For thus it holds, Athenian men, in truth: for, wherever someone stations himself, believing it is best, or is stationed by his leader, it is necessary, as it seems to me, that, remaining there, he run the risks, giving consideration neither to death nor any other thing aside from shame. Therefore I would have done terrible things, Athenian [28e] men, if, when the commanders were stationing me, the commanders whom you picked to command me, at Potedaia and Amphipolis and Delion, then I were remaining where they were stationing me, like some other man, and were running the risk of death; but, with the god appointing me, as I supposed and understood, to live as a philosopher, examining well both myself and others, then, being afraid either of death [29a] or any other thing whatsoever I should leave my post. It would be terrible, and how truly then would someone justly lead me into the courtroom on the charge that I do not believe that gods exist, disobeying the oracle and fearing death and thinking that I am wise when I am not. For fearing death, men, is nothing other than to seem to be wise when one is not: for it is to seem to know things which one does not know. For nobody knows death, whether it happens to be the greatest of all good things for man, but they fear it as though knowing well [29b] that it is the greatest of evils. And how is this not the most disgraceful ignorance, that of thinking one knows things which one does not know? But I, men, in this perhaps differ from the many in this way, that if I should seem to be wiser than someone in some respect, it would be in this respect, that, not knowing enough about the affairs of Hades, so too do I not think that I know about them. But doing wrong and disobeying one’s better, whether god or man, I know is bad and shameful. Rather, then, than evil things which I know are evil, things about which I am unsure whether they happen to be good I will never fear nor flee. The result is that if you do [29c] not release me now, distrusting Anytos—who said, at the beginning, either that it was not necessary for me to come in here, or, since I did come in, it was not possible to not kill me, saying to you that if I should be acquitted, all of your sons, by practicing the things which Socrates teaches, would be altogether ruined—if you should say these things to me: ”Socrates, now we will not obey Anytos, but we are releasing you—on this condition, however: that you no longer spend your time in your search nor in philosophizing. But if [29d] you are caught still doing this, you will die.” If, then, you should release me on these conditions, as I said, I would say this to you: “I salute and love you, Athenian men, but I shall obey the god more than you, and as long as I am alive and able, I will not cease being a philosopher and encouraging you and pointing out to whomever of you I meet, saying the sorts of things I have been accustomed to say: ‘Best of men, being an Athenian, of a city that is the greatest and most famous for wisdom and strength, are you not ashamed that you are taking pains for possessions, that there will be for you as many as possible, [29e] and for reputation and honor, but you do not care or take thought for sense and truth and your soul, how it will be the best it can?’, and if any of you disputes this and says that he does take care for these things, I will not let him go right away, nor will I go away, but I will question him and examine him and cross-examine him, and if he does not seem to me to possess virtue, [30a] but he says that he does, I will reproach him that he is taking the least account of things deserving of the most, and making worse things more important. I will do these things both to the younger man and to the older, to whomever I meet up with, both to the foreigner and the citizen, but more to the citizens, in so much as you are closer to me in stock. For the god commands these things—know it well—and I think that no greater good has yet come into being for you in the city than my service to the god. For I go about doing nothing other than persuading both the younger and the older of you to care neither [30b] for your bodies nor your possessions nor anything so much, as for your soul, that it may be as good as possible, saying, “Virtue does not come from money, but money comes from virtue, as do quite all other good things for men, both privately and publicly.” If, then, in saying these things I corrupt the youth, then these things would be harmful; but if someone says that I say things other than these, he is saying nothing. With regard to these things,” I would say, “Athenian men, either obey Anytos, or not, and either release me or not, since I would [30c] not do other things, not even if I am about to die many times over.”

Don't make a disturbance, men of Athens, but be true to those things which I asked of you for my sake, to not get upset at whatever I say, but to listen; for, as I suspect, you will benefit from listening. For I am about to say to you some things and others at which you will perhaps shout—but don't do this at all. For if you kill me, being such a sort of man as I say that I am, you will not harm me more than you will harm yourselves. For neither Meletos nor Anytos could harm me at all—for it would not be possible—for I do not think it is permitted by the gods [30d] for a better man to be harmed by a worse one. He might, however, kill me, perhaps, or exile me or disenfranchise me. This man perhaps thinks—and maybe someone else, too—that these things are great evils, but I do not think so; but I think that to do what this man here is now doing—attempting to kill a man unjustly—is much more evil. Now, therefore, Athenian men, I am far from making a defense on behalf of myself, as someone might suppose, but on behalf of you, lest you err concerning the [30e] god’s gift to you in condemning me. For if you kill me, not easily will you find another such man, even if it is rather ridiculous to say, absolutely devoted to the city, just as if to a great and noble horse, but a horse that is rather sluggish due to its size and needing to be aroused by a certain gadfly. Indeed, the god seems to me to have delivered me as such a man for the city, some such a man as I who, rousing each one of you and persuading you and reproaching you, [31a] never ceases sitting next to you all day long, everywhere. Another such man will not easily come into being for you, men, but if you obey me, you will pardon me. But you, perhaps, being aggrieved, like sleepers being awakened, and striking me, obeying Anytos, you might easily kill me; then you would complete the rest of your lives asleep, unless the god should send to you some other man, taking pity on you. And that I happen to be such a man as to have been given to the city by the god, from what follows [31b] you might understand: for the fact that I have neglected all of my own concerns and that I am enduring my own business to be ignored for so many years already does not seem to me to be characteristic of a human being; nor does the fact that I am always doing your business, coming to each of you in private, like a father or an older brother, persuading you to be concerned about virtue. And if, on the one hand, I were having enjoyment of something from these things, and I were urging these things while receiving a wage, then they would have some logic. But now, you yourselves even see that my accusers, in so shamelessly accusing all of the other things, in this, at least, they were not able to behave with affrontery: [31c] in providing a witness that I ever extracted or asked for a wage from anyone. For, as I think, I am providing a sufficient witness that I am speaking the truth: my poverty.

Perhaps, then, it might seem to be strange, that, in fact, I privately council these things, going about and being a busybody, but in public I never attempt, coming before your multitude, to council the city. And the reason for this is the one which you have heard me saying, many times and in many places: that something from the god and divine [31d] comes into being for me, a voice, which Meletos caricatured in filing his lawsuit. This has been my situation, beginning in childhood: a certain voice comes into being, which, whenever it comes into being, always turns me away from whatever I am about to do, but never moves me forward. This is the thing which prevents me from leading a political life, and it seems to me to prevent me very beautifully: for you know well, Athenian men, that if long ago I had attempted to lead a political life, I would have died long ago, and I would not have helped you [31e] at all, nor would I have helped myself. And don’t get mad at me for speaking the truth: for there is no man who will be saved, lawfully opposing you or any other multitude, and hindering many injustices and illegalities from coming into being in the city, but [32a] it is necessary that the man fighting in reality on behalf of justice, even if he is about to be saved for a short period of time, be a private citizen, and not a public servant.

And I will provide to you great proofs of these things, not words, but that which you honor, deeds. Hear from me the things which have happened to me, so that you may see that I would yield to no one, contrary to justice, in fear of death; rather, in not yielding I would die. I will tell you things which are coarse and common to the law courts, but true. For I, Athenians, never held [32b] any other position in the city, but I was a member of the council. Our tribe Antiochis happened to hold the presidency, when you voted to judge as a collective the ten generals who did not take up for burial those from the sea battle—illegally, as it seemed to all of you at a later time. Then I, alone of the prytaneis, opposed you doing anything contrary to the laws and I voted the opposite. And though the speakers were ready to inform against me and lead me away, and you were urging them on and shouting, with [32c] law and justice I thought it was more necessary for me to run the risks than to remain with you while you counseled unjust things, fearing bondage or death. And these things happened while the city was still being run as a democracy; but after the oligarchy arose, the thirty, in turn, summoning me myself fifth, into the Rotunda, they ordered us to bring Leon the Salaminian from Salamis so that he might die—and many such things were they commanding many others to do, wishing to fill up as many people as possible with their sins. Then, however, I [32d] demonstrated, not in word but in deed, that to me there was concern about death—if it were not too rustic to say so—not of any kind, but that there was complete concern to me for this: not at all doing unjust or unholy things. For that regime did not fill me with panic, though it was so powerful, as to do anything unjust, but after we came out of the Rotunda, the four men went to Salamis and brought Leon, but I went home. And perhaps on account of these things I would have died, if the regime had not been swiftly destroyed. And [32e] of these things there will be many witnesses for you.

Therefore, do you think that I would have lived for so many years if I were tending to public business, and, acting worthily of a good man, I were helping just men, and, just as is right, I were considering this of the highest importance? Far from it, Athenian men: for no other [33a] man would have. But I, throughout my entire life, if I did something publicly somewhere, I seemed to be such a man, and if I did something privately, I seemed to be this same man, never giving way to anyone in any way unjustly, neither to another man nor to any one of these men who they say, slandering me, are my students. But I was never anyone’s teacher; yet if ever someone desired to hear me speaking and conducting my business, whether a younger man or an older one, I never begrudged this to anyone, and I don’t speak with anyone when receiving [33b] money, and I don’t refuse to speak if I don’t receive money, but alike to wealthy man and poor man I offer myself to question, and if someone, replying, wants to listen to the things I say. And whether some one of these becomes a useful man or not, I should not justly be subject to accusation, since I did not promise to any of them anything ever, nor to any of them did I teach a lesson. But if someone says that he ever learned or heard anything from me which all the others did not hear, know well that he is not telling the truth.

But why, in fact, sometimes do some people enjoy speaking with me [33c] for a long time? You have listened, Athenian men: I told you the whole truth, that they enjoy listening to those who think that they are wise, but are not, being examined. For it is not unpleasant. But doing this has been ordered to me by the god, as I declare, both from oracles and from dreams, and in every manner in which some other divine fate ever ordered a man to do anything whatsoever. These things, Athenian men, are both true and easy to test. For if I, in fact, at least, am corrupting [33d] some of the youth, and have corrupted others, doubtless if some of them, having become older, had recognized that I counseled something bad to them when they were youths at some point, it would be necessary for them, coming forward now, to accuse me and get vengeance; and if they themselves were not wishing to do this, then it would be necessary that some of their kinsmen—fathers and brothers and other relations—now make mention and get vengeance, if really their relatives had experienced something bad at my hands. And certainly, there are many of them present here, whom I see: first of all Crito here, the same age as me [33e] and from my deme, and father of Kritoboulos here; and then Lysanias the Sphettian, the father of Aischines here; and also Antiphon the Kephisian, here, the father of Epigenes; moreover, here, too, are these others, whose brothers have been involved in conversation, Nikostratos, son of Theozotides, brother of Theodotos—and Theodotos is dead, so that he, at least, might not entreat him—and Paralios here, son of Demodokos, of whom Theages was the brother; and Adeimantos [34a] here, son of Ariston, whose brother is Plato here; and Aiantodoros, whose brother is Apollodoros here. And I am able to tell you many others, some one of whom Meletos should have provided as a witness in his speech. But if then he forgot, let him do so now—I give way—and let him speak, if he is able to say something. But you will find the entire opposite of this, men: that all are prepared to aid me, the corrupter, the man doing bad things to their relatives, as Meletos claims and [34b] Anytos, too. For the corrupted themselves might swiftly have logic in assisting me; but the uncorrupted, already older men, the relatives of these men—what other reason do they have to help me, other than the right and just reason, that they realize that Meletos is a liar, and I am a truth-teller?

Well, then, men: the things with respect to which I might be able to defend myself, these are essentially them, and perhaps there are others of like sort. But swiftly some one [34c] of you might get angry, remembering himself, if he, contending in a trial of less weight than this trial, asked and begged the judges with many tears, having brought his children up so that he might be pitied most of all, and others of his relatives and many of his friends, whereas I will do none of these things, even risking this, as I might suppose, namely the final danger. So: someone, thinking about these things, might swiftly be more stubborn towards me, and having been angered for these same reasons, he might cast his [34d] vote with anger. And if some one of you feels this way—for I, at least, do not think there is such a man, but if there is—it seems to me that I might speak reasonable things to him, saying, “To me, good man, there are some relatives, perhaps; for even this very quote of Homer applies: for I was not born ‘from a tree, nor from a rock,” but from men, with the result that I have relatives, and three sons, men of Athens, one already a stripling, and two children. But all the same, producing none of them here will I ask you to acquit me.” Why, then, will I do none of these things? Not because I am arrogant, men [34e] of Athens, nor because I am dishonoring you, but if I am courageous in the face of death or not is another matter. But because of reputation—mine, yours and that of the whole city—it does not seem to me to be good for me to do any of these things, being of such an age and having such a reputation, whether true or false; but it has been [35a] decided that Socrates is superior to the many in some respect. So: if those of you seeming to be superior, whether in wisdom or courage or some other virtue, will be of such a sort, it would be shameful. I have many times seen certain men of such a kind, whenever they are being judged, seeming to be something, but doing amazing things, supposing that they will suffer something terrible if they die, as though they would be immortal if you should not kill them. These men seem to me to be fastening shame to the city, so as for someone even of the foreigners [35b] to assume that those of the Athenians who excel in virtue, whom they prefer to themselves for offices and other honors, are not even superior to women. For it is necessary, Athenian men, that you who seem to be something in some way not do these things, nor, if we do them, should you allow it, but you should demonstrate this thing alone, that you will much more readily condemn the man who brings in these pitiable acts and makes the city laughable than the man who keeps quiet.

But aside from reputation, men, it does not seem to me to be [35c] just to beg the judge, nor for the beggar to be acquitted, but it seems just to teach and to persuade. For the judge is not empaneled for this purpose, for giving judgments corruptly, but for judging; and he has sworn that he will not please those whom it seems best to him to please, but that he will give judgment in accordance with the laws. Therefore, we should not become accustomed to having you swear falsely, nor should you become accustomed to do so. For neither of us would be behaving piously. Therefore, don't think it necessary, Athenian men, that I act in such a manner towards you which I do not think is good, nor [35d] just nor holy, especially, moreover, by Zeus, since I am defending myself on a charge of impiety at the hands of this Meletos here. For clearly, if I should obey you, and if I should do violence to you, having sworn your oaths, by begging, I would teach you to believe that the gods do not exist, and making a clumsy defense, I would accuse myself of not believing in the gods. But this is far from the case: for I do believe in them, Athenian men, as not one of my accusers does, and I entrust to you and to the god to judge concerning me in whatever way is about to be best for me and for you.

Vote for condemnation

[35e] Many things are contributing to me not becoming angry, Athenian men, at this [36a] thing which has happened, that you convicted me, and what has happened has happened in a not unexpected way for me. But I am much more amazed at the number of each of the two groups of votes. For I did not think that it would be by so little, but by much. But now, as it seems, if only 30 of the votes had fallen differently, I would have been acquitted. Also, I have now escaped Meletos, as it seems to me, and not only that, but this is also clear to me in every respect, that if Anytos and Lykon had not come up to accuse me, he also would have owed [36b] one thousand drachmas, not having received a fifth of the votes.

So: the man assesses for me the penalty of death. Well: what will I propose to you in return, Athenian men? Or is it clear that I will propose my desserts? What, then? What do I deserve to suffer or to pay back, because, by learning, I did not keep quiet during my life, but, being neglectful of the things which the many prize—namely money-making and household management and generalships and public speeches and the other offices and political groups and civil strife that occur in the city,—and considering that I [36c] was in reality better than to be saved by turning to these things, I was not going there, to where, having gone, I was going to be useful neither to you nor to myself at all; but, going to each man privately to confer the greatest benefit, as I declare, I was going there, attempting to persuade each of you to not care for any of his own things before he should care for himself, so that he should be as good and sensible as possible, nor for any of the things of the city, before he should care for the city itself, and for other things in like manner according to the [36d] same method—What, then, do I deserve to suffer, being a man of such a sort? Something good, Athenian men, if it is truly necessary to assess value in accordance with merits; and with regards to these things, a good thing of such a kind as would be fitting for me. What, then, is fitting for a poor man, a benefactor, who needs to have leisure to exhort you? There is nothing that is more fitting, Athenian men, than for such a man to be fed in the town hall, much more than if some one of you has won at the Olympics with a horse pair or chariot. For he makes you seem to be fortunate, but I [36e] actually make you fortunate, and he does not at all need the nourishment, but I do need it. If, then, it is necessary for me to make an proposal of what I deserve in accordance with the law, I propose [37a] this, meals in the town hall.

Perhaps in saying this I seem to you to be speaking in the same way as I spoke about pity and entreaties, that is, speaking with bravado; yet this is not so, Athenian men, but it is more as follows: I have been convinced, as far as my will is concerned, that I have never wronged any man, but I am not persuading you of this. For we have spoken with each other for a short period of time. Since, as I think, if it were customary for you, as it is for other men, to not judge in a death penalty case for only [37b] one day, but for many, you would have been persuaded. But now it is not easy to refute great slanders in a short time. But having persuaded myself that I do not wrong anyone, I am far from being about to wrong myself and to say about myself that I am deserving of something bad, and I am far from proposing some such penalty for myself. Fearing what? In fact, lest I suffer this thing which Meletos proposes for me, which I deny that I know whether it is good or bad? Instead of this, am I to pick something of those things which I know well are bad, estimating the penalty at so high a rate? Am I to pick imprisonment? [37c] And why should I live in the prison, a slave to the always-present regime, the Eleven? But should I pick money, and to be bound until I pay it back? But this is the same thing for me as I was saying just now: for I don't have money from which to pay the debt back. Am I to propose exile as a penalty? For perhaps you would propose this for me. However, a great deal of love of life would possess me, Athenian men, if I am so irrational as to not be able to reckon that you, being fellow-citizens of mine, were not able to endure my [37d] discussions and words, but that they have become too heavy and hateful to you, with the result that you now seek to be released from them. But will others, in fact, endure them easily? Far from it, Athenian men. Indeed, my life would be a good one to live, going out at such an age, exchanging one city for another and being driven out. For I know well that, wherever I go, when I speak the youth will listen just as they do here. And if I drive them away, they themselves will drive me out, persuading their elders; [37e] but if I do not drive them off, their fathers and kinsmen themselves will.

Perhaps, then, someone might say: “Being silent and keeping to yourself, Socrates, will you not be able to live your life after you go away from us?” This, in fact, is the most difficult thing to persuade some of you. For if I say that this is to disobey the god, and on account of this it is [38a] impossible to keep quiet, you will not believe me, as though I am dissembling; and if, again, I say that this also happens to be the greatest good for man, to speak each day about virtue, and the other things about which you hear me speaking and examining myself and others, and if I say that the unexamined life is not worth living for man, saying these things you will believe me even less. These things hold just as I say, men, but it is not easy to persuade you. And at the same time, I have not been accustomed to consider myself worthy of anything [38b] evil. For if I had money, I would have proposed a monetary penalty, as much as I was able to pay; for I would not have been harmed at all. But in reality, this is not the case, unless, in fact, as much as I would be able to pay, for so much you wish to penalize me. Perhaps, I think, I might be able to pay you a mna of silver. Therefore I propose so much. And Plato here, Athenian men, and Crito, and Kritoboulos, and Apollodoros are bidding me to propose 30 mnae, and say that they will provide surety. So I propose so much, and these men will be trustworthy sureties to you for the silver.

[38c] Because of not much time, Athenian men, you will get a reputation and the blame from those wishing to slander the state that you have killed Socrates, a wise man—for they will say that I am wise, even if I am not, those who wish to reproach you. If you had waited for a little while, this would have happened for you spontaneously: for, indeed, you see my age, that I am already far into my life, and near death. But I say this not [38d] to all of you, but to those who condemned me to death. And I say also the following to these same men. Perhaps you think, Athenian men, that I have been captured by a lack of words of such kind as by which I would have persuaded you, if I were supposing that it was necessary to do and say anything to be acquitted. Far from it! But I have been caught by a lack—not, however, of words, but of recklessness, and shamelessness, and of not wishing to say to you the sorts of things which, to you, would be sweetest to hear: me wailing and bemoaning and doing and saying [38e] many other things, things unworthy of me, as I declare, things of the kind which you are accustomed to hear from others. But neither then did I think, because of the danger, that it was necessary to do anything uncharacteristic of a free man, nor now do I think that is it painful to me that I defended myself thus, but much more do I prefer to die having defended myself in this way than to live, having done so differently. For neither in court nor in war is it necessary for either me or any other man [39a] to devise this, to escape death by any means. For even in battles, many times it becomes clear that someone might escape death, at least, by throwing away his weapons and turning to beseeching his pursuers; and there are many other devices in every kind of danger so as to escape death, if someone endeavors to do and say anything. But this is not difficult, men, to escape death; but it is much more difficult to escape wickedness: [39b] for it runs more quickly than death. And now I, since I am slow and aged, I have been caught by the slower, but my accusers, since they are clever and quick, have been caught by the faster, wickedness. And now I go away, having lost a trial with a penalty of death at your hands, but these men leave having been convicted by the truth for wickedness and injustice. Both I and they are holding fast in our penalty. Perhaps it was necessary for these things to be this way, and I think that they are reasonable.

[39c] But as for what comes next, I want to prophesy this to you, those of you who convicted me; for I am already there where most of all people prophesize, when they are about to die. For I declare, you men who have killed me, that retribution will come to you right after I die, more grievous, by Zeus, than that with which you have killed me. For now, you did this believing that you would be released from giving an account of your lives; but for you something quite the opposite will occur, as I declare. For more will be the number of [39d] those who will examine you, whom now I held back, and you did not notice; and they will be more difficult, inasmuch as they are younger, and you will get even angrier. For if you think that in killing men it will prevent someone from reproaching you for not living correctly, you are not thinking things through very well. For this method of escape itself is neither very potent nor good, but that one is most noble and easiest, namely not hindering others, but preparing oneself to be as good as possible. So, having prophesied these things to those of you who condemned me, I am set free.

[39e] But with those who voted to acquit me I would sweetly discuss about this thing that has happened, in the time in which the authorities are busy and I am not yet headed to that place, having reached which I must die. But wait for me for so long, men; for nothing prevents us from speaking with each other, as long as it is permissible. For [40a] to you, since you are my friends, I want to show what in the world it means, the thing that has happened to me now. For to me, judges—for I would speak correctly in calling you judges—something amazing has happened. For that accustomed prophetic power of mine, that of the divinity, in all past instances it was always very frequent and opposing even in small matters, if I should be about to do something not well. But now there have happened to me things which even you yourselves see, these things which, in fact, someone might consider, and people do believe, to be the greatest of evils; but as I set [40b] out from home at dawn the sign of the god did not oppose me, nor when I climbed up to the court here, nor anywhere in my speech when I was about to say something. But in other speeches, it held me back in many places while I was in the middle of speaking. But now, nowhere concerning this matter has it opposed me, neither in any deed, nor in word. What, then, am I to suppose the reason is? I will tell you: this thing that has happened runs the risk of having been something good for me, and it is not possible that we are supposing correctly, [40c] as many of us as think that death is bad. A great proof of this has occurred for me: for it is not possible that the accustomed sign would not have opposed me, if I were not about to do something good.

Let’s consider in this way that there is a lot of hope that it is a good thing. For death is one or the other of two things: for either it is a kind of being nothing, and the dead person has no perception of anything, or, in accordance with what is said, it happens to be a kind of change and migration for the soul, from the place here to another place. And if, in fact, it is no perception, but [40d] just like sleep, when a sleeper does not dream, death would be an amazing gain—for I think, if it should be necessary for someone, picking out that night during which he slept in such a manner as to not have a dream, and comparing and contrasting the other nights and days of his own life with this night, if it should be necessary for him, making an examination, to say how many days and nights he has lived in his own life better and more sweetly than this night, I think that not only any private individual, but also the great king of Persia himself would find [40e] that they were easy to count compared to the other days and nights. If, then, death is such a thing, I, at least, say that it is a gain. For all time appears, in this case, to be nothing more than one night. But if, in turn, death is a kind of going away from here to another place, and the things that are said are true, that there there are all who have died, what greater good than this might there be, judges? For if someone, [41a] arriving in Hades, leaving behind these men who claim to be judges, will find those who are truly judges, and who are said to sit in judgment there, Minos and Rhadamanthus and Aiakos and Triptolemos, and however many of the demigods were just men in their lives, would this be a bad move? Or, in turn, for how much would any of you accept to be with Orpheus and Mousaios and Hesiod and Homer? For I am willing to die many times, if these things are true, since [41b] for me myself the way of life there would be wonderful, whenever I should encounter Palamedes and Telamonian Ajax, and if any other one of the ancients died because of an unjust decision, comparing my experiences with theirs. As I suppose, it would not be unpleasant. And in fact the greatest thing would to pass my time examining and investigating the people there, just as those here: who of them is wise, and who thinks he is, but actually is not. Judges, how much would someone pay to examine the man who led the great army [41c] against Troy, or Odysseus, or Sisyphus, or countless other men and women someone might name? To converse with and be with and examine these people would be an unimaginable amount of good fortune. For this reason, at least, the people there certainly do not kill. For with regard to other things, the people there are more fortunate than those here, and already for the time that remains they are immortal, if really the things that are said are true.

But it is necessary that you, too, judges, be of good hope with regard to death, and that you consider this one true thing, that [41d] there is nothing bad for a good man, neither while he is alive, nor after he dies, and that his affairs are not overlooked by the gods. Nor has my situation come into being on its own, but this is clear to me, that to have died now and been let go from my problems was better for me. And for this reason the sign never turned me away, and I, at least, am not very angry with those who voted against me and with my accusers. And yet, they were not voting against me and accusing me with this in mind, but supposing that they were harming me. [41e] This is deserving of blame for them. However, I ask of them so much: take vengeance on my sons, when they grow up, men, harassing them with regard to the same things as I was harassing you, if they seem to be concerned with money or some other thing more than with virtue, and if they seem to be something, though they are not, reproach them just as I have reproached you, because they are not concerned with the things with which it is necessary to be concerned, and they think that they are something, though being worthy of nothing. And if [42a] you do these things, I will have experienced justice at your hands, both I myself and my sons. But already it is the hour to depart, for me to die and for you to live. But which of us goes to a better thing is unclear to all, save the god.