When I came
to Oxford in September 1980, Dr Kathleen Wilkes – the first Oxford don to give
a lecture in my philosophy seminar in Prague, in 1979 – told me: ‘Publish or Perish’.
My English was not up to scratch, but Kathy helped, and so we wrote ‘Socrates
in the Phaedrus’. She sent the paper to
Tony Long, the editor of The Classical
Quarterly, who replied to her: ‘I’ve read the article twice, over an
interval of ten days. It’s very interesting and stimulating, but I don’t think
I can publish it … I considered publishing it and be damned. But I don’t think
that would be fair to Julius himself … I don’t see the force of the claim about
Lysias – Polemarchus. If Polemarchus had been devoted to philosophy, and had
lost his life under a tyrannical regime, why would it be bad taste for Plato to
allude to this years later? What about Socrates himself, and his death?’
My claim
that Plato’s presentation of Polemarchus in the Phaedrus is relevant to the dating of the dialogue derives its
force from Socrates’ assertion that ‘if the victory be won by the higher
elements of mind guiding them [the lover and his beloved] into the ordered rule
of the philosophic life (ean men dȇ oun eis tetagmenȇn te diaitan kai
philosophian nikȇsȇi ta beltiȏ tȇs dianoias agagonta), their days on earth will be
blessed with happiness and concord (makarion
men kai homonoȇtikon ton enthade bion
diagousin, 256a7-b1, tr. Hackforth),’ viewed in its relation to Socrates’
prayer to Eros: ‘Turn Lysias to philosophy, even as his brother Polemarchus has
been turned to it (Lusian epi
philosophian de, hȏsper h’adelphos autou
tetraptai, trepson),
so that (hina) his loving admirer
here present [i.e. Phaedrus] may (kai ho
erastȇs hode autou) cease
to waver (mȇketi epamphoterizȇi), as now he does (kathaper nun), but simply (all’ haplȏs) directs his life towards Love with
the aid of philosophic discourse (pros Erȏta meta
philosophȏn logȏn ton bion poiȇtai, 257b2-6).’ These two points, confronted with the
death of Polemarchus in the hands of the Thirty, relate the dialogue to the
Solonian view that true happiness cannot be ascribed to any man whose life does
not end well.
Tony Long’s
comparison of Polemarchus, who ‘had been devoted to philosophy, and had lost
his life under a tyrannical regime’ with ‘Socrates himself, and his death’ deserves
to be discussed. We don’t have any reference to Polemarchus’ death in Plato,
but we have a description of the circumstances in which he died from the pen of
his brother Lysias.
Lysias, Against Eratosthenes
‘Polemarchus
received from the Thirty their accustomed order (Polemarchȏi de parȇngeilan hoi triakonta t’oup’ ekeinȏn eithismenon
parangelma) to drink
hemlock (pinein kȏneion), with
no statement made as to the reason for his execution (prin tȇn aitian eipein di’ hȇntina emellen apothaneisthai): so far did he come short of (houtȏ pollou edeȇse) being
tried (krithȇnai) and
defending himself (kai apologȇsasthai). And
when he was being brought away dead from the prison (kai epeidȇ apephereto ek tou desmȏtȇriou
tethneȏs), although we had three houses among us (triȏn hȇmin oikiȏn ousȏn), they did
not permit his funeral to be conducted from any of them (ex oudemias eiasan exenechthȇnai), but they hired a small hut (alla kleision misthȏsamenoi) in
which to lay him out (prou’thento auton).
We had plenty of cloaks (kai pollȏn ontȏn
himatiȏn), yet they refused our request of one for the funeral (aitousin ouden edosan eis tȇn taphȇn); but our
friends (alla tȏn philȏn) gave either
a cloak, or a pillow, or whatever each had to spare, for his internment (ho men himation, ho de proskephalaion, ho de
ho ti hekastos etuchen edȏken eis tȇn ekeinou taphȇn). They had
seven hundred shields of ours (kai
echontes men heptakosias aspidas tȏn hȇmeterȏn), they had
all that silver and gold (echontes de
argurion kai chrusion tosouton), with copper (chalkon de), jewellery (kai
kosmon), furniture (kai epipla)
and women’s apparel (kai himatia gunaikeia)
beyond what they had ever expected to get (hosa
oudepȏpote ȏionto ktȇsesthai); also a hundred and twenty slaves (kai andrapoda eikosi kai hekaton), of
whom they took the ablest (hȏn ta men beltista elabon), delivering the rest to the treasury (ta de loipa eis to dȇmosion apedosan); and yet to what extremes of
insatiable greed of gain did they go (eis
tosautȇn aplȇstian kai
aischrokerdeian aphikonto), in this revelation that they made of their personal character (kai tou tropou tou hautȏn apodeixin epoiȇsanto)! For some twisted earrings, which
Polemarchus’ wife chanced to have (tȇs gar Polemarchou gunaikos chrusous heliktȇras, hous echousa
etunchanen), were
taken off her ears by Melobius as soon as ever he entered the house (hote to prȏton ȇlthen eis tȇn oikian Mȇlobios ek
tȏn ȏtȏn exeileto).’ (17-20, tr. W. R. M. Lamb)
Compare this
with the way in which Socrates faced his indictment, undergone his trial,
refused to escape from prison, and faced death on his last day. At present I
shall focus attention to Theaetetus, Euthyphro, and Cratylus, the dialogues in which we are presented with Socrates
after he had been indicted, before his trial.
Theaetetus
In the Theaetetus Socrates addresses Theodorus,
a mathematician from Cyrene, with the words: ‘If I cared more about the people
in Cyrene (Ei men tȏn en Kurȇnȇ
mallon ekȇdomȇn), Theodorus (ȏ Theodȏre), I’d be
asking you about its affairs and its people (ta ekei an se kai peri ekeinȏn anȇrȏtȏn) – whether
any of the young men there are taking an interest in geometry or any other way
of cultivating wisdom (ei tines autothi
peri geȏmetrian
ȇ tina allȇn philosophian eisi tȏn neȏn epimeleian poioumenoi). But as things are (nun
de), I’m less fond of them than I am of the Athenians (hȇtton gar ekeinous ȇ tousde philȏ), and so I’m keener to know (kai mallon epithumȏ eidenai) which
of our young men (tines hȇmin tȏn neȏn) are thought
likely to turn well (epidoxoi genesthai
epieikeis). So I keep a look-out for that myself (tauta dȇ autos te skopȏ), as far as I can (kath’ hoson dunamai), and ask other
people about it too (kai tous allous erȏtȏ) – anyone with whom I see that the
young men like to associate (hois an horȏ tous neous ethelontas sungignesthai). Now you have quite large numbers who come to you (soi dȇ ouk oligistoi plȇsiazousi), and
justly so (kai dikaiȏs), because
you deserve it for several reasons (axios
gar ta te alla), and in particular for your geometry (kai geȏmetrias heneka). So if you’ve come across anyone
worth talking about (ei dȇ oun tini
enetuches axiȏi logou), I’d be glad to hear it (hȇdeȏs an puthoimȇn).’ (143d1-e3,
tr. John McDowell)
Introduced
to young Theaetetus, Socrates goes on to discuss knowledge with him and Theodorus.
He ends the discussion with the words: ‘Well, now I must go to the King’s Porch
(nun men oun apantȇteon moi eis tȇn tou basileȏs stoan) to face the charge Meletus has
brought against me (epi tȇn Melȇtou
graphȇn hȇn me gegraptai). But let’s meet here again,
Theodorus, in the morning (heȏthen de, ȏ
Theodȏre, deuro palin apantȏmen).’ – With the intellectual and moral well-being of
young Athenians foremost in his mind, Socrates went to face the charge of
corrupting the youth of Athens.
The dialogue
in its entirety presents us with philosophy brought into action by a true
philosopher. In its middle section is a cameo: ‘The philosophers always have plenty
of time (tois men touto aei paresti, scholȇ); they carry on their discussions in
peace and with time to spare (kai tous
logous en eirȇnȇi epi
scholȇs poiountai). For instance, look at us now (hȏsper hȇmeis nuni),
taking up one argument after another: we’re already on our third (triton ȇdȇ logon ek logou
metalambanomen).
That’s what they’ll do too (houtȏ k’akeinoi),
if the next argument to come up attracts them more than the one in front of
them, which is what happened to us (ean
autous ho epelthȏn tou prokeimenou mallon kathaper hȇmas aresȇi). It doesn’t
matter at all whether they talk for a long time or a short one (kai dia makrȏn ȇ bracheȏn melei ouden legein), provided only that they hit on that which is (an monon tuchȏsi tou ontos). (172d4-8) … The one, whom you call a philosopher, has
really been brought up in freedom and
leisure (ho tropos … tȏi onti en eleutheriai te kai scholȇi tethrammenou,
hon dȇ philosophon kaleis, 175d7-e2).’ (Tr. McDowell)
A glance at
Xenophon’s Symposium
The notion
of scholȇ
is central to Socrates’ philosophy. It comes to the fore in Xenophon’s Symposium. Each participant declares
what he is most proud of, and Antisthenes prides himself on his riches (epi ploutȏi). Asked how much land he
has, he answers ‘Well, perhaps it might prove big enough for Autolycus here to
sand himself in’ (Isȏs an Autolukȏi
toutȏi hikanȇ genoito enkonisasthai, III. 8; O. J. Todd, the translator,
explains: ‘The reference is to the handful or so of dry sand that an athlete
put on after oiling his skin’.) Asked ‘tell us (lege hȇmin) how it is that with such slender means (pȏs houtȏ brachea echȏn) you base your
pride on wealth (mega phroneis epi
ploutȏi)’, Antistenes says: ‘Because I conceive (Hoti nomizȏ) that people’s wealth and poverty are to be found not
in their real estate (tous anthrȏpous ouk
en tȏi oikȏi ton plouton kai tȇn penian echein) but in their souls (all’ en tais psuchais) … And it is worth
noting (axion d’ ennoȇsai) that
wealth of this kind makes people generous, also (hoti kai eleutherious ho toioutos ploutos parechetai). For Socrates
(Sȏkratȇs te gar houtos), from whom I
acquired this wealth of mine (par’ hou
egȏ touton ektȇsamȇn), did not come to my relief with limitation of number
and weight (out’ arithmȏi oute stathmȏi
epȇrkei moi), but made over to me all that I could carry (all’ hoposon edunamȇn pheresthai, tosouton moi
paredidou) … But – most exquisite possession of all! (kai mȇn kai to habrotaton ge ktȇma) – you observe that I always
have leisure (tȇn scholȇn aei horate moi
parousan), with the result that I can go and see whatever is worth seeing (hȏste kai theasthai ta axiotheata), and
hear whatever is worth hearing (kai
akouein ta axiakousta) and – what I praise highest (kai ho pleistou egȏ timȏmai) – pass the whole day, untroubled by
business, in Socrates’ company (Sȏkratei scholazȏn sundiȇmereuein). Like me,
he does not bestow his admiration on those who count the most gold (kai houtos de ou tous pleiston arithmountas
chrusion thaumazei, all’ hoi an autȏi areskȏsi), but spends his time with
those who are congenial to him (toutois
sunȏn diatelei). (IV. 34-44, tr. Todd)
Euthyphro
Next, Plato brings
us to the King’s Porch. Socrates is met there by Euthyphro who intends to
indict his father for murder. Euthyphro narrates: ‘The man who is dead was a
poor dependent of mine (ho ge
apothanomenos pelatȇs tis ȇn emos) who worked for us as field labourer
on our farm in Naxos (kai hȏs
egeȏrgoumen en tȇi Naxȏi, ethȇteuen ekei par’ hȇmin), and one day in a fit of drunken
passion (paroinȇsas oun) he
got into a quarrel with one of our domestic servants (kai orgistheis tȏn oiketȏn tini tȏn hȇmeterȏn) and slew
him (aposphattei auton). My father (ho oun patȇr) bound him hand and foot (sundȇsas tous podas kai tas cheiras
autou) and threw him
into a ditch (katabalȏn eis taphron tina), and then sent to Athens (pempei
deuro andra) to ask an expositor of religious law (peusomenon tou exȇgȇtou) what he should do with him (hoti chreiȇ poiein). Meanwhile (en de toutȏi tȏi chronȏi) he never attended to him and took
no care about him (tou dedemenou ȏligȏrei te
kai ȇmelei), for he regarded him as a murderer (hȏs androphonou);
and thought that no great harm would be done (kai ouden on pragma) even if he did die (ei kai apothanoi). Now this is just what had happened (hoper oun kai epathen). For such was the
effect of cold and hunger (hupo gar limou
kai rigous) and chains upon him (kai
tȏn desmȏn), that before the messenger returned
from the expositor, he was dead (apothnȇiskei prin
ton angelon para tou exȇgȇtou aphikesthai). And my father and family are angry
with me (tauta dȇ oun kai
aganaktei ho te patȇr kai hoi alloi oikeioi)
for taking the part of
the murderer (hoti egȏ huper tou androphonou) and prosecuting my father (tȏi patri phonou
epexerchomai). They
say that he did not kill him (oute
apokteinanti, hȏs phasi ekeinoi), and that if he did (out’ ei hoti malista apekteinen), the
dead man was just a murderer (androphonou
ge ontos tou apothanontos), and I ought not to take any notice (ou dein phrontizein huper tou toioutou),
for that a son is impious who prosecutes a father for murder (anosion gar einai to huon patri phonou
epexienai). Which shows how little they know (kakȏs eidotes) what the gods think about piety and
impiety (to theion hȏs echei tou hosiou te peri kai tou anosiou, 4c3-e3, tr. Jowett).’
Euthyphro is
certain that he does the right thing, following the example of Zeus (ton Dia), the best and most righteous of
the gods (tȏn theȏn ariston kai dikaiotaton), who bound his father (Cronos) because he wickedly devoured
his sons (ton hautou patera dȇsai hoti tous hueis katepinen ouk en dikȇi, 5e6-6a2). Returning again and again
to the circumstances of the case, Socrates insists that Euthyphro must know
what true piety is: ‘If you had not certainly known (ei gar mȇ ȇidȇstha saphȏs) the nature
of piety and impiety (to te hosion kai to
anosion), I am confident that you would never (ouk estin hopȏs an pote), on behalf of a serf, have charged
your aged father with murder (epecheirȇsas huper
andros thȇtos andra presbutȇn patera diȏkathein phonou). You would not have run such a risk
of doing wrong in the sight of the gods (alla
kai tous theous an edeisas parakinduneuein mȇ ouk orthȏs auto poiȇsois), and you
would have had too much respect for the opinion of men (kai tous anthrȏpous ȇischunthȇs). I am sure,
therefore (nun de eu oida), that you believe you know the nature of piety
and impiety (hoti saphȏs oiei eidenai to te hosion
kai mȇ). Speak out then (eipe oun), my dear Euthyphro (ȏ beltiste
Euthuphrȏn), and do not hide (kai mȇ apokrupsȇi)
what you think it is (ho ti auto hȇgȇi).’ (15d4-e2, tr. Jowett with
two corrections: Jowett wrongly translates Socrates’ oiei eidenai ‘you know’, and
his ho
ti auto hȇgȇi ‘your knowledge’). – At this point,
after several failed attempts to define piety and impiety, without making
another effort, instead of entering the King’s office to pursue the case,
Euthyphro hastens away: ‘Another time (Eis
authis toinun), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), for now I am in a hurry to go
somewhere (nun gar speudȏ poi), and it’s
time for me to go away (kai moi hȏra apienai,
15e3-4. Jowett’s ‘I am in a hurry, and must go now’ is misleading. If I
remember, Peter Geach in an article on the dialogue maintains that Euthyphro at
that point went into the King’s office to indict his father).’
Socrates with
his philosophic questioning succeeded in undermining Euthyphro’s
self-assurance.
Cratylus
Euthyphro
was eager to tell Socrates all the mysteries of religion, but Socrates had no
time for it: ‘You shall tell me about these things some other time when we have
leisure’ (tauta men moi eis authis epi
scholȇs diȇgȇsȇi, Euthyphro 6c8-9).
At the end of the dialogue Euthyphro makes a similar suggestion concerning
Socrates’ enquiries about piety and impiety: ‘Another time (Eis authis toinun, 15e3)’. They appear to
have met again, as they both suggested, for in Plato’s Cratylus, having embarked on interpreting the names given to gods, Socrates
refers to Euthyphro as the source of ‘this wisdom’ (tȇs sophias tautȇsi): ‘And I attribute
its coming over me mostly to Euthyphro of the Prospaltian deme (Kai aitiȏmai ge malista autȇn apo
Euthuphronos tou Prospaltiou prospeptȏkenai moi), for from morn (heȏthen gar) I spent a long time with him (polla autȏi sunȇ) and gave him my ears (kai pareichon ta ȏta). Enthused,
he appears (kinduneuei oun enthousiȏn) not only to have filled my ears (ou monon ta ȏta mou emplȇsai) with his remarkable
wisdom (tȇs daimonias sophias), but even laid hold of my soul (alla kai tȇs psuchȇs epeilȇphthai). I think that we must do the
following (dokei oun moi chrȇnai houtȏsi hȇmas poiȇsai) – to use
it today (to men tȇmeron
chrȇsasthai autȇi) and investigate all that remains concerning the
names (kai ta loipa peri tȏn onomatȏn episkepsasthai), but tomorrow (aurion de), if
you agree (an kai humin sundokȇi), we will
conjure it away (apodiopompȇsometha te autȇn) and purify ourselves (kai katharoumetha), finding somebody who
is great at purifying such things (exeurontes
hostis ta toiauta deinos kathairein), either one of the priests (eite tȏn hiereȏn tis) or of
sophists (eite tȏn sophistȏn).’ (396d4-397a1)
Socrates
speaks in irony, and we can measure the depth of his irony if we compare what
Euthyphro was saying about Zeus, his father Cronus, and Cronus’ father Uranus
in the Euthyphro – ‘for people
themselves (autoi gar hoi anthrȏpoi), who consider
Zeus to be the best and most righteous of the gods (nomizontes ton Dia tȏn theȏn ariston kai
diakiotaton), agree
with me that he bound his father (Cronus) (kai
touton homologousi ton hautou patera dȇsai) for he wickedly devoured his sons (hoti tous hueis katepinen ouk en dikȇi), and that
he (Cronus) (k’akeinon ge), again (au), castrated his father (Uranus) (ton patera hautou ektemein) for similar
misdeeds (di’ hetera toiauta, Euthyphro 5e5-6a3)’ – with what Socrates
said concerning the names of these three gods in the passage that triggered his
reference to Euthyphro: the name Zeus – (accusative Zȇna), combined with the form Dia – points to the god ‘through whom (di’
hon) all living creatures always have life (zȇn aei pasi tois zȏsi huparchei’,
and as such to be the child of mighty intellect (megalȇs tinos dianoias
ekgonon einai), taking
Cronus to signify ‘the purity (to
katharon) and undefiled nature (kai
akȇraton) of his intellect
(autou tou nou)’, him being the son
of Uranus, whose name signifies ‘the heavenly sight’ (opsis ourania), derived from ‘seeing the things above’ i.e. ‘in
heaven’ (opsis horȏsa ta anȏ, Cratylus 396a1-c1).
Although
ironical, Socrates comes back to his early morning meeting with Euthyphro again
and again. For what he achieved in his discussion with Euthyphro was something
really great. As Euthyphro himself informs us in the Euthyphro, his father and all his relatives were unhappy about his prosecuting
his father for murder, but their attempts to dissuade him from it were all in
vain; he considered himself an expert in religious matters (4d). Only Socrates
succeeded in piercing his conceit. In the Life
of Socrates Diogenes Laertius writes: ‘When Euthyphro had indicted his
father for manslaughter (Euthuphrona de tȏi patri grapsamenon xenoktonias dikȇn), Socrates, after some conversation
with him on piety (peri hosiou tina
dialechtheis), diverted him from his purpose (apȇgage).’ (II. 29, tr. R. D. Hicks)
In Cratylus 398e Socrates tells Hermogenes that
‘it is difficult to understand (chalepon
estin ennoȇsai), why men are called anthrȏpoi (dia
ti pote anthrȏpoi kalountai),’
and asks him: ‘can you tell me the reason (su
echeis eipein)?’ – Hermogenes: ‘How can I, my friend (Pothen, ȏ’gathe, echȏ;)? Even if I could find something (oud’ ei ti hoios t’ an eiȇn heurein), I do
not try (ou sunteinȏ), because I think (dia to hȇgeisthai) you are more likely to find it (se mallon heurȇsein) than
myself (ȇ emauton).’ –
Soc. ‘You trust the inspiration of Euthyphro (Tȇi tou Euthuphronos
epipnoiai pisteueis),
as it seems (hȏs eoikas). You
are right in trusting it (Orthȏs ge su pepisteukas), as just now I appear (hȏs kai nun ge moi phainomai) to have got an ingenious thought (kompsȏs ennenoȇkenai), and I am in danger (kai kinduneuȏ), if I am not careful (ean mȇ eulabȏmai), this very day (eti tȇmeron) to become wiser than I ought to be
(sophȏteros tou deontos
genesthai). Now
attend to what I say (skopei dȇ ho legȏ); for firstly (prȏton men gar), one
must consider this (to toionde dei ennoȇsai)
concerning names (peri onomatȏn), that we
often put in letters (hoti pollakis
epemballomen grammata), and take out other letters (ta d’ exairoumen) … one of these things happened concerning he name
of man (toutȏn toinun hen kai to tȏn anthrȏpȏn onoma peponthen), as it seems to me (hȏs emoi eoiken), for it became a name out of a
phrase (ek gar rȇmatos onoma gegonen) … other animals (ta men alla thȇria) never
examine, or consider, or look up at what they see (hȏn horai ouden episkopei
oude analogizetai oude anathrei), but man not only sees but
considers and looks up at that which he sees (ho de anthrȏpos hama heȏraken – touto d’ esti opȏpe – kai anathrei
kai logizetai touto ho opȏpe), and hence (enteuthen dȇ) man alone of all animals is rightly called anthrȏpos (monon
tȏn
thȇriȏn ho anthrȏpos “anthrȏpos” ȏnomasthȇ), looking up, examining, what he sees (anathrȏn ha opȏpe).
(398e4-399c6)
Socrates
refers to Euthyphro again at 400a1, at 407d8, and 409d1. The last reference to
him, at 428c7, is made by Cratylus: ‘I already find myself moved to say to you (moi pȏs eperchetai legein
pros se) what
Achilles in the ‘Prayers’ says to Ajax (to
tou Achilleȏs, ho ekeinos en Litais
pros ton Aianta legei),
- “Illustrious Ajax, son of Telamon (Aian
Diogenes Telamȏnie), lord of the people (koirane laȏn), You appear to have spoken in all
things much to my mind (panta ti moi kata
thumon eeisȏ muthȇsasthai).” – And
you, Socrates, appear to me (kai emoi su,
ȏ
Sȏkrates, epieikȏs phainȇi) to be an oracle, and to give answers much to my mind
(kata noun chrȇsmȏidein), whether you are inspired by
Euthyphro (eite par’ Euthuphronos
epipnous genomenos), or whether some other Muse (eite kai allȇ tis Mousa) may have long been an inhabitant of
you breast, unconsciously to yourself (se
enousa elelȇthei).’ – Socrates: ‘Excellent Cratylus (Ȏ’gathe Kratyle),
I have long been wondering at my own wisdom (thaumazȏ kai autos palai tȇn emautou sophian), finding it beyond belief (kai
apistȏ ‘and I do not trust it’). And I
think that I ought to stop and ask myself (dokei
oun moi chrȇnai epanaskepsasthai), What am I saying (ti kai legȏ)? For there is nothing worse than self-deception (to gar exapatasthai auton huph’ hautou pantȏn chalepȏtaton) – when
the deceiver is always at home and always with you (hotan gar mȇde smikron apostatȇi all’ aei parȇi ho
exapatȇsȏn) – it is quite terrible (pȏs ou deinon;), and therefore I ought (dei dȇ, hȏs eoike) often
to retrace my steps (thama
metastrephesthai epi ta proeirȇmena) and endeavour (kai peirasthai) to ‘look fore and aft’, in the words of the
aforesaid Homer (to ekeinou tou poiȇtou, blepein “hama prossȏ kai opissȏ”).’ (428c2-d8; the exchange between
Cratylus and Socrates is in Jowett’s translation)
Xenophon’s
Memorabilia
Xenophon in
his Memorabilia recorded that
Hermogenes – Socrates’ interlocutor in Plato’s Cratylus – said: ‘that when Melȇtus had already formally indicted
Socrates (ȇdȇ
Melȇtou gegrammenou auton tȇn graphȇn), he heard Socrates talking about
everything possible rather than the case (autos
akouȏn autou panta mallon ȇ peri tȇs dikȇs dialegomenou), and that he told him (legein autȏi) that he ought to be thinking (hȏs chrȇ skopein) what
to say in his defence (ho ti apologȇsetai).
Socrates’
first remark was (ton de men prȏton eipein), “Don’t
you think that I have been preparing for it all my life?” (Ou gar dokȏ soi touto meletȏn diabebiȏkenai;) And
when he asked him how (epei de auton ȇreto, hopȏs), Socrates said (eipein auton) that he had been
constantly occupied in the consideration of right and wrong (hoti ouden allo poiȏn diagegenȇtai ȇ diaskopȏn men ta te dikaia kai ta adika), and in doing what was right (prattȏn de ta dikaia) and avoiding what was wrong (kai tȏn adikȏn apechomenos),
which he regarded (hȇnper nomizoi) as
the best preparation for a defence (kallistȇn meletȇn apologias einai). And Hermogenes said again (autos
de palin eipein): “Don’t you see (Ouch
horais), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), that the Athenian judges (hoti hoi Athȇnaioi dikastai) have put to death many innocent
people, misled by argument (pollous men ȇdȇ mȇden adikountas logȏi parachthentes
apekteinan), and
acquitted many who were guilty (pollous
de adikountas apelusan)?” “Ah yes, Hermogenes,” he answered (Alla nȇ ton Dia, phanai auton, ȏ Hermogenes),
“when I tried to think out my defence to the judges (ȇdȇ mou
epicheirountos phrontisai tȇs pros tous dikastas apologias), the daimonion resisted me (ȇnantiȏthȇ to daimonion).
[cf. Plato’s Apology: ‘This sign,
which is a kind of voice, first began to come to me when I was a child (emoi de tout’ estin ek paidos arxamenon, phȏnȇ tis
gignomenȇ); from time to time it forbids me to do something which I am
going to do (hȇ hotan
genȇtai, aei apotrepei me touto ho an mellȏ prattein), but never commands anything (protrepei de oupote, 31d2-4, tr. Jowett)’]
And Hermogenes
said (kai autos eipein): “It is
strange what you say (Thaumasta legeis)”.
And Socrates (ton de): “Do you think
it strange (Thaumazeis),” he said (phanai), “if it seems better to God (ei tȏi theȏi dokei beltion einai) that I should die now? (eme
teleutan ton bion ȇdȇ;) Don’t you know (ouk oisth’) that until this time (hoti mechri men toude tou chronou) I
would never accept that any man had lived a better or pleasanter life than I? (egȏ oudeni
anthrȏpȏn hupheimȇn an oute beltion outh’ hȇdion emou
bebiȏkenai;) For I think
that those live best (arista men gar
oimai zȇn), who strive best to become as good as possible (tous arista epimelomenous tou hȏs beltistous
gignesthai), and the pleasantest life is theirs (hȇdista de tous) who feel most intensely (malista aisthanomenous) that they are becoming better men (hoti beltious gignontai). Which until
this time I have felt occurring to me (ha
mechri toude tou chronou ȇisthanomȇn emautȏi sumbainonta), and encountering
others (kai tois allois anthrȏpois
entunchanȏn) and comparing myself with them (kai pros tous allous paratheȏrȏn emauton), I have held without
ceasing to this opinion of myself (houtȏ
diateteleka peri emoutou gignȏskȏn). And not only I (kai ou monon egȏ), but my friends also (alla kai hoi emoi philoi) cease not to feel thus towards me (houtȏs echontes peri emou diatelousin),
not because of their love for me (ou dia
to philein eme), for in that case those who love others would feel the same
towards their friends (kai gar hoi tous
allous philountes houtȏs an eichon pros tous heautȏn philous), but because
they themselves think (alla dioper kai
autoi an oiontai) that by being with me they become the best men (emoi sunontes beltistoi gignesthai). But
if I live longer (ei de biȏsomai pleiȏ chronon),
presumably (isȏs) it will be
necessary (anankaion estai) to experience
what the old age brings (ta tou gȇrȏs
epiteleisthai), to see and to hear feebly (kai horan te kai akouein hȇtton) and to become dull of wit, slower to
learn, quicker to forget (kai dianoeisthai cheiron kai dusmathesteron
apobainein kai epilȇsmonesteron), outstripped now by those who were behind
me (kai hȏn proteron beltiȏ ȇn, toutȏn
cheirȏ gignesthai). And if I were unable to perceive it (alla mȇn tauta ge mȇ aisthanomenȏ men),
life would unlivable (abiȏtos an eiȇ ho
bios); and if I perceived it (aisthanomenon
de), I would live necessarily badly and unpleasantly (pȏs ouk anankȇ cheiron te kai aȇdesteron zȇn;).
But
now (Alla mȇn), if I am to die
unjustly (ei ge adikȏs apothanoumai),
they who unjustly kill me (tois adikȏs me
apokteinasi) will bear the shame of it (aischron
an eiȇ touto). For if to do injustice is shameful (ei gar to adikein aischron esti), whatever is unjustly done must
surely bring shame (pȏs ouk aischron kai
to adikȏs hotioun poiein;). But to me what shame is it (emoi de ti aischron) that others (to heterous) fail to decide and act
justly concerning me? (mȇ dunasthai peri
emou ta dikaia mȇte gnȏnai mȇte poiȇsai;) And I see (horȏ d’ egȏge) that posterity judges differently of the dead
according as they did or suffered injustice (kai tȇn doxan tȏn progegonotȏn anthrȏpȏn en tois epigignomenois ouch
homoian kataleipomenȇn tȏn te adikȇsantȏn kai tȏn adikȇthentȏn). And I know
(oida de) that men will remember me
too (hoti kai egȏ epimeleias teuxomai
hup’ anthrȏpȏn), and, if I die now (kai
ean nun apothanȏ), not as they will remember those who took my life (ouch homoiȏs tois eme apokteinasin). For
I know that they will ever testify of me (oida
gar aei marturȇsesthai moi) that I wronged no man at any time (hoti egȏ ȇdikȇsa oudena pȏpote anthrȏpȏn),
nor corrupted any man (oude cheirȏ
epoiȇsa), but strove ever to make my companions better (beltious de poiein epeirȏmȇn aei tous emoi
sunontas).”
This was the tenor of his conversation
with Hermogenes (Toiauta men pros
Hermogenȇ te dielechthȇ) and with the others (kai pros tous allous).’ (IV. viii. 4-10; wherever I could, I have employed
E. C. Marchant’s translation.)
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