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 Also by James A. Colaiaco

Martin Luther King, Jr.: Apostle of Militant Nonviolence

James Fitzjames Stephen and the Crisis of Victorian Thought
SOCRATES
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Philosophy

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JAMES A. COLAIACO

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ARY
BALDWIN PUBLIC LIBR
Routledge
New York and London
Published in 2001 by
Routledge
29 West 35th Street
New York, NY 10001

Published in Great Britain by

Routledge
11 New Fetter Lane
London EC4P 4EE

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group.

Copyright © 2001 by Routledge

Printed in the United State of America on acid-free paper.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any
form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including any photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publishing Data is available from the Library of Congress

ISBN 0-4159-2653-X (hb)

ISBN 0-4159-2654-8 (pb)
 To Nancy, my kindred spirit

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 Acknowledgments

NYONE WHO STUDIES the trial of Socrates is indebted to the

many scholars who have contributed to our knowledge of
ancient Greek philosophy and culture. We are engaged in a col-
lective effort to understand one of the greatest eras of human history. I
wish to thank my colleague, Ron Rainey, who read an early draft of my
work and offered valuable advice and encouragement. I am also grate-
ful to Paul Eckstein, John Ross, Michael Shenefelt, and Phil Washburn
for their readings and suggestions. I wish to thank Dean Steve Curry and
the General Studies Program of New York University for providing me
with a semester to begin work on this book. The resources of the Bobst
Library of New York University, especially the Interlibrary Loan staff,
were of immense assistance. I thank my family, including my father,
Alfred Colaiaco, and Josephine Ruggeri and Maria Ruggeri, for their
abiding support. The memory of my mother, Helen Colaiaco, continues
to sustain me. I am grateful to Gayatri Patnaik, formerly an editor at
Routledge, for perceiving the value of my project. My greatest debt is to
my wife, Nancy Ruggeri Colaiaco, who read each draft of the book,
offering many suggestions for its improvement. During the past few vii
Viil Acknowledgments

years, we have engaged in a dialogue about Socrates and ancient Athens.

I am deeply grateful for her insight, encouragement, and love. Such a
partner, in mind as well as spirit, is a true blessing. Needless to say, while
my book has benefited from the readings and assistance of others, I
alone bear responsibility for its contents.

James A. Colaiaco
Baldwin, New York
 Contents

Acknowledgments vii

- INTRODUCTION: A TRAGIC CONFRONTATION il

. SETTING THE STAGE FOR THE TRIAL 13

Preliminaries
Historicity of the Apology

. SOCRATES AND RHETORIC 22

Athens—City of Speech
Socrates’ Opening Remarks: Dismantling Forensic Rhetoric

. SOCRATES CONFRONTS HIS OLD ACCUSERS a7

Socrates and Aristophanes’ Clouds
Socrates Denies He Is a Teacher of Natural Science
Socrates Denies He Is a Sophist
Contents

. SOCRATES’ RADICAL PHILOSOPHIC MISSION 55

The Delphic Oracle
Socrates Examines the Politicians, Poets, and Craftsmen
The Mask of Ignorance
Solving the Riddle of the Oracle

. THE ATHENIAN POLIS IDEAL 75

The Funeral Oration of Pericles: Apotheosis of the Polis
Homeric Shame Culture
Democracy Appropriates Homer
The Polis and the Individual

. SOCRATES CONFRONTS HIS PRESENT ACCUSERS: 105

THE INTERROGATION OF MELETUS
Corrupting the Young
The Polis as Teacher
Athenian Polis Religion
Socrates and Impiety

. SOCRATES BRINGS THE PHILOSOPHIC MISSION 131

INTO THE COURT
Death Bears No Sting
Caring for One’s Soul
Stepping Up the Offensive
The Gadfly

. THE POLITICS OF AN UNPOLITICAL MAN 5s

A Private Rather Than a Public Station
Socrates’ Divine Voice
Defender of Justice

10. THE TRIAL CONCLUDES: SOCRATES CONDEMNED 167

The Corruption Charge Revisited
Rejecting an Appeal for Sympathy
Proposing a Counterpenalty
Truth Fails to Persuade
 Contents xi

Parting Words to Enemies

Parting Words to Friends

1 SOCRATES AND CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE: THE CRITO LS7

Socrates and Antigone
Socrates Dismisses the Shame Culture
Justice and the Soul
Socrates Argues for the Laws
The Skillful Ironist
Fulfilling the Will of a Benevolent God

12. CONCLUSION: A CONFLICT UNRESOLVED 215

Notes 228

Selected Bibliography 243

Index 257
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 Chapter 1

INTRODUCTION: A TRAGIC
CONFRONTATION

Ever since Socrates’ trial, that is, ever since the polis tried the
philosopher, there has been a conflict between politics and phi-
losophy that I’m attempting to understand.
—Hannah Arendt!

N 399 B.C., THE GREAT PHILOSOPHER SOCRATES was tried in his

native city of Athens and condemned by a majority of citizen-
jurors. He was sentenced to death for allegedly disbelieving in the
gods of the state, introducing new gods, and corrupting the young.
Having engaged in a mission to reform the Athenians, fostering the pur-
suit of virtue and the improvement of the soul, Socrates threatened val-
ues and beliefs regarded as essential to the unity and stability of the
city—called the polis by the ancient Greeks.” Athens, the world’s first
democracy, renowned for its freedom of speech, silenced the philosopher
as a dangerous subversive. Socrates’ indictment brought a climax to the
tragic confrontation between politics and philosophy that had been
building in Athens for years. Socrates represents individual conscience,
freedom of expression, and the moral claim that one’s duty to obey God
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

is superior to one’s duty to obey the state. Unless the individual is free
to exercise moral autonomy, the state easily degenerates into a tyranny.
Athens, on the other hand, represents the state seeking to protect itself
from a dissenting philosopher who undermined traditional communal
values. If individuals are free to follow the dictates of conscience in con-
flict with accepted social norms and laws, order might dissolve into
anarchy. Occurring in the wake of the Peloponnesian War, in which
Athens suffered a crushing defeat by Sparta, the trial of Socrates sum-
moned many Athenians to reexamine values regarded as fundamental to
the city. Socrates’ philosophic mission challenged his fellow citizens to
tolerate a critical mind who, ironically, could only have been produced
in democratic Athens.
In the Apology, Plato has transmitted to us a re-creation of the trial
of Socrates.* In contrast to the Apology, which shows Socrates as a dis-
senter and civil disobedient, Plato’s Crito shows him as an obedient cit-
izen, refusing to escape the death sentence in order to uphold the laws
of the state. In fact, the Crito features a Socrates who appears to under-
mine his radical stance in the Apology. Given the conflicting images of
the philosopher, radical dissenter and obedient citizen, the question
arises, who is the real Socrates? According to the conventional view, he
was the victim of a democratic tyranny. But only in the modern era has
democracy been associated with liberalism. Ancient Athenian democ-
racy, despite its value of freedom, had no conception of individual rights
and was frequently oppressive. Democracies depend upon the will of the
majority for their survival. Yet the majority is not always right or just.
Even in modern democracies, as the writings of Alexis de Tocqueville
and John Stuart Mill remind us, freedom can be endangered by a
tyranny of the majority, in which the individual is subjected to oppres-
sion by law and public opinion. Individuals who have taken a stand
against the state have often done so on the basis of conscience and belief
in a superordinate moral law. In the nineteenth century, Henry David
Thoreau protested the extension of slavery in the United States by dis-
obeying the law to express his moral convictions.
A similar conscientious stand is found in one of the most famous
passages in the Apology, in which Socrates asserts categorically that he
would disobey the state rather than abandon what he regarded as the
 Introduction

higher moral law of God. In the midst of his trial, Socrates hypothesizes
that the jury might offer to acquit him if he agrees to end his philosophic
mission. It was his life as a philosopher and moral critic that had led to
his conflict with Athens. If he were to receive an offer of a conditional
acquittal, Socrates proclaims, he would reply: “Men of Athens, I honour
and love you; but I shall obey God rather than you, and while I have life
and strength I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of phi-
losophy.”* Such a response, essentially a threat of civil disobedience,
undoubtedly angered many jurors. Indeed, a more bold challenge to
state authority, occurring within a court that was understood to repre-
sent the sovereign citizenry, would be difficult to find in ancient Greek
history. Socrates, having already claimed a mission from God, to whom
he professed to owe obedience above all, had established a basis upon
which to justify resistance to state authority.
In the mid-nineteenth-century, John Stuart Mill, in his famous essay
On Liberty, lauded Socrates as a saint of rationalism and viewed him as
a martyr for the cause of philosophy. According to Mill, a liberal in
defense of individual freedom, Athens had “condemned the man who
probably of all then born had deserved least of mankind to be put to
death as a criminal.” For Mill, a society unwilling to tolerate a high
degree of freedom of thought and discussion sacrifices the values essen-
tial for the richest development of both the individual and the commu-
nity. Yet, Mill conceded, we have every reason to believe that the
Athenian court had “honestly found him [Socrates] guilty. 6
Among the most famous depictions of the philosopher is a painting
by Jacques-Louis David, The Death of Socrates, first exhibited in Paris
in 1787 and now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.
The scene depicted is from the last days of Socrates, as portrayed in
Plato’s Phaedo. We see Socrates sitting up on a bed surrounded by
devoted followers, reaching for the cup of poison hemlock that would
end his life. He is pointing upward with his other hand, as if to empha-
size an idea in the philosophical discussion on the immortality of the
soul that, according to Plato, had occupied him and his companions dur-
ing his last days. The conflict between the philosopher and the state may
be perceived in the majesty of the figure of Socrates, the painting’s cen-
ter, pointing up, maintaining his conviction that his commitment to his
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

philosophic mission ranks above his duty to obey the state. The paint-
ing also depicts a consistent Socrates: By accepting the death penalty, he
remains faithful to Athens while adhering to his principles.
Produced in Paris just before the French Revolution, David’s paint-
ing has been interpreted by many as a depiction of Socrates the cham-
pion of free thought crushed by tyranny. Nevertheless, the painting can
be perceived as a celebration of Socrates symbolizing the ideal patriotic
citizen who sacrifices his life for the state. According to this ideal, the
individual must be willing to place civic duty above personal interest.
David’s Socrates serenely prepares to depart stoically from this life.
Although regarded throughout history as an example of an individual
who defied the state, Socrates could not be denigrated for disrespecting
the laws of Athens. This paradoxical image, disobedient yet respectful of
law and order, has inspired centuries-old disagreements about the
philosopher’s significance and his relationship with Athens. The inter-
pretation of David’s painting as a glorification of patriotic self-sacrifice
is articulated in the Crito. In this dialogue, Socrates’ friend Crito
attempts to convince the philosopher, awaiting execution, to defy the
verdict of the Athenian court and flee Athens. Socrates agreed that the
death sentence imposed upon him was unjust. But the philosopher’s
devotion to Athens and the rule of law made escape unconscionable for
him. Having been unjustly condemned, Socrates nevertheless willingly
surrendered his life to the city he loved.
Several modern interpreters have viewed the trial of Socrates as the
result of a tragic collision between two defensible positions. According
to G. W. FE. Hegel, the essence of tragedy is a conflict not so much
between characters as between viewpoints, each rational and justifiable,
yet lacking a more comprehensive vision that would have encompassed
the good in the opposing side. As A. C. Bradley summarized Hegel’s
view: “The competing forces are both in themselves rightful, and so far
the claim of each is equally justified; but the right of each is pushed into
a wrong, because it ignores the right of the other, and demands that
absolute sway which belongs to neither alone, but to the whole of which
each is but a part.”” According to this interpretation, each side, while
justified in itself, becomes wrong in its inflexible one-sidedness. H. D. FE.
Kitto sees merit in the positions of both the philosopher and his city:
 Introduction

“Nothing can be more sublime than the bearing of Socrates during and
after his trial, and this sublimity must not be sentimentalized by the rep-
resenting of Socrates as the victim of an ignorant mob. His death was
almost a Hegelian tragedy, a conflict in which both sides were right.”®
In the words of Romano Guardini: “The truth, which must be empha-
sized again and again, is that here an epoch—a declining one, it is true,
but still full of values—confronts a man who, great as he is and called
to be a bringer of new things, disrupts by his spirit all that has hitherto
held sway. In the incompatibility of these two opposing sets of values
and forces lies the real tragedy of the situation.”? Those who see merit
in both sides usually hold that Socrates, although morally superior, was
legally guilty. As J. B. Bury, one of the foremost modern historians of
ancient Greece, declared: “Socrates was not condemned unjustly—
according to the law. And that is the intensity of the tragedy. There have
been no better men than Socrates; and yet his accusers were perfectly
right. . . The execution of Socrates was the protest of the spirit of the
old order against the growth of individualism.””
While most people today sympathize with Socrates, the courageous
individual abiding by his moral principles, the fear among many
Athenians is understandable, for the philosopher posed a profound
threat to the city. Athens deserved its reputation as a city that cherished
freedom; whereas people throughout the rest of the world were mere
subjects, virtually the property of rulers, a significant number of the
Athenian population were citizens, taking part in determining the laws
that governed the community. While the Persian and Egyptian empires
were ruled by the few for the benefit of the few, Athens set the standard
of a direct, participatory democracy. As its great leader Pericles pro-
claimed, Athens was the school for all of Greece, a role model for those
who sought cultural and political excellence. The conflict between
Socrates and Athens was not between absolute good and evil. To see
Socrates as an example of a perfectly innocent individual crushed by a
tyrannical state is to reduce the trial to a mere morality play. The
Athenians, on the whole, were neither unintelligent nor malevolent.
Once the historical and cultural context is understood, the Athenian
position becomes more substantial. At the same time, Socrates’ moral
superiority grows larger when viewed from the vantage point of modern
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

liberalism. In defense of Athens, history has shown that even the best
societies sometimes betray their principles. In fact, placed in a similar sit-
uation, with one’s fundamental values and beliefs under assault in a time
of crisis, many people today would probably vote to condemn Socrates.
The confrontation between Socrates and Athens is similar to that
dramatized in Sophocles’ Antigone, one of the greatest masterpieces of
Greek literature. The tragedies of the historical Socrates and the mythi-
cal Antigone arose out of their being caught between two contradictory
paths of duty—one’s obligation to conscience versus one’s obligation to
the state. Like Antigone, Socrates could not fulfill one duty without vio-
lating the other. He had to choose. The conflict dramatized by
Sophocles’ Antigone resonated deeply with the Athenians. Socrates
probably saw the play, and it undoubtedly exerted a powerfui effect
upon the Athenians, including Plato. Citizens brought what they had
learned about difficult civic issues from the theater into their delibera-
tions in the Assembly and their judgments in the courts.'! Having to par-
ticipate often and in different forums—evaluating dramas in the theater,
weighing decisions in the Assembly, and judging the arguments of liti-
gants in the lawcourts—the Athenian citizenry was among the most
informed and proficient in history.
While Greek tragedy is said to have died with Sophocles and
Euripides, a study of Plato’s Apology reveals that the trial of Socrates is
a dramatic agon, or contest. In fact, in Athens the trial was called an
agon tes dikés, a contest of right.” The courtroom became a theater, the
scene of a contest between Socrates and the city, between philosophy
and politics. Athenian drama was not merely a public performance
attended by those interested in spectacles; theater occupied an integral
place in the life of the polis and was attended by virtually all citizens as
part of their civic duty." Like the spectators in the theater, the Athenian
jurors represented the collective citizenry, participating in an institution
that reinforced their identity as a group. As William Arrowsmith
explains, the Athenians created a “theater of ideas” that became “the
supreme instrument of cultural instruction, a democratic paideia com-
plete in itself.”'* Christian Meier argues that tragedy and politics were
intimately related in Athens.'’ Tragedy not only validated traditional val-
ues, reinforcing group cohesion, but also exposed and questioned con-
 Introduction

flicts and inherent contradictions in Athenian society. Jean-Pierre

Vernant observes that Greek tragedy explored the inherent tension
between the polis, represented by the anonymous chorus of citizens, and
the exceptional individual, represented by the tragic hero. While in ear-
lier history, the exceptional character stood out as the Homeric hero of
the Greek epics, during the fifth century B.c., when Athens sought to
subordinate the individual to the community, the exploits of the indi-
vidualistic hero were regarded as a potential threat to the unity of the
polis. Only by taming the heroic individual could the community sur-
vive. The Homeric hero had become a problem."
In 399 B.c., therefore, Athens, the city that gave birth to tragedy as
a literary genre, became the scene of a real-life tragedy involving a con-
flict between an exceptional individual, Socrates the philosopher-hero,
and the state. As with drama, the trial of Socrates took place in the civic
center of Athens and included a public performance before a large audi-
ence of citizens who served as judges.” The dramatic aspects of Socrates’
trial were recognizable to his contemporaries. Life in the Athenian polis
was profoundly theatrical.’* Indeed, the culture of classical Athens has
been characterized as a “performance culture.” Athenians saw them-
selves as performing on a stage, as it were, competing for individual
honor, fame, wealth, and power in a number of public forums. Hence,
politics, law, religion, athletics, music, and poetry “shared with the the-
atre an essentially public and performative nature, so much so that one
form of cultural expression merged easily with another.” The agones,
or conflicts, of the Athenian lawcourts exerted a significant influence
upon Greek drama, where characters are often featured presenting
opposing speeches.” At the same time, the theater also affected behavior
in the democratic Assembly and the lawcourts, where individual speak-
ers, as if on stage, sought to persuade large audiences by arousing emo-
tions and projecting the appropriate character.”
The trial of Socrates transformed the life of Plato, who was twenty-
eight years old at the time. It turned him away from politics, which he
saw as conducive to disorder, what the Greeks called stasis, in favor of
philosophy. In the Republic, Plato designed a city that would never be
subject to the kind of confrontation that led to the death of Socrates.
Nevertheless, Plato, the product of a city with a vivid sense of dramatic
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

conflict, could not fail to grasp the drama inherent in Socrates’ trial. To
Plato, the conflict between Socrates and Athens reflected the profound
antagonism between philosophy and politics, between a morality of
inflexible goodness and a state willing to subordinate justice to power
and self-interest. With the trial of Socrates, Plato and the Athenians par-
ticipated in a drama perhaps more disturbing than any they had wit-
nessed in the theater, one that reflected the profound tensions present in
the city after a devastating defeat in war. Socrates was challenged to
demonstrate to the Athenians that philosophy was valuable and consis-
tent with the welfare of the community. At the same time, the Athenians
were challenged to comprehend the moral benefits of philosophy, a chal-
lenge made more difficult because it occurred in a time of political cri-
sis, where the center had not held and things had fallen apart.
Unlike the plays of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, the tragic
confrontation between Socrates and Athens took place not in the safe
confines of the theater, couched in the symbolic language of ancient
myth and set in a foreign city, but in an Athenian lawcourt in which cit-
izens pondered issues that directly affected their fate. Plato was uniquely
gifted to re-create this court battle. According to one tradition, related
by Diogenes Laertius, in his youth Plato had composed dithyrambs, lyric
poems, and tragedies and was about to compete for a prize in tragedy
when, upon hearing Socrates speak in front of the theater of Dionysus,
he consigned his works to the flames and took up philosophy.* True or
not, the story underscores Plato’s dramatic gifts, which found expression
in his many dialogues. In reading the Apology, one is drawn into the
text. Although not a dialogue in the conventional sense, it engages the
reader just as much as Plato’s other works. One partakes vicariously in
the conflict between the philosopher and his city. The reader is both a
juror, evaluating the charges against Socrates, and part of the audience
upon whom the philosopher exercises his mission. Readers become
active agents, challenged, like the Athenians, to reexamine their own
lives and values.”
Like the Apology, the Crito compels the reader to be active, espe-
cially because, at least on the surface, it presents a picture of Socrates
much more consonant with the Athenian values that he challenged and
undermined throughout his philosophic life and at his trial. As we shall
 Introduction

argue, the Crito may be read in a way that preserves the integrity of the
radical Socrates presented in the Apology.
The purpose of this book is to provide an interdisciplinary exami-
nation of the conflict between Socrates and Athens, focusing upon the
Apology and the Crito. As a companion study to these works, this book,
designed for general readers, not only analyzes the arguments and teach-
ings of Socrates but also provides the historical, political, and cultural
context essential for an understanding of his trial.?* This book also inter-
prets the Apology and the Crito according to the unifying theme of a
tragic conflict between philosophy and politics: philosophy, not in the
academic sense, but as a way of life; philosophy, not as doctrine, but as
critical thinking; philosophy, not as a flight from reality, but deeply
engaged with issues vital to the state. Politics, in Athens of the fifth cen-
tury B.C., was essentially power politics, in which the just state, like the
just person, was regarded as one who helped friends and harmed ene-
mies. This politics led to the Peloponnesian War, in which two mighty
empires, Athens and Sparta, fought over mastery of the Greek world.
But the war sounded the death knell for the ancient Greek city. In con-
trast, Socrates had a vision of a politics infused with ethics, with the
state placing the pursuit of virtue above the pursuit of power, wealth,
and glory.
The work of the historian Thucydides will serve as an important
source for Athenian values during the age of Socrates. The genius of
Thucydides managed to capture the tragic nature of the conflict between
Athens and Sparta. Like Plato, he could not escape the influence of
Greek drama as he sought a lens through which to view the moral col-
lapse of Athens during the Peloponnesian War. The lasting influence of
the ancient Greek conception of the hero, as found in Homer, will also
constitute important background. We shall see, moreover, that the
Apology offers a new conception of the hero, that of Socrates the
philosopher-hero, a person of profound moral integrity, committed to
the pursuit of the truth and the perfection of his soul. Whenever instruc-
tive, ideas from other dialogues of Plato will be incorporated into our
analysis, not so much as a record of the teachings of the historical
Socrates, but as a retrospective commentary on the life and teachings of
the master by his greatest student.
Io SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

The literary qualities of the Apology and the Crito will also be exam-
ined. Plato’s dialogues are dramas in which opposing viewpoints come
into conflict. What the revered turn of the nineteenth-century scholar
Friedrich Schleiermacher declared about the works of Plato is evident in
the Apology and the Crito: The content, or philosophical arguments, and
the form, the literary qualities, are inseparable.” For readers to grasp bet-
ter the character of Socrates, his words will be amply quoted, using the
eloquent translations of Benjamin Jowett. Over the centuries, most read-
ers have responded to the Apology and the Crito from the perspective of
Socrates. The position of the Athenians has served merely as a contrast
to highlight the heroic stature of the philosopher. But to read these texts
solely from the point of view of Socrates is not only to undervalue the
Athenian position but also to oversimplify an intricate conflict. In fact,
the confrontation between Socrates and Athens raises a fundamental
problem of political philosophy—the reconciliation of individual moral
autonomy with the legitimate authority of the state. Instead of a facile
one-sided interpretation of the trial, either as a philosopher suppressed by
a tyrannical democracy or a dangerous dissenter justly silenced in the
interest of social order, we will show that there are compelling arguments
for both sides. The unique character of Socrates and the collective char-
acter of the Athenians will be explored in their complexity. For Socrates
was more than a series of arguments and propositions, and Athens was
more than a city resistant to philosophy.
Needless to say, this book does not pretend to resolve the so-called
“Socratic problem,” the identity of the historical Socrates as distin-
”»

guished from the picture we have received from Plato and other early
interpreters. Like all portraits, ours is an attempt to see Socrates through
a creative lens. Our interpretation is grounded in Plato’s Apology and
Crito, which scholars believe to be reliable sources for the character and
ideas of the philosopher. The Apology and the Crito are dialogical
works, open to multiple interpretations. A dialogical reading requires
that one be sensitive to the various voices that coexist in these poly-
phonic texts. Our goal is to explore the different voices that emerge in
the conflict between Socrates and Athens, illustrating that neither pro-
tagonist is one-dimensional. The collision between this philosopher-hero
and Athens raises the fundamental question of whether philosophy and
 Introduction It

politics are compatible. Yet, if Socrates the philosopher stood at odds

with his city, challenging its values and beliefs, he was equally devoted
to the city’s welfare. Although prepared to defy any state command that
he abandon philosophy or commit an act of injustice, the Apology and
the Crito demonstrate Socrates’ respect for the rule of law. Not only did
he come to the defense of the Athenian constitution, but he also accepted
the verdict of the court that condemned him to death.
While Athens saw Socrates and philosophy as subversive of the tra-
ditional order, the city also valued freedom of speech and provided a
home for some of the greatest critical minds in history. Athens also
established a legal system that allowed a defendant such as Socrates an
opportunity to present his case, indeed to review his life’s mission,
before a jury of five hundred fellow citizens who embodied the interests
of the city. While our sympathies lie with Socrates and the moral revo-
lution he brought to the Western world, his position, held with provoca-
tive inflexibility, is vulnerable to attack. At the same time, the Athenian
position, while not completely correct from a modern perspective, is
legally defensible and intelligible when the historical and cultural con-
text is presented.
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 Chapter 2

SED LENG THE STAGE

FOR THE TRIAL

PRELIMINARIES
HE YEAR IS 399 B.C. Athens had suffered a humiliating defeat by
Sparta five years earlier, concluding the long, devastating
Peloponnesian War. The Athenian defeat led to the overthrow of
its once revered democracy, while a cruel regime of Thirty Tyrants, sup-
ported by a Spartan garrison, assumed dictatorial power for nine
months, executing some fifteen hundred Athenian citizens and causing
thousands more to flee. When an army of democrats expelled the
Tyrants and restored democracy in 403 B.c., they enacted a reconcilia-
tion treaty that included an amnesty clause hailed in antiquity as a
model of reason and toleration. But Athens had lost its once invincible
dominance in the Greek world. Its great empire and the mighty fleet that
had ruled the Aegean were lost, its fortifying Long Walls demolished, its
economy crippled, its population desolated. The glory that was Athens
during the Age of Pericles was no more.
The scene: one of the jury-courts (dikastéria) of Athens, derived
from the People’s Court, known as the Eliaia, or Heliaia, located in the
agora, the civic center of Athens.’ Each court represented the Assembly 13
14 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

of citizens acting in their judicial capacity. The case of Socrates would be

decided by five hundred jurors, citizens over the age of thirty, known as
dikasts, chosen by lot. The jurors—ordinary citizens, mostly farmers—
probably reflected the social composition of Athens.* Because Socrates
was well known, the trial drew many spectators.’ Issues related to tra-
ditional religion and the education of the young, of concern to all
Athenians, were the focus of the trial. Within the court, the spectators
were separated from the jurors and litigants by barriers or railings.‘ As
the Apology makes clear, several nonjuror friends of Socrates, including
Plato and Crito, attended and followed the proceedings closely. Socrates,
along with his three accusers, sat before the jury. The city was drawn
into a tragic confrontation now regarded as among the most important
in history.
Socrates was born in 469 B.c., the son of Sophroniscus, of the deme
(village) of Alopeke, and Phaenarete, a midwife. According to tradition,
his father had been a sculptor or stonecutter, and Socrates may have also
learned the trade. He grew to maturity during the glorious Age of
Pericles, saw the birth of the Athenian empire, and distinguished himself
by serving as a hoplite, an armed infantryman, during the Peloponnesian
War, which lasted, with interruptions, from 431 to 404 B.c. During his
youth, Aeschylus’ trilogy, the Oresteia, had been produced at Athens.
Socrates saw the building of the defensive Long Walls from Athens to
the Piraeus. Around 450 B.c., the great Sophist Protagoras of Abdera
made his first of several visits to Athens, marking an important phase in
the development of the Greek Enlightenment. In 447 B.c., Socrates
observed the beginning of construction on the Parthenon, the sublime
marble Doric temple of Athena that dominated the Acropolis, as part of
Pericles’ grand building program. Within the Parthenon stood the mag-
nificent gold and ivory statue of Athena Parthenos (Athena the Virgin),
by Phidias. Socrates would also see the completion of the Propylaea, the
sacred entrance gate to the Acropolis; the temple of Athena Nike
(Victory); and the temple known as the Erechtheum, with its beautiful
Porch of the Maidens (Caryadids), facing the Parthenon. The philoso-
pher was most likely present at the theater of Dionysus for performances
of many plays by Aristophanes, Sophocles, and Euripides. Socrates also
witnessed the growth of Athenian democracy, along with the oligarchic
 Setting the Stage for the Trial 2)

revolutions, first in 411 B.c., and finally in 404 B.c., after the siege and
defeat of Athens. In 403 B.c., democracy having been restored after a
civil war, Socrates continued the philosophic activity that had engaged
him for years, stimulating his fellow Athenians to examine their lives
and care for their souls. He attracted a following among the young men
of Athens, who enjoyed observing as he practiced philosophy in the
agora and other public places of the city, challenging the alleged wisdom
and moral complacency of many leading citizens. But in 399 B.c., the
atmosphere in Athens changed. Having earned a reputation for tolerat-
ing free inquiry, a basic democratic value, the Athenians were about to
make a historic exception. Socrates, almost seventy years old, found
himself on trial for his life, charged with conduct and views that endan-
gered the welfare of the polis.
As we open the Apology, the prosecution has just completed its
speeches against Socrates. The proceedings began with the clerk of the
court reading the official indictment, a writ of impiety, before the jury and
crowd of spectators. The writ, preserved in the biography of Socrates by
Diogenes Laertius, who probably lived in the first half of the third century
A.D., asserted: “This indictment and affidavit is sworn by Meletus . . .
against Socrates: Socrates is guilty of refusing to recognize the gods rec-
ognized by the state, and of introducing other new deities. He is also
guilty of corrupting the youth. The penalty demanded is death.”’
While Meletus, a poet, was the nominal leader of the prosecution,
he was joined by Anytus, a prominent Athenian politician and probably
the moving force behind the indictment, and by Lycon, an orator.
According to Athenian legal procedure, in which there were no public
prosecutors, any citizen had the right to initiate a legal action against
another. In this instance, Meletus would have issued an oral summons
to Socrates, in the presence of witnesses, to appear before the appropri-
ate legal magistrate, the King Archon, whose office was in a colonnaded
building called the Stoa Basileios, or the Royal Stoa. The King Archon
had jurisdiction over cases involving alleged offenses against the state
religion. During an initial appearance of the prosecutor and the defen-
dant before the magistrate, Meletus, perhaps accompanied by Anytus
and Lycon, would have lodged a formal complaint, which was posted as
a public announcement at the Royal Stoa.
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

The magistrate then scheduled a preliminary hearing, or anakrisis,

an important part of the legal proceeding, to determine whether there
was sufficient evidence to warrant a trial. We know on the authority of
Plato’s Euthyphro that Socrates appeared at the Royal Stoa for such a
hearing. It began with a reading of the charge, followed by a formal
statement from the defendant. The disputants then swore an oath that
the charge or denial was true. This was followed by an important phase
in which the magistrate interrogated Meletus and Socrates, who also
had an opportunity to question each other. Finally, the magistrate find-
ing merit in the prosecution’s claim, formal charges were drawn up,
Socrates’ plea of innocence was recorded, and a date was set for the
trial.° Since the alleged offenses were regarded as crimes committed
against the city itself, rather than against a private party, the case was
considered a public prosecution. Socrates would be the first person in
recorded Athenian history to be executed for impiety and corrupting
the young.
What Socrates said at his trial has been transmitted to posterity
through the mind of Plato. Socrates wrote nothing. His influence was
exerted solely through oral discourse, through which his personality and
convictions were revealed. It is fitting that Plato memorialized Socrates
by composing a series of dialogues that feature the philosopher doing
what he did best—engaging in intelligent conversation. But, unlike most
of Plato’s works, the Apology is essentially a monologue. Nevertheless,
from another perspective, the defense speech of Socrates can be read
both as a dialogue between the philosopher and Athens, and as an
implied dialogue between Socrates and the reader.’ Indeed, we have indi-
cated that his speech continues to challenge readers, as it did the origi-
nal jurors and spectators, to participate in a dialogical consideration of
profound issues affecting the relationship between philosophy—the pur-
suit of wisdom and virtue—and politics. Some readers are provoked and
angered, marveling at the audacity of the defendant; others, stimulated
to examine their lives, may embark upon the pursuit of wisdom. The
Apology consists of three speeches—first and foremost, a defense, or
apologia proper, in which Socrates deals initially with certain “old
accusers” and then addresses the principal charges in the formal indict-
ment; second, Socrates’ proposal for an alternative penalty, submitted
 Setting the Stage for the Trial

after his conviction; and finally, parting words to the jury, delivered after
imposition of the death sentence, in which the philosopher contemplates
death and what might await him in the afterlife.
The trial of Socrates was conducted in one juridical day, which was
divided into three periods, governed by a terracotta waterclock (klepsy-
dra), a large container that allowed water to flow out at a fixed rate.
Each side, the prosecution and the defendant, was given equal time. The
five hundred jurors, or dikasts, chosen for Socrates’ trial sat on wooden
benches as they listened to the prosecution and the accused present their
cases. At dawn, after a herald read aloud the sworn charges against
Socrates, along with his sworn denial, the trial began. The first three
hours were devoted to the speeches of the prosecution. Meletus, Anytus,
and Lycon each in turn mounted an elevated platform, like a stage, and
argued their case. Although the prosecution speeches have not survived,
readers can infer some of their arguments from references made by
Socrates.’ The next three hours were devoted to Socrates’ defense
speech, after which the jurors voted by a secret ballot. The final segment,
made necessary by the jury’s vote for conviction, comprised Socrates’
speech proposing an alternative penalty to the prosecution’s call for the
death sentence. The total time allotted for a public trial, including selec-
tion of the jurors by lot, the reading of the charge, the speeches of the
accusers and the defendant, voting, and determining the punishment,
was about nine and a half hours.’ One magistrate, in Socrates’ case, the
King Archon, presided over the court; one juror was assigned to control
the waterclock, four to count the votes, and five to distribute payment
to the jurors after the day’s business had been completed."

HISTORICITY OF THE APOLOGY

Scholars have long debated the historical accuracy of the Apology.
While most agree that the work was composed within a decade after the
trial, the more difficult question is the extent to which it reflects what
was actually said by the historical Socrates. In addition to Plato’s rendi-
tion, Xenophon—at the beginning of his own Apology of Socrates—
informs us that there were “other” defenses of the philosopher produced
during the ancient period." But these have not survived. According to
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

one tradition, the Greek orator Lysias drafted a defense speech for
Socrates, complete with statements to conciliate the jury, which the
philosopher summarily rejected, alleging that it was “more forensic than
philosophical.” Unlike the conventional lawcourt speech, elaborately
prepared, that of Socrates was extemporaneous and reflected his deep-
est convictions, his life of passionate commitment. Soren Kierkegaard
said of Socrates that he was a “person in whom a point of view is a life,
an existentiality, a presence.” Xenophon relates that when a certain
Hermogenes warned Socrates before his trial that he ought to prepare a
defense, he replied: “Don’t you think that I have been preparing for it
all my life?” When Hermogenes asked how this was so, the philosopher
replied that he had been “constantly occupied in the consideration of
right and wrong, and in doing what was right and avoiding what was
wrong, which he regarded as the best preparation for a defense.”
Among the later “defenses” of Socrates, we know of two, one by
Theodectes, an orator and friend of Aristotle, the other by Demetrius
Phalereus, a disciple of Theophrastus.'’ On the other hand, shortly after
the death of Socrates, the rhetorician Polycrates composed a speech for
the prosecution, alleged to be the speech of Anytus. This speech of
Polycrates is probably the one referred to by Xenophon in his
Memorabilia, where he attempts to defend Socrates against an
“accuser.” Despite the various “defenses” of the philosopher, most
scholars agree that Plato’s Apology is the most reliable source for the
trial of Socrates. While Xenophon’s testimony may be useful in supple-
menting our knowledge of Socrates, he was not present at the trial and
received his information secondhand. In fact, Xenophon’s Apology,
allegedly an account of Socrates’ trial, is largely dependent upon Plato’s
Apology. Moreover, Xenophon was not a philosopher but a military
person and, unlike Plato, lacked a profound appreciation of Socrates’
philosophic mission. The Socrates who appears in Xenophon’s
Memorabilia is a model of conventional piety, more a dispenser of moral
platitudes than the person credited with founding moral philosophy and
reorienting human thought. According to Kierkegaard, “by cutting
away all that was dangerous in Socrates,” Xenophon “reduced him to
utter absurdity.”'"* The Socrates of Xenophon would not have been
indicted and convicted by the Athenians in 399 B.c.
 Setting the Stage for the Trial 19

Plato, in contrast, presents Socrates as the dissenting philosopher

who provoked his fellow citizens to condemn and execute him. Unlike
Xenophon, Plato was present at the trial—indeed, he mentions himself
twice in the Apology—and possessed the powers of intellect, memory,
and sensitive understanding necessary to render a reasonably accurate
picture of the last days of the philosopher.” The Apology ofSocrates, the
complete title, is the only work of Plato that includes the name of
Socrates. If it is pure fiction, it seems that Plato, in seeking to vindicate
his mentor, would have had him address the official charges more fully
and effectively than he does. We can also assume that the speech of
Socrates, his only recorded address to a large number of Athenians,
made an indelible impression upon the young Plato’s mind. He would
have remembered the main points of Socrates’ argument, possibly tran-
scribing some of the more powerful statements for later re-creation.
Moreover, since other friends of Socrates were also present at the trial,
Plato could have relied upon their recollections to supplement his own.
At the same time, Plato may have amplified certain aspects of the
speech he heard in a way consistent with the principles that guided
Socrates throughout his philosophic life. One cannot deny that the
Apology is, in part, Plato’s eulogy for his revered teacher. Just as ancient
speakers revised their speeches after oral delivery prior to publication,
Plato most likely embellished Socrates’ words, rather than producing a
verbatim transcript." He would have especially wanted to emphasize
Socrates’ defense of philosophy. Some have compared Plato to the his-
torian Thucydides who, cognizant that some might question the authen-
ticity of the many speeches included throughout his History of the
Peloponnesian War, addressed the issue forthrightly: “As to the speeches
which were made either before or during the war, it was hard for me,
and for others who reported them to me, to recollect the exact words. I
have therefore put into the mouth of each speaker the sentiments proper
to the occasion, expressed as I thought he would be likely to express
them, while at the same time I endeavoured, as nearly as I could, to give
the general purport of what was actually said.”” In this manner, Plato
carefully adhered to the ideas Socrates expressed at his trial; at the same
time, Plato, a consummate artist, would have attempted to speak for
Socrates whenever his memory, or the memories of the many who had
20 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

been present at the trial and who could have shared their impressions
with him, proved deficient. And while Thucydides concedes that he was
not present for many of the speeches recorded in his History, Plato
assures us that he did have direct access to the facts, for he was present
at Socrates’ trial, thus bestowing an even greater degree of credibility
upon the Apology.”
Although bearing the stamp of Plato’s art, therefore, the scholarly
consensus is that the Apology represents substantially the speech of the
historical Socrates. As A. E. Taylor argues: “We clearly have no right to
assume that the process of revision and polishing involves any falsifica-
tion of fundamental facts. That what we possess is in substance a record
of what Socrates actually said is sufficiently proved by the single con-
sideration that, though we cannot date the circulation of the Apology
exactly, we can at least be sure that it must have been given to the world
within a few years of the actual trial, and would thus be read by num-
bers of persons, including both devoted admirers of the philosopher and
hostile critics (and presumably even some judges who had sat upon the
case), who would at once detect any falsification of such recent facts.”™
Along similar lines, John Burnet contends: “Plato’s aim is obviously to
defend the memory of Socrates by setting forth his character and activ-
ity in their true light; and, as most of those present must have been still
living when the Apology was published, he would have defeated his own
end if he had given a fictitious account of the attitude of Socrates and of
the main lines of his defense.” Werner Jaeger, in his magisterial Paideia,
a comprehensive study of the ideals of ancient Greek culture, concludes
that the Apology, although not the actual speech delivered by Socrates,
is nonetheless “amazingly true to Socrates’ real life and character.”
More recent scholarship supports the substantial authenticity of the
Apology. Gregory Vlastos argues: “When Plato was writing the Apology,
he knew that hundreds of those who might read the speech he puts into
the mouth of Socrates had heard the historic original. And since his pur-
pose in writing it was to clear his master’s name and to indict his judges,
it would have been most inept to make Socrates talk out of character.
How could Plato be saying to his fellow citizens, ‘This is the man you
murdered. Look at him. Listen to him,’ and point to a figment of his own
imagining?” W. K. C. Guthrie declares that the Apology is “the most
 Setting the Stage for the Trial 21

certainly Socratic of all Plato’s works.”* Finally, Charles H. Kahn regards

the Apology as a “quasi-historical document. . . . Even admitting the
large part played here by Plato’s literary elaboration, there are external
constraints that make his Apology the most reliable of all testimonies
concerning Socrates. Insofar, then, as we can know anything with rea-
sonable probability concerning Socrates’ own conception of philosophy,
we must find this in the Apology.” As Kahn maintains, echoing his
scholarly predecessors, one must consider the fundamental difference
between the Apology and the rest of Plato’s work. The Apology, unlike
Plato’s dialogues, which feature private conversations, is historical in
that it represents a public event that actually took place in the presence
of hundreds of witnesses whose potential criticisms would have checked
any temptation Plato might have had to indulge in egregious flights of
fancy. “It is likely, then,” Kahn concludes, “that in the Apology Plato
has given us a true picture of the man as he saw him.”
Plato’s portrait of his martyred teacher depicts a controversial
Socrates who must have elicited opposing reactions from Athenians. For
some, Socrates was a hero who exemplified the life of the mind, but for
many others, probably the majority, he became a lightning rod, drawing
upon himself their negative projections, symbolizing their worst fears of
political and moral instability in the wake of the Peloponnesian War.
The conventional view that Socrates was a scapegoat bears some truth.
Without the written testimony of Plato, his greatest defender, and to a
lesser extent the writings of Xenophon, the character of Socrates would
have been associated with infamy. The challenge Plato faced in writing
the Apology was to portray the historical Socrates and, above all, to cap-
ture the essence of his philosophic mission. For Socrates’ death to be
meaningful, his philosophic legacy had to endure.
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 Chapter 3

SOCRATES AND RHETORIC

ATHENS—CITY OF SPEECH
N DEMOCRATIC ATHENS OF THE FIFTH CENTURY B.C., the spoken
word, Jogos, was indispensable to the life of the community. While
many Athenians were literate, the primary means of expression was
oral. Votes were recorded and laws were written, but they were generated
by speech. Moreover, all literature was composed to be heard and, when
reading to themselves, Athenians usually read aloud.' The ability to speak
persuasively was necessary for aspiring politicians to attain power and
influence in the Assembly, where citizens debated and voted on important
matters of public policy, and in the lawcourts, where litigants had to
plead cases before large juries. Eloquence became invaluable as a weapon
or a shield. Without expertise in oratory, one’s views would not prevail,
and, if accused of a crime, one would be unable to escape condemnation.
The Athenian legal system had no professional lawyers or judges, and lit-
igants had to plead their own cases. While some had recourse to paid
speech writers, litigants had to deliver the speeches written for them.
Hence, the Athenian lawcourts became the scenes of what amounted to
rhetorical contests. Winning a suit or swaying the democratic Assembly 23
24 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

could pave the way to political success, while judicial or political defeat
could spell loss of prestige, property, and even one’s life.
The prominence of speech in Athens reflected the essence of civic
life. To live in a polis meant deciding issues not by force, but by persua-
sion. According to Jean-Pierre Vernant, with the advent of the polis,
“speech became the political tool par excellence, the key to authority in
the state, the means of commanding and dominating others. . . . The art
of politics became essentially the management of language.”* As Roland
Barthes observes, language is a power, and rhetoric enabled the
Athenian ruling classes to “gain ownership of speech.”* The Athenians
even erected a temple to Peitho, the goddess of persuasion—dubbed by
Aeschylus “the charmer to whom nothing is denied”—and offered her
annual sacrifices.* The spoken word was inextricably bound with Greek
culture from archaic times. Speeches usually preceded any important
undertaking. Opposing set-speeches dominate the Homeric epics, Greek
drama, and the historical works of Herodotus and Thucydides. The con-
flict expressed by these speeches was referred to as an agon. Speeches
were often arranged so that different sides of an issue—such as whether
or not Achilles should return to battle to help the Greeks in their war
with the Trojans, whether or not Antigone should defy the order of
Creon and bury her brother, or whether or not the Athenians should
undertake an expedition to invade Sicily—could be expressed in rational
terms. Homeric heroes had to be proficient in public discourse; the
young Achilles was taught to be not only a man of action, skilled with
arms, but also a master of words.’ Throughout the Iliad, Achilles boasts
of his rhetorical prowess, duly acknowledged by his associates. And
Odysseus proclaims that the people regard the expert speaker as a god.°
Solon, Themistocles, and Pericles, the great Athenian leaders of the sixth
and fifth centuries B.c., were outstanding orators. The most famous
speech of ancient Greece is the Funeral Oration of Pericles, re-created by
Thucydides, in which the Athenian leader sets forth the city’s democratic
ideal. During the Peloponnesian War, oratory became even more impor-
tant as decisions affecting the survival of the city were regularly debated.
With oratory essential to political power, the Athenian ruling class
saw the need to attain greater knowledge and speaking skills through fur-
ther education. This demand was met by a brilliant group of itinerant
 Socrates and Rhetoric 25

teachers known as the Sophists.”? During the second half of the fifth cen-
tury B.c., Athens became the center of the sophistic movement. The
Greek word “Sophist,” derived from the noun “sophia,” meaning wis-
dom, was originally applied to poets, such as Homer and Hesiod, musi-
cians, sages, and seers, those believed to possess special knowledge and
insight. Herodotus called Pythagoras and Solon Sophists; Isocrates called
the famous Seven Sages of Greece Sophists. In the age of Socrates,
“Sophist” came to designate a professional teacher who claimed not only
wisdom but also the ability to teach it to others. The Sophists taught
either in private seminars or in public lectures and commanded substan-
tial fees for their services. True polymaths, they offered instruction in a
variety of subjects, including grammar, literature, history, political phi-
losophy, geography, and astronomy. But their special expertise was rhet-
oric, the art of persuasive public speech. No longer based almost
exclusively on natural talent, eloquence became a subject of deliberate
study in Athens. The Sophists, therefore, became central figures in a
political education designed to serve the interests of the Athenian polis.
The beginnings of rhetoric as a formal subject have been traced to
Corax and his student Tisias, formulators of the art in Sicily during the
second quarter of the fifth century B.c. Inspired by these pioneers, teach-
ers such as Protagoras, Gorgias, Hippias, Prodicus, and Antiphon per-
fected the art of debate, composing skillful speeches calculated to win
arguments, regardless of the truth. Scores of wealthy young citizens in
Athens turned to the Sophists to learn the art of public discourse.
Athenians became fascinated with rhetoric and the power of the spoken
word. The Sophists did not claim to teach objective truth, which they
denied, or to improve moral character, but to prepare young men for
political success. Truth became less important than winning a legal case
or persuading the Assembly to adopt one’s proposal. In Plato’s
Protagoras, a young man named Hippocrates defined a Sophist as one
who “presides over the art which makes men eloquent.” In the same dia-
logue, Protagoras is represented as saying that he acknowledges himself
to be a “Sophist and instructor of mankind. . . . Young man, if you asso-
ciate with me, on the very first day you will return home a better man
than you came, and better on the second day than on the first, and bet-
ter every day than on the day you were before.” Protagoras boasted that
26 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

he could teach a young man “prudence in affairs private as well as pub-

lic; he will learn to order his own house in the best manner, and he will
be able to speak and act for the best in the affairs of the state.”* The
prospect of attaining goals like these led young Athenians to believe that
an education at the foot of a Sophist was indispensable.

SOCRATES’ OPENING REMARKS:

DISMANTLING FORENSIC RHETORIC
“How you, O Athenians, have been affected by my accusers, I cannot
tell; but I know that they almost made me forget who I was—so per-
suasively did they speak; and yet they have hardly uttered a word of
truth.”’? With these words, constituting his exordium, Socrates begins his
defense with disarming irony. After praising the speeches of the prose-
cution for almost making him forget his own identity, he warns the jury
that what they have heard is untrue! Persuasive speech, then, is not nec-
essarily true speech. This introduces two major themes of the Apology,
speech and the identity of Socrates. The prosecution sought to depict the
philosopher as an impious teacher whose speech corrupted the morals of
the young. Moreover, the prosecution warned the jury to be careful lest
they be deceived by Socrates’ >
“eloquence,” implying that he was an
excellent speaker, with all the ingenious and calculating strategies asso-
ciated with sophistry. With stinging irony, Socrates declares that he
rejects the prosecution’s characterization of him as an “eloquent”
speaker, unless—and here he draws a critical distinction—they mean
that he speaks the eloquence of truth. “For if such is their meaning,”
Socrates affirms, “I admit that I am eloquent. But in how different a way
from theirs!”*° He is appealing to the jury to distinguish between the elo-
quence of falsehood and the eloquence of truth."
What Socrates confronts in his opening remarks to the court is what
Paul Friedlander characterized as “the pathological effect of rhetoric.” In
the fifth century B.c., Gorgias, the celebrated Sophist and masterful
teacher of rhetoric, composed the Praise of Helen, a virtuoso display
speech designed to illustrate the overwhelming influence of words upon a
listener when delivered by an effective speaker. Gorgias argues that we can
easily exonerate Helen for having fled with Paris to Troy, since she was
 Socrates and Rhetoric 27

“carried off by speech just as if constrained by force. Her mind was swept
away by persuasion, and persuasion has the same power as necessity. ...
The power of speech has the same effect on the condition of the mind as
the application of drugs to the state of bodies. . . . Some [speeches] drug
and bewitch the mind with a kind of evil persuasion.” The aim of speech,
according to Gorgias, is not truth, but persuasion; the power of speech
derives from its ability to exploit the emotional and intellectual weak-
nesses of an audience. The effectiveness of speech can also be seen in pub-
lic debate, “where one side of the argument pleases a large crowd and
persuades by being written with art even though not spoken with truth.”
Gorgias contended that speech has a magical effect, exerting its influence
not upon the reason, but upon the emotions, manipulating the psyches of
listeners. It was this power of words to persuade, regardless of truth, that
Socrates referred to in his opening remarks to the jury.
Socrates was challenged to defend his innocence by refuting the iden-
tity imposed upon him by his accusers. His character and life as a philoso-
pher were under scrutiny. For years he had fulfilled what he regarded as a
God-given mission to stimulate his fellow Athenians to abandon their lives
of unawareness and pursue wisdom and virtue. Now he was under indict-
ment, charged with undermining the city’s fundamental values. But the
identity of Socrates was not the only issue. Indeed, his speech would raise
the question of the identity of Athens, represented by the prosecution, the
jury, and the multitude of spectators. As we have noted, because the defen-
dant was a well-known philosopher, one can imagine that many
Athenians, even those who were unable to witness the proceedings, were
interested in the outcome. Many were no doubt surprised that Socrates
had decided to appear for a trial, for he apparently had an opportunity to
flee into exile.“ In the aftermath of the demoralizing loss to Sparta in the
Peloponnesian War, the overthrow of Athenian democracy, and its restora-
tion after nearly a year of tyrannical rule under the infamous Thirty, the
city was struggling to establish itself once again in the forefront of the
Greek world. What values and beliefs did the city seek to uphold? Would
the city abide by its reputation as a center of free speech and tolerance?
Would the citizens of Athens heed the philosopher’s warning and reexam-
ine their lives and tend to their souls? Could a philosopher be tolerated
whose mission appeared to be at odds with the welfare of the city? Such
28 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

questions became prominent amid the continuing factional conflict that

plagued Athens for several years after the defeat by Sparta.’ Indeed, both
Socrates and Athens were on trial that fateful day in 399 B.c.
Socrates’ initial mocking praise of the prosecution’s speeches, distin-
guishing between mere persuasiveness and truth, is an example of his
famous irony. By accusing the prosecution of delivering eloquent
speeches designed to distort the truth about him, he introduces the issue
of the morality of conventional forensic rhetoric. For Socrates was not,
by Athenian standards, a “rhetorical man,” but a person whose moral
convictions prevented him from adopting the insincere forensic strategies
that might have secured him an acquittal. Richard Lanham draws an
instructive contrast between the rhetorical man, homo rbhetoricus, a type
represented by the Sophists, and the serious man, homo seriosus, exem-
plified by persons like Socrates, “pledged to a single set of values and the
cosmic orchestration they adumbrate.” The “serious man” and the
“rhetorical man” offer two different ways of viewing the world. While
the “serious man” proceeds from a central self or soul and views lan-
guage as a means to convey essential truth, the rhetorical man is an actor,
with merely a social self, who views language as a means to enhance him-
self in his different social roles by persuasion, irrespective of truth.'*
By the last quarter of the fifth century B.c., the term “Sophist” had
become one of reproach for many Athenians. From the outset, the atti-
tude toward the Sophists had been ambivalent.'? While many wealthy
young Athenians learned rhetorical techniques essential for success in
democratic politics, the ethical relativism and religious skepticism taught
by the Sophists aroused the fear and resentment of conservative
Athenians concerned about the undermining of traditional moral val-
ues."* As we shall see, the Sophists’ notion that laws, morals, and politi-
cal institutions were created by humans and were relative rather than
products of the gods fixed in nature seemed to threaten the foundations
of Athenian life. The fears of many found expression in Aristophanes’
Clouds, a comic assault upon the new learning. This play, Socrates will
argue, contributed largely to his indictment. Many also feared that the
impious views taught by the Sophists might induce the gods to withdraw
their benefits and protection from Athens. As the Sophists continued to
instruct young men in the art of rhetoric, especially how to argue skill-
 Socrates and Rhetoric 29

fully both sides of any question, conservative Athenians protested that

the Sophists endangered truth and justice. Of course, many ambitious cit-
izens, having learned the art of public speaking from the Sophists, were
willing to ignore the more menacing aspects of their teaching. As long as
the city was prospering, both at home and in the war with Sparta, the
Athenians maintained their celebrated tolerance and freedom of speech.
But by the close of the fifth century B.c. conditions had changed dra-
matically. The devastating Athenian defeat in 404 B.c. accentuated the
hostility toward the Sophists and what they represented, even though
most were dead by the end of the war.’ Not only were their teachings
blamed for the moral corruption of the city, but the rhetorical techniques
they promoted also came under fire for having served a power politics
that failed. Throughout the Peloponnesian War, Athenian politicians,
their speaking skills honed by Sophists, found that they could manipulate
reality for any audience. Had not the Athenians been persuaded by
unscrupulous politicians to embark upon the disastrous invasion of
Sicily? Had not the Athenians been persuaded to commit genocide
against other Greek cities, the crushing of the island of Melos being the
most infamous example? Ignoring the reality that those Sophists who
may have contributed to the moral collapse of Athens could not have suc-
ceeded without a population receptive to their teachings, many Athenians
refused to take responsibility for their own failings. Those who opposed
the Sophists’ teachings could now claim that they had been right all along
and that efforts must be undertaken to fortify the morals of the city.
Understanding the hostility toward the Sophists sheds light upon the
opening of the Apology. When Socrates praises the prosecution’s
speeches as persuasive, but not true, he is associating his accusers with
sophistic rhetoric. Unlike his accusers, he is committed to speaking the
truth. At the same time, when Socrates alludes to the prosecution’s
instruction that the jury must beware of his “eloquence,” he is advert-
ing to their attempt to exploit the negative public view of the Sophists
by confounding him with them. By the time of his trial, even though
sophistical arguments continued to pervade the lawcourts, characteriz-
ing one’s opponent’s speech as “sophistic” could still be a useful ploy for
a litigant. Socrates, therefore, approached his defense convinced that he
must, from the outset, establish his moral superiority by introducing a
30 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

distinction between sophistic rhetoric—the mode he alleged character-

ized the prosecution—and the truth, which he invited the jury to hear
from him. To separate himself further from the prosecution, he informs
hence he is a “stranger” to
the jury that this is his first time in a court;
its language. We assume that he meant not that he had never observed a
trial, but that he had never been a party to a legal case. Having to
defend himself in court was an unfamiliar challenge for Socrates. The
master of the dialectical method of question-and-answer, directed to
exposing the culpable ignorance of his interlocutors, was now compelled
by law to deliver a formal monologue to persuade a large audience of
his innocence. Unaccustomed as he is to the speech of the lawcourts,
Socrates implores the jury not to be surprised or interrupt him while he
uses the same informal, conversational speech that they had long heard
him use in the agora and other public places in the city. Listening to this,
perhaps many jurors suspected that Socrates might attempt to make the
court a forum to continue the radical critique of Athenian values that
had marked his philosophic mission. He declares that he will not speak
in the manner of the prosecution, an “oration duly ornamented with
words and phrases” designed to impress and manipulate his audience. It
would hardly be appropriate, he adds, for a man seventy years old to
resort to trying, like a “juvenile orator,” presumably a student of foren-
sic rhetoric, to impress the court with the usual rhetorical techniques.
The jury, he insists, must judge him not by the manner of his speech, but
by its truth. “Let the speaker speak truly and the judge decide justly.””!
Despite Socrates’ earnest disclaimer, readers, and no doubt the origi-
nal jury, have noted that his speech is itself a masterly example of rheto-
ric. Indeed, in Athens, the city of speech, one could hardly avoid rhetorical
techniques.” Socrates’ defense bears the careful structure of judicial
speech, and he employs, especially in his exordium, several conventional
rhetorical devices that can be found in the defense speeches of the Greek
orators. The stock disclaimers found in the openings of standard judicial
speeches were intended to ingratiate an audience by setting a humble tone
and establishing that the speaker intends to present the truth. Socrates’
plea that he lacks rhetorical ability, the claim that he is unfamiliar with the
lawcourts, the distinction between his own true speech and his opponents’
falsity, the declaration that he will use everyday language, and the remark
 Socrates and Rhetoric

about his advanced age were devices intended to gain the good will of the
jury. Yet if Socrates applies standard forensic practices in the Apology, he
does so, as John Burnet argued, to parody them: “We have the usual topoi
indeed, but they are all made to lead up to the genuinely Socratic paradox
that the function of a good orator is to tell the truth.”?? Socrates uses the
devices of forensic rhetoric, but not with the intention of persuading his
audience, regardless of the truth. In fact, he simultaneously conforms to
and subverts the conventional rhetorical topoi.* The highest art is that
which conceals art. With a brilliant tour de force, he maintains much of
the standard form of a defense speech but significantly alters the substance
along ethical lines. Socrates opposed, therefore, not rhetoric itself, but the
unethical use of rhetorical techniques by some Sophists. Yet his kind of
speech differed so much from that of these teachers that, in the later works
of Plato, Socrates is seen calling for a new kind of rhetoric, one aiming not
to deceive but to tell the truth, not to flatter or delight but to improve an
audience morally—even at the risk of his own life.
In an important sense, therefore, Socrates’ claim of lack of rhetori-
cal ability and unfamiliarity with the lawcourts was true. In Plato’s
Gorgias, Callicles predicted that if Socrates were ever wrongfully
accused in a court of law, he would not have a word to say in his
defense; moreover, if his accuser demanded the death penalty, Socrates
would die.** Perhaps Plato could not help expressing his regret that his
beloved mentor had not resorted to various devices that might have won
him an acquittal while maintaining his integrity. But Socrates’ moral
principles prevented him from engaging in the usual forensic practices in
which the accused would undertake to secure a victory by whatever
rhetorical means necessary. Hence, Socrates’ opening disclaimers are not
to be dismissed lightly. In view of the prejudices of the jury, he had no
choice but to attempt to conciliate his audience, which he perceived to
be hostile, and to allay their suspicions about his allegedly deceptive
speech. Socrates believed it essential to disassociate himself from the
Sophists and their unscrupulous rhetoric. Having sharply distinguished
his rhetorical intentions from those of the prosecution, perhaps the jury
would be prepared to hear an unconventional speech from the accused.
For Socrates would conduct his defense as he had conducted his life. He
would challenge his auditors to rise to his moral level.
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

At the same time, Socrates was famous for his irony, making him an
especially elusive figure for the jury. Indeed, irony pervades the Apology
and surrounds the character of Socrates himself. According to Quintilian,
using Socrates as a prime example, “a whole life may be filled with
irony.”** The man who claimed not to teach was indicted for his teach-
ings; the man who professed to lack the art of speech delivered a master-
ful speech; the man who rejected writing had his words recorded for
posterity; the man who sought to differentiate himself from the Sophists
was condemned as a Sophist; the man who founded ethical philosophy
was condemned for having a corrupting influence; the man who claimed
to be on a mission from God was accused of impiety; and the man on
trial, who had devoted his life to the moral welfare of Athens, placed the
city itself on trial for immorality. Although the Greek word “apologia”
literally means a speech in defense, one cannot help noting the irony in
the English title, the Apology, connoting an act of contrition. Socrates’
speech is the antithesis of contrition; he believes that he has done noth-
ing for which he need “apologize.” In fact, a close reading of the Apology
reveals that his speech is more an offense than a defense. But even for
Plato’s contemporaries, Socrates’ speech conveyed a powerful irony;
jurors naturally expected a “defense” to be a defense, not an offense
against the city. Northrop Frye concluded that the Apology is “one of the
greatest masterpieces of tragic irony in literature.”””
Needless to say, if Socrates fails in his opening words to the jury to
clarify the distinction between sophistic persuasion and the truth, his case
will be virtually doomed from the start. For if “persuaded,” many jurors
might conclude that Socrates has not told the “truth,” but has instead
argued like a typical Sophist. As Socrates’ speech progresses, it will
become increasingly clear that he is introducing a different kind of rheto-
ric, what Plato termed philosophical rhetoric. Nevertheless, Socrates’
ironic adoption of the conventional rhetorical devices complicated the
issue for many jurors. Would they be able to discriminate between rheto-
ric aimed merely to win an argument and rhetoric aimed to reveal the
truth? Plato later sought to dramatize the contrast between forensic and
philosophical rhetoric. In Plato’s Phaedrus, Socrates asserts that a good
speech presupposes that the speaker possesses knowledge of the truth
about his subject; Phaedrus demurs: “Socrates, I have heard that he who
 Socrates and Rhetoric 33

would be an orator has nothing to do with true justice, but only with that
which is likely to be approved by the many who sit in judgment; nor with
the truly good or honourable, but only with opinion about them, and that
from opinion comes persuasion, and not from the truth.”2* Throughout
the remainder of the dialogue, Socrates argues for a philosophical rheto-
ric of truth. The rhetorician should not be a panderer, but a philosopher
who possesses knowledge of moral virtue and seeks to instill it in others.
In Plato’s Gorgias, Socrates refuses to grant that conventional rheto-
ric is a genuine art based on knowledge. Instead, he argues, rhetoric mas-
querades as an art but is, in reality, like cosmetics or cookery, a mere
knack developed by practice, aiming at pleasing audiences rather than
improving souls. An orator need not have real knowledge, merely the
knack of convincing an audience that he does. An orator panders to his
listeners, telling them what they want to hear and gratifying their baser
instincts. Such an orator either denies or does not know the truth. Just as
cookery can make bad food appear tasteful, rhetoric can make a bad argu-
ment appear sound. The rhetorician has the ability to persuade, ignoring
knowledge of justice and injustice. Under cross-examination, Gorgias con-
cedes that “the rhetorician does not instruct the courts of law or other
assemblies about things just or unjust, but he creates belief about them.”
Socrates later contrasts forensic rhetoric, associated with Gorgias and the
Sophists, with his ideal philosophical rhetoric, one that “aims at the train-
ing and improvement of the souls of the citizens, and strives to say what
is best, whether welcome or unwelcome to the audience. . . . And will not
the true rhetorician who is honest and understands his art have his eye
fixed upon” temperance and justice, “in all the words which he addresses
to the souls of men, and in all his actions, both in what he gives and what
he takes away? Will not his aim be to implant justice in the souls of his cit-
izens and take away injustice, to implant temperance and take away
intemperance, to implant every virtue and take away every vice?”
Plato’s Socrates argues in the Gorgias that his moral speech was not
practiced even by the famous Athenian democratic statesmen
Themistocles or Cimon, Miltiades or Pericles. In fact, Socrates charges
that “in the Athenian State no one has ever shown himself to be a good
statesman.” These leaders, he alleges, did not improve the people
morally with their words, “for they have filled the cities full of harbours
34 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

and docks and walls and revenues and all that, and have left no room
for justice and temperance.”*” The Athenians had concentrated on
power, wealth, and empire, at the expense of their souls. Socrates thus
dismisses the leaders regarded as most responsible for the greatness of
Athens after their stunning defeat of the Persians. Miltiades had been the
Athenian general in the miraculous victory at Marathon in 490 B.c. Ten
years later, Themistocles was responsible for Athens’ victory against the
Persians in the battle of Salamis. Cimon, the son of Miltiades, helped
organize the Athenian-dominated Delian League of Greek city-states
and was instrumental in totally destroying the Persian fleet in the 460s
B.c. Victory over the Persians prepared the way for the growth of the
Athenian empire and the glorious Age of Pericles.
But Plato’s Socrates was not impressed by these popular political
heroes, and his accusations may have reflected the thinking of the his-
torical Socrates. The only thing that distinguished these statesmen from
their successors, Socrates declared in the Gorgias, was a superior ability
to satisfy the appetites of the populace. To hail them as great statesmen,
therefore, is tantamount to confusing the pastry chef, who aims to
please, with the physician, who aims to heal. Socrates boldly proclaims
that, in carrying out his philosophic mission he is one of the few now
living who studies and practices true statesmanship, since his discourse
is aimed not toward the pleasure of the populace, but toward their
moral edification.*' Yet, as Socrates explains in Plato’s Republic, the
philosopher, who is in fact the true navigator of the ship of state, is
regarded by the populace as a mere word-spinner and a “star-gazer, a
good-for-nothing.”** The Socrates of the Gorgias is made to anticipate
the ultimate outcome of his critical activity: “Seeing that when I speak
my words are not uttered with any view of gaining favour, and that I
look to what is best and not to what is most pleasant, having no mind
to use those arts and graces which you recommend, I shall have nothing
to say in the justice court.” But Socrates does have something to say in
the Apology. He delivers an eloquent defense at his trial, intended not to
please but to offer a radical critique of Athenian culture.
Socrates’ criticism of conventional rhetoric was derived from expe-
rience and reflection upon the values of the Athens of his day. He knew
that skillful argumentation in the courts had often enabled criminals to
 Socrates and Rhetoric 2)

win acquittal and innocent men to be condemned. In the modern advo-

cacy system, this truism is acknowledged with the explanation that each
defendant is entitled to a fair trial with the best defense available. But
the goal of each side, the prosecution as well as the defense, is to win the
argument by convincing the jury. On the other hand, Socrates’ absolute
commitment to tell the truth, which he reiterated throughout his trial,
conflicted with the basic rules of the Athenian legal system. In fact, he is
represented in Plato’s Gorgias as holding that a person guilty of a crime
should confess and accept the appropriate penalty, even death, rather
than attempt to persuade a jury of his innocence. Moreover, Socrates
must have observed that many decisions implemented by the Athenians
were not only immoral, such as the genocide against Melos in 416 B.c.,
but also detrimental to the welfare of Athens, such as the fateful Sicilian
expedition, in which an Athenian armada, dispatched to conquer the
Greeks in Sicily in 415 B.c., ended in utter disaster.*> Nevertheless, these
decisions were arrived at because citizens had been manipulated by
unscrupulous politicians skilled in the art of persuasion. In the eyes of
Socrates, making speech an instrument for unethical power politics had
contributed to the Athenian ethical crisis.
Socrates’ defense may be better understood in light of Aristotle’s
Rhetoric, a theoretical study based upon analysis of scores of brilliant
examples of speech in classical Greece. Aristotle was intimately familiar
with Plato’s Apology, and the speech of Socrates undoubtedly con-
tributed to his learning about the art of rhetoric.** Aristotle defined rhet-
oric as “the faculty of discovering the possible means of persuasion in
reference to any subject whatever.”*” Like the Sophists, he saw “persua-
sion” as the essence of rhetoric. Yet unlike Socrates and Plato, Aristotle
saw rhetoric as morally neutral. “What makes the sophist is not the fac-
ulty [of rhetoric] but the moral purpose.”* According to Aristotle, there
are three genres of rhetoric.” The first is epideictic or ceremonial rheto-
ric, designed to praise or blame, celebrating what is noble and con-
demning what is ignoble, in a ceremonial context. The goal is to
sanction and strengthen some value already agreed upon by the audi-
ence. The Funeral Oration of Pericles and the Gettysburg Address of
Abraham Lincoln, in addition to the display speeches of the Sophists, are
prominent examples. Next is deliberative or political rhetoric, directed
36 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

to exhort or dissuade those, such as the members of the Athenian

Assembly, who must decide upon a future course of action. It may be
delivered to a large body, such as the debate in the Athenian Assembly,
re-created by Thucydides, between Cleon and Diodotus over the fate of
Mytilene, or to a single individual, such as the famous embassy to
Achilles in Book IX of the Iliad. Finally, there is forensic or judicial rhet-
oric, which is directed primarily to jurors in a lawcourt and deals with
accusation and defense, establishing either guilt or innocence. In judicial
rhetoric, there is either accusation or defense (apologia). Outside the
lawcourt, John Henry Newman’s Apologia Pro Vita Sua, a nineteenth-
century religious classic, and Martin Luther King, Jr.’s Letter from
Birmingham Jail, a manifesto of the civil rights movement during the
1960s, are prominent examples. Among the most famous ancient exam-
ples occurring in a lawcourt is Plato’s Apology.
To evaluate Socrates’ speech as forensic rhetoric, we may apply the
criteria of the three modes of persuasion later articulated by Aristotle.*° He
maintains that a speech can persuade an audience by three means: use of
argument or reason (logos), appeal to the audience’s emotions (pathos),
and evincing a favorable character or personality (éthos). By traditional
rhetorical standards, therefore, which Athenian juries expected litigants to
fulfill, for Socrates to be persuasive his speech had to employ successful
logical arguments, project a positive character, and arouse sympathetic
emotions. Because of the importance of making cogent logical arguments,
Aristotle insisted that dialectic is a counterpart to rhetoric. At the same
time, achieving intellectual conviction among one’s audience is often insuf-
ficient alone. Effective use of the modes of éthos and pathos requires that
the speaker also be cognizant of the character of his audience. Because
Athenian juries were so large—they could number five hundred or more—
crowd psychology played a greater role than in modern trials. To be per-
suasive, a speaker had to know what the audience honored, what they
valued, what they condemned, and what they feared. The difficulty
Socrates faced throughout his defense was that, given his philosophic mis-
sion, he opposed what most Athenians honored, valued, and condemned.
And, in a time of civil crisis, his provocative critical stand augmented
rather than alleviated what his fellow citizens feared.
 Chapter 4

SOCRATES CONFRONTS HIS

OEDAGCUSERS

SOCRATES AND ARISTOPHANES’ CLOUDS

TANDING BEFORE THE JURY and numerous spectators, Socrates
endeavored to project his true character through his speech, even
if it led to his condemnation. For years, he had been on a course
that brought him into conflict with Athens, a conflict that had now
reached a climax. His philosophical challenge threatened to subvert the
ethical preconceptions of Athenian communal life. While he sought to
instill a desire for greater wisdom and virtue among his fellow citizens,
many continued to prefer political power and material comforts. At a
time when, soon after the Peloponnesian War, Athenian democracy was
seeking stability, Socrates the gadfly, the penetrating critic of unexam-
ined opinion, would be too much for many citizens to bear. They wanted
their values and beliefs endorsed, not challenged.
Having attempted to undermine the prosecution’s case at the outset
by distinguishing between their “false” and his “true” speech, Socrates
has a surprise for the jury. Before beginning a formal defense, he insists,
he must deal first with certain “old accusers.” Because unstated, the
charges made by these accusers are “far more dangerous” than those of
the written indictment. Socrates’ intention is to prod the consciences of

a7,
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

the jury by alleging that many of them, captivated by long-standing

falsehoods, were not in a position to judge him fairly. He wants the
jurors to judge him not by what others had said, but by the arguments
he would make in his defense. But, he alleges, for a generation many
made accusations against him that “took possession of your minds with
their falsehoods, telling of one Socrates, a wise man, who speculated
about the heaven above, and searched into the earth beneath, and made
the worse appear the better cause.” By “wise man,” Socrates was refer-
ring to the common misidentification of himself as a Sophist. The accus-
ers also intended to associate him with natural philosophers who pried
into the forbidden celestial realm of Zeus and the Olympic gods and the
underworld of the chthonic gods, such as Hades and Persephone. The
old accusations are “dangerous” because “their hearers are apt to fancy
that such enquirers do not believe in the existence of the gods.” Thus,
from the very beginning, Socrates assumes that the official indictment’s
impiety charge refers to atheism. Unfortunately, he concludes, the old
accusers remain anonymous, except perhaps in the case of a “comic
poet”—whom he will soon identify as the playwright Aristophanes—
making it impossible to summon them for cross-examination. Hence,
Socrates has no choice but to “fight with shadows” in his defense, argu-
ing against opponents who will not answer.' He concludes his opening
remarks by declaring that, although the prejudices against him will pres-
ent a difficult obstacle, in deference to Athenian law he will nevertheless
conduct his defense, trusting the result to “God.”?
Socrates begins his speech, therefore, with his old accusers.
Addressing an Athenian court for the first time in his life, he will seize the
initiative and define the issues that he believes the jury must consider. In
question, with the charges old as well as the new, was his character. While
Aristotle would contend that the character reflected by a judicial speech
was most important, he concedes that the general impression of a
speaker's character and authority prior to a trial also had a powerful influ-
ence upon a jury. That Socrates was aware of this explains the substantial
time he devoted to exposing the prejudices against him. To project a char-
acter acceptable to the jury, one that could be trusted, he had to present
an image of a good citizen, loyal and pious. As Roland Barthes maintains,
a speaker is defined by speech: “I must signify what I want to be for the
 Socrates Confronts His Old Accusers 39.

other. . . . Ethos is, strictly speaking, a connotation: the orator gives a

piece of information and at the same time says: | am this, I am not that.”?
To define himself, Socrates first concentrates upon what he is not. If
he could disabuse the jurors of their prejudices, he could then convey the
real Socrates. He gathers the slanders of the old accusers—restating them
somewhat differently—into the form of a tangible legal indictment that
can be addressed: “Socrates is an evildoer, and a curious person, who
searches into things under the earth and in heaven, and he makes the
worse appear the better cause; and he teaches the aforesaid doctrines to
others.”* Significantly, the “wise man” of the initial summary of the accu-
sations has been replaced by “evildoer,” and the allegation that he is a
teacher has been added.‘ Not only is he popularly regarded as holding
atheistic views, but, even worse, he also corrupts the young by propagat-
ing these views. Socrates then reverts to his prior allusion to the comic
poet Aristophanes, the chief perpetrator of the old accusations. Although
other comic poets, such as Cratinus, Eupolis, and Ameipsias, had also
ridiculed Socrates, he obviously believed that Aristophanes’ misrepresen-
tations had done the gravest damage. In the Clouds, a comedy first pre-
sented at the Great Dionysia in the spring of 423 B.c., when Socrates was
forty-six years old, Aristophanes depicted him both as a Sophist, a teacher
of rhetoric who undermined respect for the truth, and a cosmologist who
advocated impious views about things beneath the earth and in the heav-
ens.° Indeed, at one point in the play, Socrates is referred to as a Melian,
linking him to Diagoras of Melos, the infamous atheist who was report-
edly condemned to death and fled Athens after mocking the Eleusinian
mysteries, integral to a religious festival in honor of the goddesses Demeter
and her daughter Persephone, held annually at Eleusis, a few miles from
Athens.’ The fact that Socrates had recently demonstrated his courage and
service to the city by participating in the Athenian retreat from Delium did
nothing to deter Aristophanes, who needed a popular figure to be the vic-
tim of his comic barbs. The eccentric Socrates seemed an ideal subject.
Indeed, his visage seems to have resembled a comic mask. But
Aristophanes did not merely exploit the appearance of the philosopher; he
also created a character whose views and teachings were antithetical to
basic Athenian values. According to Socrates, he never recovered from the
damage that the Clouds inflicted upon his reputation. He believed that the
40 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

current indictment, accusing him of impiety and corrupting the young,

stemmed directly from the charges contained in Aristophanes’ play.
Drawing upon sporadic references to the philosopher’s physical
appearance in the Platonic dialogues, many have noted that Socrates stood
in stark contrast to the Greek ideal of physical beauty. “It is significant,”
declared the acerbic Friedrich Nietzsche, “that Socrates was the first great
Hellene to be ugly.”* Short in stature, with bulging eyes, a flat nose, walk-
ing barefoot with an idiosyncratic gait, and always wearing the same old
cloak, he could be an easy target for ridicule. His behavior was also deemed
eccentric; a respectable citizen was not supposed to neglect his material
welfare or avoid Athenian politics, preferring instead to devote himself to
discussing apparently unanswerable questions. In appearance, this hero of
philosophy and knowledge was no Achilles. In Plato’s Symposium,
Alcibiades is hard-pressed to find someone to whom he might compare
Socrates. For he was not a great military warrior like Achilles or the
Spartan Brasidas; nor was he like Nestor the Greek or Antenor the Trojan,
reputed to be great orators. Thus, concludes Alcibiades, Socrates cannot be
compared to any man, but only to Silenus or to a satyr, those less than
human creatures who accompanied Dionysus. Nevertheless, Alcibiades felt
compelled to remark: “When I opened him and looked within at his seri-
ous purpose, I saw in him divine and golden images of such fascinating
beauty that I was ready to do in a moment whatever Socrates com-
29
manded.”’ Whether or not the historical Alcibiades uttered these words,
they undoubtedly reflect the sentiments of Plato. Despite the favorable
impression Socrates made upon some contemporaries, he believed that the
negative depiction of his character by Aristophanes had to be refuted.
Although Aristophanes regarded the Clouds as his best work, it
failed to win first prize at the Great Dionysia, inducing him to undertake
a revision of the play, which is the only extant version. The main char-
acter, an aged Attic farmer named Strepsiades, is beset by creditors
because of the inordinate taste of his son, Pheidippides, for expensive
clothes, chariot-racing, and horse-racing. Upon hearing of a school, the
“Thinkery,” headed by Socrates, purporting to teach young men, for a
fee, the tricks of forensic rhetoric, Strepsiades enrolls his son in the hope
that he will learn to apply speaking skills to defeat creditors in court,
thus enabling his father to escape debt. When Pheidippides balks at his
 Socrates Confronts His Old Accusers

father’s scheme, Strepsiades decides to attend the school himself. When

he first meets Socrates, the teacher is seen suspended in a basket, from
which he studies the heavens while his students inquire into the under-
world. This is the comic scene alluded to by Socrates in the Apology,
referring to the depiction of a certain “Socrates, going about and saying
that he walks in air, and talking a deal of nonsense concerning matters
of which I do not pretend to know either much or little.” Within the
“Thinkery,” in addition to studying things under the earth and the stars
above, students engage in such edifying activities as measuring the
length of a flea’s jump and ascertaining how a gnat’s hum is produced.
Aristophanes’ Socrates, a master Sophist and corrupter of youth,
quickly relieves Strepsiades of the belief in the traditional gods, dethron-
ing Zeus and putting new deities, including the Clouds, in his place. When
Strepsiades is soon expelled from the school for being an inept student, he
manages to convince Pheidippides to attend instead. Thus the son enters
the school, and the father requests Socrates to teach him the ability to
“make an utter mockery of the truth.”"' Father and son are then treated
to a contest between abstract characters named Right and Wrong, or Just
and Unjust Argument, whereupon Right is easily vanquished. Handed
over as a student of Wrong, Pheidippides makes rapid progress, easily dis-
posing of his father’s creditors with his arsenal of sophistical arguments.
But the corrupted Pheidippides eventually beats his father, knocking him
to the ground after a quarrel, a grave offense according to the ancient
Greeks. The son thereupon justifies his act with the sophistry that as
fathers beat their children out of care, when fathers in turn become chil-
dren again, they are fittingly beaten by their children. Taking a cue from
the Sophists, Pheidippides even has the audacity to claim that the law
against beating one’s father is not natural, but merely a man-made con-
vention, easily altered whenever expedient. After the depraved
Pheidippides threatens to beat his mother, the play concludes with the out-
raged Strepsiades, finally realizing the dire consequences of his son’s
immoral education, burning the school of Socrates to the ground. The
Thinkery school of atheism and deceitful rhetoric is consumed in a right-
eous conflagration, as a gagging Socrates escapes with a bevy of students
following. Not only had Socrates corrupted the young, but he had also
committed the worst kind of impiety. As Strepsiades and the play’s chorus
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

leader cry out: “Why did you blaspheme the gods? What made you spy
upon the Moon in heaven? Thrash them, beat them, flog them for their
crimes, but most of all because they dared outrage the gods of heaven!”"
Aristophanes’ Clouds is a dramatic presentation of the developing con-
flict in Athens between civic virtue and philosophy. Socrates is represented
as exerting a destructive influence upon the life of the polis, attacking not
only the gods that protect the city and its laws but also the sacred family
relationship between fathers and sons essential to civic life. In effect,
Aristophanes’ Socrates was guilty of treason. Instead of the truth, he taught
the art of making the weaker argument the stronger; in place of the tradi-
tional cult gods, he substituted either natural laws or gods of his own mak-
ing. Aristophanes, in sympathy with those threatened by the new learning,
refused to see any difference between the philosopher Socrates and the
Sophists. Among conservatives, the designation “Sophist,” we have noted,
had become one of disrepute once the radical implications of their teach-
ings were understood. Although the Sophists and Socrates did share some
similarities, they differed substantially in their mission, way of life, attitude
toward truth, and basic philosophy. Like the Sophists, Socrates focused on
human questions, challenged traditional beliefs, and attracted a large fol-
lowing among Athenian youth. Yet the Sophists charged a fee for their serv-
ices; Socrates did not—hence his poverty. The Sophists claimed wisdom;
Socrates did not—hence his well-known profession of “ignorance.” The
Sophists celebrated and taught rhetoric; Socrates did not—hence his avoid-
ance of those forums, the Assembly and the lawcourts, in which address-
ing large bodies of citizens was necessary. While the Sophists offered a
pragmatic education, designed to train politicians to assume positions of
leadership within the polis, Socrates sought primarily to direct his young
associates to pursue virtue and the perfection of their souls. To perfect the
soul is to make the soul good, argued Socrates, and a good soul is the
source of happiness. While some Sophists preached what many regarded as
dangerous moral relativism, denying the existence of objective truth,
Socrates devoted his life to combating skepticism, seeking definitions of
virtues, based upon universal reason, that would provide an unshakable
basis for morality.’ As Werner Jaeger concluded, Socrates was the “Solon
of the moral world.”" Finally, while the Sophists wrote and taught from
instruction manuals, Socrates wrote nothing and refused to use books in his
 Socrates Confronts His Old Accusers 43

teaching. As he is made to say in the Phaedrus, writing is static, endlessly

repeating the same words forever; hence it does not have “life.” In contrast,
living speech is inscribed “in the soul of the learner.””’ Instead of the lecture
hall, his forum was the street corner. Instead of the textbook, his method
was to initiate an interchange of ideas, with the interlocutors and himself
taking the discussion wherever it led.
Nevertheless, the substantial differences between Socrates and the
Sophists were apparently unrecognized or ignored by Aristophanes and
most of the Athenian public, for whom Socrates posed no less a danger
to traditional values than did the Sophists. Indeed, those Athenians who
witnessed Socrates repeatedly defeating the Sophists probably regarded
him as the supreme Sophist. Moreover, his method of challenging con-
ventional definitions of virtues, refuting the views of others while pro-
fessing his own ignorance, was perceived by many as sophistic
skepticism. His questioning of traditional values without offering a posi-
tive doctrine to take their place seemed merely destructive. But had
Socrates taught doctrine, he would have emphasized conclusions rather
than the process of critical thinking. Nevertheless, nineteenth-century his-
torian George Grote alleged that if, in the middle of the Peloponnesian
War, any Athenian had been asked to identify the preeminent Sophist in
Athens, Socrates would have been among the first named.” Indeed,
Aristophanes would not have introduced a Socrates into his play that was
unrecognizable to his audience. The picture of Socrates found in the
Clouds, although a caricature, was nonetheless the popular one. Like any
intellectual, Socrates seemed to pose a threat to the average Athenian.
And the Socrates they saw in the Clouds reflected everything that many,
fearing the overthr ow values, opposed: deceptive rhetoric,
of traditional
moral relativism, dangerous scientific inquiry, and atheism.
While the effect of the Clouds was relatively innocuous when first
produced in 423 8.c., its portrayal of Socrates as a dangerous stargazer
and Sophist, now emblazoned upon the memories of Athenians, would,
in a later, more precarious political climate, endanger the philosopher's
life. Initially, Socrates could afford to ignore the play’s distortions. Athens
was in its glorious heyday, and most Athenians were willing to live by
their reputation as people who valued free expression, even for the
: philosopher Socrates. For many years, therefore, Socrates engaged openly
44 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

in the relentless pursuit of his philosophic mission. But in 399 B.c., after
the Peloponnesian War, the conditions in Athens changed dramatically.
For over a generation, the Athenians had lived with growing insecurity.
They had experienced almost continuous war. Their democracy had been
overthrown by two brief oligarchic revolutions, the first in 411 B.c., the
second in 404 B.c. The latter revolution, occurring after the devastating
loss to Sparta, led to the establishment of a tyrannical government that
was overthrown only after a civil war. The Athenians had also suffered a
plague at the beginning of the conflict with Sparta and had later under-
taken a disastrous invasion of Sicily, which depleted their population. By
404 B.c., they had lost not only the Peloponnesian War, characterized by
Thucydides as the greatest in history, but also their prosperous empire.
With the city gripped by a moral and religious crisis, menaced by enemies
within and without, many citizens could no longer tolerate a philosopher
who subjected every value and belief to critical scrutiny.” In this danger-
ous atmosphere, the lasting impression of Socrates created by the Clouds
would ironically contribute to a tragedy. A quarter-century after the pro-
duction of the Clouds, the old charges of atheism and corrupting the
young returned to haunt Socrates. As Alphonse Lamartine, the nine-
teenth-century poet and statesman, lamented, albeit somewhat exces-
sively, Aristophanes was “the first murderer of Socrates.”"

SOCRATES DENIES HE IS A TEACHER OF NATURAL SCIENCE

Defending himself against the allegation made in Aristophanes’ Clouds,
Socrates rejects the notion that he is a teacher of natural science, insist-
ing that while he does not disparage such knowledge, he has “nothing to
do with physical speculations.” Inquiry into the secrets of nature was
interpreted as a challenge to the accepted cosmology. The ancient Greeks
attributed natural phenomena to divine agency. Insisting that the ques-
tions of natural science had never become the subject of his philosophi-
cal discussions, Socrates invited the members of the jury to testify if any
had ever heard him converse on such matters. No one came forth. He
does not see a need to inform the jury that, although he professed no real
knowledge of science, which he believed necessary to teach it, when he
was young, probably in his thirties, he did develop a strong interest in the
 Socrates Confronts His Old Accusers 45

subject. As he is made to say in the “autobiographical” section of Plato’s

Phaedo, he had originally hoped that natural science would reveal the
causes of things coming into existence and ceasing to be. Upon hearing
someone relate that the natural philosopher Anaxagoras postulated that
Mind, or Nous, is the organizing principle of the universe, bringing order
to chaos, Socrates hoped to learn ultimately how this Mind directs all
things toward the good. Now, he thought, it might be possible to explain
the universe in rational terms. Anaxagoras is credited with bringing nat-
ural science to Athens from Ionia. According to one tradition, Socrates
became a student of Archelaus, a disciple of Anaxagoras, and traveled
with him to Samos in 440 B.c. Nevertheless, after examining carefully the
conclusions of Anaxagoras, Socrates became disillusioned, for he found
nothing but materialistic speculation. Renouncing the search for ultimate
causes in nature, he turned his attention to the human realm. Archelaus
may have also pointed Socrates toward ethical studies, since, according
to Diogenes Laertius, Archelaus was not only the last of the physicists but
also the first moralist, discussing laws, goodness, and justice.”
Realizing that knowledge of cosmic final causes is beyond human
capacity, Socrates’ declaration of “respect” for this discipline in the
Apology is mere irony. “At last,” he declares in the Phaedo, “I concluded
myself to be utterly and absolutely incapable of these enquiries.” Hence,
he abandoned the pursuit of science for ethical and political questions,
embarking upon what he termed his second voyage.”' Socrates thus joined
the Sophists in spearheading an intellectual revolution in Greece, directing
speculation away from the cosmos to humanity. If humans could not
ascertain the origin and reason for the universe, they could at least learn
how to live their lives more wisely and ethically. Socrates’ role in this rev-
olution in thinking was noted by the ancients. In Aristotle’s Metaphysics,
Socrates is credited with initiating a preoccupation with human, ethical
matters, in search of precise definitions of general concepts arrived at
through induction. Aristotle observed in another work that philosophers
in Socrates’ time relinquished inquiry into nature, devoting themselves
instead to “political science and to the virtues which benefit mankind.””
In the same vein, Cicero proclaimed Socrates as “the first to call philoso-
phy down from the heavens and set her in the cities of men and bring her
also into their homes and compel her to ask questions about life and
46 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

morality and things good and evil.” In the nineteenth century, Friedrich
Nietzsche, although known for his ambivalence about Socrates, neverthe-
less hailed him as the first practical philosopher: “Thinking serves life,
whereas with all earlier philosophers life served thinking and knowing.”™
Although the Sophists also contributed to humanizing ancient Greek phi-
losophy, the preeminence of Socrates is unquestioned. And whereas the
Sophists taught a naturalistic philosophy, with humans the sole determi-
nants of value, Socrates, as depicted by Plato, sought to direct his fellow
Athenians toward transcendent values. Thus, Socrates next turns his
attention to drawing a distinction between himself and the Sophists.

SOCRATES DENIES HE IS A SOPHIST

Having disassociated himself from the natural scientists, Socrates alleges
that the old accusers also sought to confound him with the Sophists,
thus originating another misconception. In the unsettled period after the
Peloponnesian War, as we have seen, many Athenians blamed the moral
collapse of the city upon the Sophists. Yet Socrates denies categorically
any connection between himself and these self-proclaimed teachers of
wisdom. He was not a professional teacher in the conventional Athenian
sense. He claimed no special expertise; not did he head a school or
engage in formal expositions. Moreover, unlike the Sophists, he did not
enter into a business relationship with his interlocutors by charging
them a fee.”* Professing to lack real knowledge, he could not take fees
from youths who nevertheless had followed his example, learning how
to think for themselves. Charging a fee for one’s services would not seem
to be a subject of suspicion; even the poets were paid. Yet the Sophists
aroused public resentment, especially from traditionalists, who regarded
them as opportunistic intellectual mercenaries; receiving payment for
teaching implied that wisdom and virtue were commodities that could
be sold to the highest bidder. As Xenophon’s Socrates declares: “Those
who offer wisdom to all comers for money are known as sophists, pros-
titutors of wisdom.”* Nevertheless, since the Sophists taught practical
political skills—how to speak, reason, and make decisions—thus fulfill-
ing a definite need for citizens in democratic Athens, they felt justified in
charging considerable fees for their services.?’
 Socrates Confronts His Old Accusers 47

In dealing with his alleged identification with the Sophists, Socrates

indulges in some stinging irony and sarcasm, demonstrating his rhetorical
skill. He confesses that the ability to educate people and charge a fee is a
fine thing, but he takes no part in such activity. Referring to three Sophists
who were still alive in 399 B.c.—Gorgias of Leontini, Prodicus of Ceos,
and Hippias of Elis—he mocks their pretentious claim to teach human
excellence with the following barb: They “go the round of the cities, and
are able to persuade the young men to leave their own citizens by whom
they might be taught for nothing, and come to them whom they not only
pay but are thankful if they may be allowed to pay them.”?* The depth of
Socrates’ critique of the Sophists in this part of his defense becomes evident.
In distancing himself from these teachers, he indirectly reminds the jury
that the Sophists were perceived by many as a peril to the city. Sought after
by those who wanted the rhetorical tools for political success, they had
been scorned by the conservative majority. Socrates skillfully insinuates
that the Sophists, who as foreigners were denied the privileges of Athenian
citizenship, nevertheless exerted an inordinate influence upon the young,
inducing them to seek a formal education outside the traditional sources—
the family, along with relatives and older friends—in exchange for
Athenian money. As Protagoras is made to say in the Platonic dialogue that
bears his name, the Sophists elicited much resentment because of their
power to attract Athenian youth, detaching them from the influence of the
household.” Socrates, therefore, sought to remind the Athenians that the
Sophists were the real corrupters of the city’s youth.
In fifth-century B.c. Athens, the art of citizenship became a subject
of professional study. Politics, instead of remaining the preserve of an
aristocratic elite, who passed on the necessary learning informally from
generation to generation, was now a subject that could be taught to any-
one who had the money to pay. From one generation to the next, the
educational processes that socialized the young into the city’s values
through poetry, music, and gymnastics were passed on orally. Having
arrogated the educational function of the aristocratic families, the
Sophists also undermined the traditional aristocratic notion that arete,
or excellence, in managing one’s own affairs and those of the city was
innate or hereditary. Until the fifth century, the view prevailed that only
aristocratic birth qualified one for political leadership. But the Sophists
48 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

demonstrated that, with the proper education, one’s natural abilities,

regardless of one’s class, could be perfected. Thus, the Sophists were per-
ceived by aristocrats and traditionalists as a threat to the established
order, not only because they induced young men to challenge cherished
religious and moral values but also because they provided systematic
instruction that enabled more citizens to become active in politics.”
Knowing that many young men engaged Socrates in discussions and
attempted to follow his example in dialectic, many jurors probably
regarded his denial that he was a teacher as an argument befitting a
Sophist. How could a person with a moral mission—one entailing the
exhortation of others to pursue self-knowledge and perfect their souls—
not be a teacher? Would not Socrates claim to be the gadfly of Athens?
Did he not encourage others to recognize reason as the only authority?
And did not his conversations attract a large following? But many jurors
failed to grasp what Gregory Vlastos has termed the “complex irony” of
Socrates. Whereas, with simple irony, one says one thing but means
another, complex irony involves speaking in a double sense. Thus,
Socrates was not a teacher according to the traditional notion of a person
who simply transfers knowledge and traditional values to others. He was
a teacher in a radically new sense of stimulating others to acknowledge
their ignorance and take responsibility for their own pursuit of truth.*!
Similarly, as we have seen, Socrates began his defense with a denial that he
was a conventional rhetorician. He refused to subordinate truth to per-
suasion. At the same time, as the complex irony of his speech demon-
strates, Socrates was a master of rhetoric, but a new rhetoric of truth.
The three Sophists whom Socrates identifies for the jury were among
the most celebrated, their fame having spread not only in Athens, but also
throughout the Hellenic world. Gorgias of Leontini, a Greek colony in
Sicily, was a teacher of rhetoric who dazzled Athenian audiences with
bravura displays of oratory, especially during the ceremonies at the
Olympic games. In 427 B.c., he led a delegation to Athens to solicit assis-
tance for his city against Syracuse. His two famous display speeches, the
Praise of Helen and the Defense of Palamedes, are masterful illustrations
of how a skillful speaker can take a weak case and defend it convincingly.
The first speech, we have seen, aims to exonerate Helen for abandoning
her husband Menelaos, sailing to Troy with Paris; the second is presented
 Socrates Confronts His Old Accusers 49

as a speech Palamedes might have delivered to exonerate himself of

Odysseus’ charge that he attempted to betray the Greeks to the Trojans.
Prodicus was also a master rhetorician and a professional teacher of the
art of politics. As an etymologist and semanticist, he stressed the impor-
tance of precision in the definition of words. Plato’s Socrates called
Prodicus his teacher, apparently a reference to Socrates’ insistence on accu-
rate definitions of abstract moral concepts.” A critic of Greek mythic reli-
gion, the reputed atheist Prodicus postulated that the gods were created by
humans. Like Gorgias, Prodicus amassed much money through his teach-
ing and public display speeches. Finally, Hippias was regarded as one of
the most learned of the Sophists, a polymath famous for his eloquent
rhetorical performances at the Olympic festivals, where he invited the
audience to submit topics for him to discourse upon extemporaneously.
Socrates then relates that he once spoke with Callias, a prominent
politician and one of the richest Athenians, who allegedly paid more in
Sophist’s fees than everyone combined. The home of Callias—we can infer
from Plato’s Protagoras—was often where Sophists were invited to teach
and display their skills. The dialogue opens with the Sophists Hippias and
Prodicus staying with Callias; they are soon joined by Protagoras, who has
arrived on a visit to Athens. Socrates tells the jurors that when he asked
Callias whether anyone could be found able to teach his two sons “human
and political virtue,” the rich man responded: Evenus of Paros, whose fee
was five minas. Unfortunately, only a few fragments of the writings of
Evenus—who is identified as a Sophist in Plato’s Phaedrus and Phaedo—
have survived. Socrates informs the jury that he told Callias that Evenus
is fortunate if he truly has such wisdom and teaches it for such a modest
fee. “Had I the same,” Socrates concedes, with ironic praise, “I should
have been very proud and conceited; but the truth is that I have no knowl-
edge of the kind.”® Socrates held that virtue is a form of knowledge,
knowledge of the good. Yet, unlike the Sophists, he did not think that
virtue could be taught. While a teacher may provide valuable assistance,
Socrates believed that virtue cannot be passed from one person to another,
but must be the product of individual self-examination. Socrates’ inter-
locutors must be accountable for their own learning.
Thus Socrates, attempting to define himself for the jury, again denies
that he possesses expert knowledge: first, knowledge of natural philoso-
5O SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

phy; now, knowledge of how to teach human excellence, at least in the

sense of the Sophists. Yet the mere mention of the Sophists’ names must
have infuriated many jurors; and if they regarded Socrates himself to be a
Sophist, he could not have helped his case. The Sophists taught philo-
sophical skepticism, perceived by many Athenians as a threat to moral and
political stability. In his treatise On Truth, the Sophist Antiphon argued
that behind words there exists no permanent reality. Gorgias, moreover, is
famous for denying the existence of truth itself with three devastating
propositions: (1) Nothing exists. (2) If something did exist, we could never
know it. (3) Even if something did exist, we could never communicate
such knowledge to anyone. While, taken at face value, Gorgias’ proposi-
tions may seem patently absurd, what he intended to assert was that the
phenomenal or physical world is not grounded in any fixed reality or
“existence,” but is instead an ephemeral realm of constant flux of which
humankind cannot obtain certain knowledge.* Although Gorgias’ propo-
sitions were probably a mere rhetorical tour de force, they nevertheless
reflected a climate of skeptical opinion, popularized by several Sophists,
that denied the possibility of real knowledge and objective values.
Such epistemological nihilism was perceived as dangerous to morality.
If there is no objective moral code, right and wrong are mere conventions.
Hence, one need not have any qualms about making the weaker argument
the stronger, whether in the Assembly, in the lawcourts, in relations with
other states, or in private business. For those who wished to master the art
of rhetoric, Protagoras counseled that “there are two opposite arguments
on every subject.”* In fact, some Sophists specialized in teaching their stu-
dents to argue both sides of a question like an advocate in a lawcourt.
Protagoras’ Antilogies (Opposing Arguments) illustrated how on each
question one could make an effective case for either side. Having illustrated
the prevalence of conflicting /ogoi throughout everyday life, he taught stu-
dents how to argue first one view, then the opposite; after arguing for the
prosecution, one could then effectively reverse one’s position, arguing for
the defense.** Whatever his intentions, Protagoras’ teaching was regarded
as dangerous. While the ability to argue both sides of a case is useful for an
advocate in a court of law or, in the disinterested pursuit of truth, as a
means to express fully alternate positions on an issue, the underlying
assumption of the Sophists was that, since in fact there is no such thing as
 Socrates Confronts His Old Accusers Sy

the “truth,” it mattered little what position one took, as long as one was
victorious in debate or secured an acquittal or conviction in court. Trained
by the Sophists, many young Athenian politicians became specialists at
making the weaker cause defeat the stronger.
But the Sophists should not all be painted with the same brush; indeed
they have suffered a fate similar to that of the Pharisees in the Christian
Gospels. In modern times, scholars have attempted to rehabilitate the
Sophists’ reputation. George Grote, in his monumental History of Greece,
argued that the Sophists did not constitute a cohesive school with a uni-
form doctrine, but were individual thinkers with divergent intellectual
views.” While it is true that they were important leaders of the Greek
Enlightenment and, along with Socrates, were instrumental in promoting
the humanistic study of man and society, there were nevertheless aspects of
the Sophists’ teachings that could easily be exploited by the state to justify
power politics, even genocide. According to their philosophy, truth was not
grounded in absolute and universal standards, contingent upon circum-
stances. Hence “truth” became merely whatever people could be persuaded
to believe. If the weaker argument defeats the stronger, its very victory
makes it now the truth. In the Athenian Assembly and lawcourts, therefore,
“truth” was determined by the démos, the majority of citizens who had the
right to judge and have their views prevail.** Too often, as the
Peloponnesian War demonstrates, power became equated with justice.
During the time of Socrates, Greeks began to inquire whether the
gods, morality, society, and political institutions were the product of
nature, or merely local custom. As the Greeks came into contact with
other civilizations, the Sophists argued that institutions and values were
culturally conditioned and relative. The ethnographic accounts of various
non-Greek peoples in Herodotus’ Histories demonstrated the rich vari-
ability of the nomoi. The distinction between nature and convention, sim-
ilar to the modern distinction between nature and nurture, was expressed
by the words physis, regarded as the essential nature of an individual or
thing; and nomos (nomoi, in the plural), regarded as man-made, or
founded upon human agreement, and hence different from culture to cul-
ture, such as customs and laws.” While the Sophists helped cut the cords
of myth, dogma, and blind tradition, they cut with a two-edged sword, as
the nomos-physis distinction also seemed to tear away the sacred veil that
52 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

had covered moral values and social institutions from time immemorial.
To many traditional Athenians, the fact that something was “natural”
gave it normative weight, in the sense of “natural” versus “unnatural.”
Hesiod wrote that law and justice were instituted and supported by the
gods. And Aeschylus, in the Eumenides, the climax of his Oresteia trilogy,
dramatized the founding of the Areopagus, a homicide court, by Athena
herself. But the radically new thinking represented by the Sophists held
that good and evil, truth and error, and justice and injustice were not
divinely sanctioned or rooted in nature but were mere conventions created
by human society on the basis of expediency or imposed by those with
superior power. At the same time, ostensibly freed from dependence upon
a transcendent order as the basis for social institutions, many progressive
Athenians embraced a confident humanism, as reflected in the famous
lines from the chorus in Sophocles’ Antigone, “there are many wonders,
but nothing more wonderful than man,” and in the Funeral Oration of
>

Pericles, a celebration of Athenian achievements in culture and law.*°

As moral standards declined during the Peloponnesian War, Sophists
such as Antiphon undertook to devalue nomos in favor of physis, arguing
that conventional law suppresses man’s instincts, thus violating nature,
which favors the strong. Antiphon suggested that individuals should, when
necessary, adhere to the conventional moral standards of society; but, in
private, hidden from public scrutiny, they should pursue their enlightened
self-interest. For some in Socrates’ day, therefore, the nomos-physis dis-
tinction became a device to overturn traditional morality.*' Plato’s Callicles,
an aspiring politician sympathetic to the view of some Sophists, declared
that “the popular and vulgar notions of right” are “not natural, but only
conventional. Convention and nature are generally at variance with one
another.”* According to Callicles, nature dictates that might is right.
Hence, conventional laws and justice, which enable the inferior weak
majority to control the few, who are physically and intellectually superior,
actually violate nature. It is natural for the strong to prevail over the weak,
the superior to prevail over the inferior. Another radical view is found in
Plato’s Republic, where the Sophist Thrasymachus, unlike Callicles, refuses
to acknowledge any right of nature. Instead, he defines justice as simply
“the interest of the stronger.”* In all states, justice becomes whatever ben-
efits the interests of the ruling powers or established government, whether
 Socrates Confronts His Old Accusers 53

a tyranny, aristocracy, or democracy. The rulers make the laws, and the just
is identified with the legal.
Arguments on behalf of self-interest and utility at the expense of jus-
tice are found in Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War. In 428
B.C., Mytilene, a town on the island of Lesbos and an ally of the Athenian
empire, rebelled against Athens. After crushing the rebellion, the inflamed
Athenian Assembly, urged by the demagogue Cleon, decided that the
entire adult male population of Mytilene should be executed and the
women and children enslaved. In the judgment of Thucydides, Cleon was
“the most violent of the citizens, and at that time exercised by far the
greatest influence over the people.” The next day, the Assembly, having
second thoughts, met again to reconsider this extreme decision. According
to Thucydides, a debate ensued between Cleon, who defended the origi-
nal decision, and Diodotus, a politician otherwise unknown. It is signifi-
cant that both speeches argue from Athenian self-interest. For years, the
Athenians found no incompatibility in maintaining a democracy at home
with an autocratic empire throughout the Aegean. Cleon, echoing the sen-
timent of Pericles, reminded the Athenians that “your empire is a despot-
ism exercised over unwilling subjects.”** Hence, they should expect to
have unwilling subjects continually plotting against them. Moreover, the
Mytileneans obey not because of concessions Athens, to its own detri-
ment, might grant them or out of any good will the Mytileneans might
have, but because of Athenian superior power. While Cleon based part of
his argument upon justice—the Mytileneans deserved severe punishment
for their unjust rebellion—he subordinated justice to self-interest. “If,
right or wrong, you are resolved to rule,” he declared, “then rightly or
wrongly they must be chastised for your good. Otherwise you must give
up your empire, and, when virtue is no longer dangerous, you may be as
virtuous as you please. Punish them as they would have punished you.”*
And even if, by the standards of retributive justice, the Mytileneans
deserved to be punished, one could argue that the punishment dictated by
the original decree, failing to distinguish degrees of culpability, was exces-
sive. But Cleon’s cold realism had set the terms of the debate. When
Diodotus mounted the rostrum to argue against the massacre, he dis-
missed altogether an appeal to justice or humanity, arguing that the self-
interest of Athens, the survival of the empire, was best served by a more
54 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

moderate expedient. The Assembly responded by voting again and

rescinding its original decision by a narrow margin, putting to death only
those Mytilenean males most responsible for the rebellion. Nevertheless,
this involved the execution of more than one thousand men.
A more blatant example of Athenian power politics was the crush-
ing of the island of Melos in 416 B.c. Traditionally a friend of Sparta,
Melos sought to remain neutral in the Peloponnesian War. Having
refused to join the Athenian empire, Melos was besieged by an Athenian
force. Thucydides composed a dialogue between the Athenian ambassa-
dors and the Melian government, which, while probably not historical,
accurately reflects Athenian thinking and power politics. Dismissing
conventional justice, the Athenians—with an argument similar to Plato’s
Callicles, the champion of natural superiority—proclaimed that nature
dictates that the strong ought to rule the weak. When the Melian
Council declared their trust in the gods to protect the island from wrong,
Thucydides represents the Athenians as retorting: “For of the Gods we
believe, and of men we know, that by a law of their nature wherever they
can rule they will. This law was not made by us, and we are not the first
who have acted upon it; we did but inherit it, and shall bequeath it to
all time, and we know that you and all mankind, if you were as strong
as we are, would do as we do.”*” The Olympian gods, therefore, had
been enlisted to support imperial tyranny, checked only by the limits of
Athenian power. Athens crushed Melos, killing the entire adult male
population and enslaving the women and children.
While the Sophists cannot be blamed entirely for the moral decline of
Athens—indeed, a large number of citizens supported these teachers—
they nevertheless did provide a rationale for the city’s power politics, in
which justice became equated with self-interest. No doubt, most
Athenians, especially from the lower classes, continued to adhere to tra-
ditional beliefs, but the radical new ideas of the age found support among
many young men who became leaders in Athenian politics during the
Peloponnesian War. If, therefore, Socrates were to succeed in defending
himself against his accusers, old and new, he had to separate himself in
the minds of the jury not only from the perceived impiety of the natural
philosophers but also from the skepticism and relativism of the Sophists.
 Chapter 5

SOCRATES’ RADICAL
PHILOSOPHIC MISSION

THE DELPHIC ORACLE

AVING DEALT WITH THE FALSE CHARGES of his old accusers,
Socrates introduces a fictitious objector who is represented as
asking why, if Socrates is neither a natural philosopher nor a
Sophist, he has been so misrepresented. This is the first of five times,
four in his defense speech and one in his speech after conviction, that
Socrates responds to a hypothetical objector with an important digres-
sion, using the formula “perhaps someone will ask.” By means of this
rhetorical device, Socrates is able not only to anticipate retorts to his
arguments, but also to introduce important issues related to his philo-
sophic mission. Litigants in Athenian trials were given considerable lee-
way to present their most convincing case, using a variety of narratives,
arguments and digressions. Unable to engage in his customary dialecti-
cal method, except during a brief skirmish with his adversary Meletus,
Socrates invents interlocutors in the form of “objectors.”
In response to the first “objector,” Socrates prefaces his remarks by
conceding that although the jury might believe he is “joking,” he is about
to tell them the truth. Having devoted the first part of his defense to what Diy
56 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

he is not, he now proceeds to construct his identity before the court by

means of a narrative, an important part of a classical oration, in which
the speaker explains the source of a difficulty. Socrates alleges that he
received his false reputation because he does indeed possess a type of wis-
dom, “such as may perhaps be attained by man.” This human wisdom
distinguishes Socrates from the Sophists, who claim a “super-human wis-
dom, which I may fail to describe, because I have it not myself.”
Anticipating a protest, he requests the jury not to interrupt him with
shouts, even if he seems to make an “extravagant” claim, while he calls
a witness, “who is worthy of credit,” to corroborate his unique, albeit
merely human, wisdom: the God at Delphi!’ One can imagine the jury’s
surprise upon hearing Socrates announce that he was calling the Delphic
oracle as a witness. His speech is punctuated by outbursts of heckling dis-
sent from his listeners, as if from a dramatic chorus participating in the
action. Athenian citizens invariably reacted vociferously to speeches in
the Assembly and the lawcourts, as well as in the theater. Shouts and
other noises, known as “din,” or thorubus, could have an influence upon
the outcome of a trial or the judgment of a drama.’ To deal with such
public outbursts, a litigant had to be adept at thinking on his feet and
attempt to incorporate juror reaction into his rhetorical strategy. When a
controversial defendant like Socrates made an outlandish claim, espe-
cially in the competitive setting of an Athenian lawcourt, he risked infu-
riating many jurors, in addition to the numerous spectators at the trial.
Yet Socrates assured the jurors that he would speak truthfully.
Since the eighth century B.c., the Greeks believed that the God Apollo
spoke through his priestess, the Pythia, at the shrine in Delphi, the spiri-
tual heart of Hellenic civilization. Situated on the southern slopes of
Mount Parnassus, with the Gulf of Corinth below, the shrine was believed
to be at the center of the world. Inscribed on the portals of the Delphic
shrine were two expressions of wisdom aspired to by the ancient Greeks:
“Know thyself” and “Nothing to excess.” Consultants would journey to
the oracle to seek counsel, relying upon Apollo’s superior insight.
Individuals sought advice on personal matters, such as marriage or voca-
tion. Even cities beseeched the oracle prior to important ventures, such as
waging a war or adopting a constitution. While the “oracle” originally
referred to Apollo’s response, eventually it became identified with the
 Socrates’ Radical Philosophic Mission a7.

oracular shrine itself. Like other Greek deities, Apollo bore a multiple
function, for he was not only the God of prophecy but was also the God
of reason and truth, balance and harmony, healing and well-being.
If Socrates intended to win an acquittal, many might have questioned
the wisdom of introducing the testimony of the oracle, regardless of its
religious authority. Perhaps he believed that revealing an intimacy between
himself and Apollo would help establish his moral character before the
court. But the introduction of the God probably aroused mixed emotions.
Apollo had sided with the enemies of Athens—first with the Persians, and
then with the Spartans in the recent Peloponnesian War. According to
Thucydides, when the Spartans consulted the oracle as to the wisdom of
their going to war with Athens, the God replied that “if they did their best,
they would be conquerors, and that he himself, invited or uninvited,
would take their part.”*> Moreover, many Athenians believed that it was
Apollo who sent the plague upon the city that wiped out so many, includ-
ing Pericles, at the end of the first year of the war.‘ Thus assisted by
Apollo, the Spartans defeated the Athenians, who surrendered uncondi-
tionally in 404 B.c. Athenian antipathy toward Apollo was expressed
early in the war by Euripides, who attacked the God and his oracle in two
plays, Andromache and Ion.’
Again requesting the jury not to interrupt, Socrates relates that, years
earlier, his childhood friend Chaerephon journeyed to Delphi and asked
the oracle whether anyone was wiser than Socrates. Scholars have specu-
lated that Chaerephon put his question to the oracle probably during the
430s B.c., when Socrates was about thirty-five years old, thus prior to the
production of Aristophanes’ Clouds, and about thirty years before
Socrates’ trial in 399 B.c.° Apparently, Socrates had already been engaged
in philosophy and had gained a reputation for considerable wisdom.
According to tradition, Chaerephon would have followed a prescribed
procedure at Delphi. After a purifying ritual, he would have presented his
question in writing. Upon receiving a consultant’s inquiry, the priestess of
Apollo, seated on a tripod, went into an ecstatic trance and uttered the
God’s answer, which was interpreted by an attending priest.’ Defending
Chaerephon’s credibility as a witness, Socrates reminds the jury that, like
other supporters of democracy, his friend had left Athens during the reign
of the Thirty Tyrants to join the resistance under Thrasybulus in 403 B.c.
58 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

Chaerephon, “very impetuous in all his doing,” obviously did not hesitate
to go to the oracle and inquire about Socrates’ wisdom.’ Although
Chaerephon was now deceased, his brother, said Socrates, was present in
the court and was prepared to verify the story.
According to Socrates, the Pythian priestess responded to
Chaerephon: “No one is wiser” than Socrates! Upon first hearing the
oracle’s reply, Socrates relates, he was utterly baffled: “What can the god
mean? And what is the interpretation of this riddle? For I know that I
have no wisdom, small or great.” But he proceeds to rephrase the oracle’s
claim in superlative terms: “What then can he mean when he says that I
am the wisest of men?”? Socrates extends the oracle’s relatively modest
characterization of him from “no one is wiser” to “I am the wisest.”
The oracle may have merely meant that other people were equally as wise
as Socrates, but that “no one is wiser.” Yet Socrates applies the most hon-
orific interpretation to the oracle’s words, apparently attributing to him-
self a wisdom superior to all. The oracle had placed him in conflict;
although aware of no wisdom in himself, he also knew that it was against
the nature of the God to lie. Hence, Socrates concluded that the oracle
must not be taken literally, but interpreted. After considerable reluctance,
Socrates continues, he decided to verify the truth of the oracle by search-
ing for a man wiser than himself. If he found such a person, he would go
to Apollo with “a refutation,” declaring: “Here is a man who is wiser
than I am; but you said that I was the wisest.”'! Thus Socrates, who had
devoted his life to rational inquiry, was prepared not only to test but, if
necessary, to “refute” even Apollo himself.
The Delphic oracle was famous for its cryptic pronouncements. In
fact, throughout Greece, Apollo was known as the “ambiguous one.”
Heraclitus said it best: “The lord whose oracle is in Delphi neither
speaks out nor conceals but gives a sign.” Because the oracle’s answers
were often expressed in riddle or ambiguity, wise consultants realized
that interpretation was required. Even when the literal meaning seemed
clear, a deeper meaning was often possible. Hence, when the oracle
“gives a sign,” it is uttering one thing that, upon reflection, signifies
another.” The oracle’s ambiguity compelled consultants, confident of
Apollo’s sanction, to rely upon their own creative resources. This, of
course, did not prevent many enquirers from supplying self-serving read-
 Socrates’ Radical Philosophic Mission 59

ings. One of the most famous examples concerned King Croesus of

Lydia, who consulted the oracle on whether he should invade Persia.
Apollo responded that if Croesus made war on Persia, a great empire
would fall. Rejoicing at this news, the king promptly invaded Persia,
only to be soundly defeated. The great empire that fell was his own.
With oracular hindsight, the priests at Delphi could point to another
successful prophecy.
During the Persian invasion in 481 B.c., the Athenians consulted the
oracle and received a dismal prediction. Unwilling to accept defeat, they
demanded from Apollo a more favorable prospect. This time they
received a glimmer of hope, as the oracle hinted that the Athenians
would be impregnable behind their “wooden wall.” Considerable
debate ensued, challenging the Athenians to apply their active intelli-
gence to interpret the oracular pronouncement.'* Some argued that the
wooden wall referred to the Acropolis; on the other hand, the great
statesman and general Themistocles insisted that the wooden wall actu-
ally referred to the city’s ships. After convincing the Athenians that their
salvation lay in making a stand at Salamis, Themistocles led them in a
decisive naval victory against the Persians in 480 B.c. Of course, the
ambiguous oracle could not err, for if the Athenians had lost at Salamis,
the priests could reply that a successful defense could have been made at
the Acropolis. The priests at Delphi, who supervised all consultations of
the oracle, most likely believed that the Greeks had only a slim chance
of victory. Nevertheless, the ambiguity of the “wooden wall” inspired
Themistocles to search for new possibilities. His superior military judg-
ment convinced him that a stand at the Acropolis would have been fatal;
indeed, a Greek loss would have altered the course of Western civiliza-
tion. The oracle, instead of precisely forecasting the future, in effect
placed the decision back in the hands of the enquirers. According to
Rollo May, the words of the Delphic oracle did not supply explicit
advice, “but rather were stimulants to the individual and to the group to
look inward, to consult their own intuition and wisdom. The oracles put
the problem in a new context so that it could be seen in a different way,
a way in which new and as yet unimagined possibilities would become
evident.”'’ The oracle, therefore, sometimes succeeded in drawing pow-
ers from individuals that became the basis for their greatness. With
60 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

Themistocles, the oracle stimulated his intelligence and military judg-

ment; with Socrates, the oracle confirmed his search for wisdom and
engendered a missionary zeal to urge his fellow citizens to pursue virtue
and the perfection of their souls.

SOCRATES EXAMINES THE POLITICIANS,

POETS, AND CRAFTSMEN
Having introduced the unusual story of the oracle, Socrates relates that
he set out to test its truth by searching for someone wiser than himself.
If he discovered such a person, the oracle would be “refuted.” Perhaps
the oracle’s affirmation of his wisdom, characterized by Socrates himself
as a “riddle,” was meant to convey a deeper meaning. To discover such
a meaning, the oracle had to be tested. As he relates to the jury, he
accordingly went to three groups of Athenians with a reputation for wis-
dom: the politicians, the poets, and the craftsmen.”
Socrates tells the court that he first went to a politician, presumably
one of the leaders in the Assembly. While unnamed, this person may
have been someone like Anytus, who was influential in democratic pol-
itics. After examining the politician, Socrates concluded that although
he appeared to be wise, especially to himself, in fact he was not wise at
all. Here was another example of an allegedly wise leader whom the
majority of citizens tended to follow blindly. Socrates relates that when
he succeeded in demonstrating the politician’s ignorance, he was met by
bitter resentment not only from the politician but also from many wit-
nesses to the interrogation. Socrates’ encounter led him to reflect:
“Although I do not suppose that neither of us knows anything really
beautiful and good, I am better off than he is,—for he knows nothing,
and thinks that he knows; I neither know nor think that I know. In this
latter particular, then, I seem to have slightly the advantage of him.”’
Socrates then went to another politician, one who enjoyed an even
greater reputation for wisdom, but this effort also proved unavailing,
and he again aroused the resentment not only of the object of his exam-
ination but also of several observers. When probed by Socrates, the
reputed experts found that they had difficulty thinking clearly and con-
sistently about their professed area of expertise.
 Socrates’ Radical Philosophic Mission 61

Socrates alludes to the fact that although neither he nor the politi-
cians know what is “really beautiful and good,” the politicians were
under the illusion that they possessed such knowledge.'® We can surmise
that the philosopher might have also asked politicians, who purported
to promote justice and piety, to define precisely these virtues. While
probably able to point to particular examples of virtues, they apparently
could not define clearly or discuss the virtues without contradiction. If,
as Socrates argues in the Gorgias, politics is the art of improving others,
making them better human beings, the politicians he examined were
apparently deficient. Instead of pursuing wisdom and moral goodness,
they were preoccupied with personal fame and power. As we have noted,
Socrates is represented in the Gorgias as alleging that Miltiades and
Themistocles, Cimon and Pericles—the most famous leaders of
Athens—could not have been good politicians because they left Athens
in a worse condition morally than they found it.’ And in the Meno,
Socrates proclaims to an outraged Anytus that the most renowned
politicians of Athens’ past were unable to teach virtue even to their own
sons. Anytus responds by warning Socrates to be careful, for “perhaps
there is no city in which it is not easier to do men harm than to do them
good, and this is certainly the case at Athens, as I believe that you
know.” Socrates then remarks to Meno, a young aristocrat, that Anytus’
anger does not surprise him, “for he thinks, in the first place, that I am
defaming these gentlemen; and in the second place, he is of the opinion
that he is one of them. But some day he will know the meaning of
defamation, and if he ever does, he will forgive me.” Yet many
Athenians were probably inclined to interpret Socrates’ disparaging
remarks about their revered politicians as an insult to the polis.
Socrates informs the jury that, despite his dismay over the resent-
ment he provoked, he continued his interrogations. “Necessity was laid
upon me,” he declared; “the word of God, I thought, ought to be con-
sidered first.” His quest was now transformed from a “refutation” to a
mission on behalf of Apollo to examine anyone who professed wisdom:
“Go I must to all who appear to know, and find out the meaning of the
oracle.” The result of his mission—Socrates swears that he is telling the
truth—was that men with the greatest reputation for wisdom turned out
to be nearly the most foolish, while others considered inferior were
62 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

actually wiser. Essentially, Socrates’ mission had become partly one of

unmasking the hypocrisy and shallow thinking of many Athenians, con-
victing them of ignorance. He then compares his mission to a series of
Heraclean labors undertaken to decipher the truth of the oracle’s decla-
ration regarding himself.” The jury could not fail to wonder about his
comparing his intellectual confrontations to the famous twelve labors of
the Greek hero Heracles. Although some might have been amused, given
the obvious physical contrast between Socrates and Heracles, many
might have been infuriated by what they regarded as an arrogant com-
parison. In addition to worshiping the gods, Greeks also venerated a
number of individuals, real or mythical, whose character and actions
demonstrated great heroism. Among the Athenians, Theseus and
Sophocles were considered heroes; the Spartans revered Lysander and
Brasidas. Heracles, perhaps the most famous of them all, was honored
throughout the Greek world.
Like the intellectual labors of Socrates, the physical labors of
Heracles were initiated by the Delphic oracle. While Heracles, known
for his strength and endurance, bore a club, a bow, and arrows, along
with a sword, as his weapons, Socrates, the hero as philosopher, wielded
his formidable method of cross-examination. Like the archetypal hero,
Socrates had to perform some challenging task to show that he was wor-
thy of the quest. While Heracles battled ferocious beasts, Socrates con-
fronted the ignorance of his fellow Athenians, attempting to free them
from their illusions and set them on the road toward self-knowledge. For
his heroism, Heracles was elevated into a divinity at his death, thus
achieving immortality. Socrates, although meeting an ignominious death
at the hands of the Athenians, would achieve heroic stature and immor-
tal fame in the writings of Plato.
From the politicians Socrates proceeded to examine the poets, also
expecting them to possess greater wisdom than himself. Throughout
Greece, the poets, especially Homer, were exalted for their wisdom. Yet
despite their integral role in the education of Athenians, Socrates relates
that when he asked the poets, including the tragedians, to explicate their
works, they were deficient. In fact, the bystanders were usually better
able to explain a poet’s meaning. Like the seers and prophets, the poets
“say many fine things, but do not understand the meaning of them.””
 Socrates’ Radical Philosophic Mission 63

As Socrates declares in Plato’s Ion, like the prophets, the poets compose
not by deliberate art but through divine inspiration, either through
Apollo or the Muses.” Socrates found that the poets not only assumed
for themselves the divine wisdom in their poems but also claimed an
understanding of other subjects of which they were totally ignorant.
Hence, he was as disappointed by the poets as he was by the politicians.
Finally, Socrates approached the craftsmen, including not only arti-
sans (carpenters, shoemakers, and builders), but also physicians, sculp-
tors, and artists. While, as he had anticipated, the craftsmen surpassed
him in genuine knowledge of their various crafts, and hence were wiser
than he in this respect, nevertheless, like the poets, they erroneously
assumed that they also possessed knowledge of other important matters.
Socrates’ retelling of his humiliation of numerous craftsmen must have
created a stir in the court. Athenian democracy had enfranchised many
among the working class. While few jurors were politicians, exerting
leadership in the Assembly, and fewer were poets, perhaps the majority
were craftsmen. Yet, as Socrates reminds the court, his interrogations of
various Athenian craftsmen led him to ask himself “on behalf of the ora-
cle, whether I would like to be as I was, neither having their knowledge
nor their ignorance, or like them in both; and I made answer to myself
and to the oracle that I was better off as I was.”*% Although Socrates
could not, of course, be indicted for having exposed shallow thinking,
recounting his deflating interrogations probably incensed many jurors.
He had demonstrated that the Athenian politicians, poets, and crafts-
men, in assuming they possessed wisdom, lacked self-knowledge. In
Platonic terms, they had no real knowledge, but mere opinions. Yet
Athenians did not want to hear the truth about themselves. In the eyes
of many, the interrogating Socrates was an officious busybody
(polypragmon).?> Nevertheless, he was convinced that only by relent-
lessly pursuing his philosophic mission could he hope to turn his fellow
Athenians away from the quest for power and material wealth and
toward virtue and the perfection of their souls.
The method that Socrates employed against the reputedly wise,
pointing out their inconsistent views, was that of cross-examination, the
so-called elenchus, or refutation.” This was how Socrates practiced phi-
losophy. While conversing with an interlocutor, an ethical concept, such
64 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

as wisdom, justice, courage, or piety, whose meaning was usually

assumed, would invariably be introduced. At this point, Socrates would
press for a clear definition of the concept, claiming his own ignorance.
Once eliciting a definition from his interlocutor, he proceeded to illus-
trate that it was either too broad, or too narrow, or that the conclusions
arrived at directly contradicted some initial assumption. The respon-
dent’s definition was usually based upon little reflection, as was readily
demonstrated when Socrates attempted to apply it to specific cases.
Forced to amend his definition, Socrates’ interlocutor was ultimately left
in a frustrating position by a new series of questions. Attempting to
answer the philosopher’s questions, he was caught in further inconsis-
tencies, revealing that he lacked clear knowledge of basic concepts. As a
result of such inquiries, the superficial understanding of many victims
was revealed, with many spectators looking on. People would wonder
whether such self-proclaimed wise men, now exposed and vanquished
by Socrates’ elenchus, really knew what was best for Athens. Were the
politicians really wise enough to take a leading role in the Assembly?
Were men who could not define virtue really fit to be parents? Hence,
according to Socrates, the democratic government of Athens had been
placed in the hands of numerous pretenders to wisdom—politicians,
poets, and craftsmen—ill-equipped to assume the responsibility of gov-
erning and educating the polis.
Plato’s Meno conveys a sense of the shock inflicted by Socrates’ for-
midable interrogations. Questioned by Socrates on the nature of virtue,
Meno confesses his trepidation: “Socrates, I used to be told, before I
knew you, that you were always doubting yourself and making others
doubt; and now you are casting your spells over me, and I am simply get-
ting bewitched and enchanted, and am at my wits’ end.” He then com-
pares Socrates to a stingray fish: “For my soul and my tongue are really
torpid,” laments Meno, “and I do not know how to answer you; and
though I have been delivered of an infinite variety of speeches about
virtue before now, and to many persons—and very good ones they were,
as I thought—at this moment I cannot even say what virtue is.”” If this
reflects accurately the profound effect of Socrates, it is no wonder that
the prosecution initially warned the jury to beware of his speech. Like the
stingray, Socrates in effect paralyzed his dialectical partners. Recognizing
 Socrates’ Radical Philosophic Mission 65

their shallow views, they lost the ability to articulate. Their certitude was
reduced to confusion. What they had taken for granted was shown to be
without foundation; their view of the world was turned upside down.
Even Alcibiades, a man of formidable intellectual gifts whose polit-
ical ambition led him to betray Athens to Sparta, is said to have been
stung by Socrates’ discourse. “My heart leaps within more than that of
any Corybantian reveller,” Alcibiades says in Plato’s Symposium—not
without a touch of hyperbole—“and my eyes rain tears,” whenever he
heard Socrates speak. “And I observe that many others are affected in
the same manner. I have heard Pericles and other great orators, and I
thought that they spoke well, but I never had any similar feeling; my
soul was not stirred by them, nor was I angry at my own slavish state.”
Alcibiades then offers an insight on the root of his own corruption: He
had entered Athenian politics morally unprepared. Socrates compelled
him to “confess that I ought not to live as I do, neglecting the wants of
my own soul, and busying myself with the concerns of the Athenians;
therefore, I hold my ears and tear myself away from him.” In other
words, before entering politics, Alcibiades should have cultivated self-
knowledge and perfected his soul. Alas, the gifted Alcibiades shut his
ears and fled from Socrates, “as from the voice of the siren, my fate
would be like that of others,—he would transfix me, and I should grow
old sitting at his feet.” Yet he would never again encounter the likes of
Socrates: “His absolute unlikeness to any human being that is or ever
has been is perfectly astonishing. . . . Of this strange being you will never
be able to find any likeness, however remote, either among men who
now are or who ever have been.”** That Alcibiades became corrupt
merely shows that Socrates never sought to mold his “students” in his
own image. Given the moral condition of Athens in the latter part of the
fifth century B.c., if one entered politics without a clear understanding
of morality, one could easily lose one’s soul.

THE MASK OF IGNORANCE

To be sure, Socrates aroused great hostility. Not only did he demonstrate
the ignorance of many allegedly wise Athenians, but many witnesses to
his interrogations also assumed that he claimed wisdom for himself. In
66 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

Plato’s Republic, the Sophist Thrasymachus accuses Socrates of being

ironic, merely toying with his interlocutors, feigning ignorance while
having the answers himself all along: “How characteristic of Socrates! . . .
that’s [his] ironical style! Did I not foresee—have I not already told you,
that whatever he was asked he would refuse to answer, and try irony or
any other shuffle, in order that he might avoid answering?”” Hence,
Socrates’ “ignorance,” Thrasymachus alleged, was merely a debating
ploy, an ironic pretense to catch his opponents off guard. Such descrip-
tions of the Socratic method highlight the original pejorative meaning of
the word irony (eirdneia) as deceitful or concealing speech. When
Socrates opened the Apology by recalling the prosecution’s warning that
the jury should beware of him as a “clever” speaker, he was referring not
only to their implication that he was a Sophist but perhaps also to his
well-known reputation as an ironist. The word originated in Greek com-
edy, which featured a stock comic character known as Eiron, an astute
dissembler who pretended to lack intelligence, triumphing in a contest
or agon over a boastful stock character named Alazon. As J. A. K.
Thomson observed: “The Alazon professes to be something more, the
Eiron to be something less, than he is. As Cicero puts it, the former simm-
ulates, the latter dissimulates.”* Listening to Socrates review his
Heraclean labors in outwitting numerous deluded Athenians who, like
Alaz6n, professed to be wise, many jurors might have concluded that the
defendant was using his trial merely as a forum to expose their moral
shortcomings. As Alexander Nehamas points out, irony often expresses
a sense of superiority in the ironist.*! Indeed, the ironic Socrates was
viewed by many as merely affecting ignorance and self-deprecation, hid-
ing pride behind a mask of humility. Nevertheless, Plato’s dialogues por-
tray Socrates as perhaps the only person of his day who, in a city of
many imposters, strove to follow the Delphic maxim, “Know thyself.”
The early dialogues of Plato, which many scholars believe to reflect
closely the teachings of the historical Socrates, are aporetic in that,
although endeavoring to define different virtues, they invariably leave
the reader perplexed, with few solid conclusions. In the Laches, for
example, Socrates seeks to determine the meaning of courage by finding
the common element shared by each particular example of the virtue.
When Socrates asks Laches whether he understands the purpose of the
 Socrates’ Radical Philosophic Mission 67

question, he replies that he does not. The discussion closes with Socrates
admitting that neither he nor anyone else knows the meaning of
courage. The Charmides, an investigation of temperance, ends with a
disappointed interlocutor concluding that even Socrates is unable to
define temperance; the Lysis, on friendship, concludes with Socrates
conceding that he and his interlocutors have not been able to discover
precisely what is meant by a friend; and the Euthyphro, an examination
of piety, ends with Socrates confessing: “Then we must begin again and
ask, What is piety?” Although these dialogues brilliantly explore vari-
ous philosophical difficulties, they leave the interlocutors, including
Socrates himself, ultimately in a state of confusion. The dialogues teach
primarily questions. To engage in philosophical discussion with Socrates
was to embark upon an intellectual adventure, in which there were no
foregone conclusions. He is represented as declaring in the Republic,
“wither the argument may blow, thither we go.”*’ Like Socrates’ inter-
locutors, readers of Plato’s early dialogues are challenged to formulate
their own answers.
In stimulating other people to think, Socrates understood his philo-
sophical role as analogous to an intellectual midwife who, although not
possessing wisdom himself, helps others give birth to their own
thoughts. The philosopher is represented as saying in Plato’s Theaetetus:
“Like the midwives, I am barren, and the reproach which is often made
against me, that I ask questions of others and have not the wit to answer
them myself is very just—the reason is that the god compels me to be a
midwife but does not allow me to bring forth. And therefore I am not
myself at all wise, nor have I anything to show which is the invention or
birth of my own soul, but those who converse with me profit. . . . It is
quite clear that they never learned anything from me; the many fine dis-
coveries to which they cling are of their own making. But to me and the
god they owe their delivery.”* In a similar vein, Socrates declares in
Plato’s Republic that true education does not involve putting “knowl-
edge into the soul which was not there before like sight into blind eyes,”
but rather a turning of the soul away from unreality to the world of real-
ity. In other words, education is essentially a conversion experience, a
turning toward the truth. The success of Socrates’ pedagogy depended
upon the spontaneous oral interaction between himself and his associ-
68 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

ates. Mind must work upon mind in face-to-face encounters. Learning

from books simply will not do. Wisdom is the product of a slow matu-
ration process. According to Plato’s Seventh Letter, the lasting benefit of
philosophy “is not something that can be put into words like other
branches of learning; only after long partnership in a common life
devoted to this very thing does truth flash upon the soul, like a flame
kindled by a leaping spark, and once it is born there it nourishes itself
thereafter.”
Modern Russian literary critic Mikhail Bakhtin concluded that
Socrates had what he characterized as a “dialogic mind,” one open to
the paradox, ambiguity, and richness of the human condition. Socrates
declares in the Theaetetus, that philosophy is “the conversation which
the soul holds with herself.”*”? The “dialogic mind,” explains Robert
Grudin, is free from all forms of authority, whether political, ethical,
intellectual, or religious. Such a mind “rejects the tyranny of a single sys-
tem or dogma; it welcomes new ideas and guarantees them equality as
it considers them; it provides an open forum for competing theories and
systems; it refuses to censor ‘dangerous’ ideas; it cherishes and protects
its capacity to learn and grow.”** As Bakhtin observed in reference to
Socrates’ conversational method: “Truth is not born nor is it to be found
inside the head of an individual person, but is born between people col-
lectively searching for truth, in the process of their dialogic interac-
tion.”'”” The Sophists, in contrast to Socrates, claimed to know the
answers, virtually closing off the ongoing dialogical exploration of
truth. But ultimate truth will never be known by humans. Such knowl-
edge, Socrates told his jury, was the province of God alone. Yet Socrates
opened his interlocutors up to more copious thinking, able to view a
problem from a variety of perspectives.” In Plato’s early dialogues, he
managed to capture Socrates’ open-ended dialogical method, juxtapos-
ing various viewpoints; but this Socrates, a midwife merely stimulating
others to think, degenerates into a monologic “teacher” expounding the
“truth” in Plato’s later works. The historical Socrates taught more by
example than by doctrine or precept.
Despite his edifying intentions, the inconclusive nature of Socrates’
discussions could easily be interpreted as encouraging dangerous skepti-
cism. Socrates’ interlocutors, at least until conversing with him, were
 Socrates’ Radical Philosophic Mission 69

certain that they had understood the meaning of the basic virtues. On a
superficial level, at least, they did know something about virtue. Most
Athenians thought that they understood the difference between justice
and injustice, temperance and intemperance, courage and cowardice,
even if they did not always practice them. But when challenged, they
were unable to define these virtues precisely. Nor could they honestly
continue to subscribe to untested dogmas and conventional ways of
thinking. Socrates sought definitions that not only expressed the essence
of a virtue but also were applicable to each and every case. But not even
he could fulfill this goal. Nevertheless, as Gregory Vlastos explains,
when Socrates professes to lack knowledge, he means that human
knowledge can never be definitive. All truths and convictions must be
held provisionally, always open to reexamination."!
Nevertheless, overcome by confusion about life’s fundamental ques-
tions, many of Socrates’ interlocutors probably concluded that they had
been victims of an accomplished Sophist bent on uprooting cherished
beliefs. They clamored for positive, definitive doctrine, but the philoso-
pher offered only the injunction to think for oneself. Hannah Arendt
argued that Socrates battled against the prison of “frozen thought,” mak-
ing him the consummate critical thinker. Philosophy, the process of think-
ing itself, is fundamentally a radical activity, radical in the literal sense
(from radix, meaning “root”) of going to the foundations of things.
Hence, to practice philosophy as Socrates did is to invite the suspicion
and punishment of society. This is why he maintains in the Apology that
the philosopher must, like a soldier in battle, remain at his post, coura-
geously facing danger, even death. As Arendt asserts: “The consequence
is that thinking has a destructive, undermining effect on all established
criteria, values, measurements of good and evil, in short, on those cus-
toms and rules of conduct we treat of in morals and ethics. These frozen
thoughts, Socrates seems to say, come so handily that you can use them
in your sleep; but if the wind of thinking, which I shall now stir in you,
has shaken you from your sleep and made you fully awake and alive,
then you will see that you have nothing in your grasp but perplexities,
and the best we can do with them is share them with each other.””
According to Socrates, everything is open to question. He turned his
critical method upon all subjects—political, ethical, and religious. As
7O SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

Arendt observed, thinking is an ongoing process, and is “like Penelope’s

web; it undoes every morning what it has finished the night before.”*
Instead of replacing false opinions with the truth, therefore, many inter-
locutors departed from Socrates with no opinion at all. The traditional
morality appeared to be without rational foundation, and the fate of the
polis seemed to be in the hands of citizens who had but a superficial
understanding of necessary virtues. Hence, to many Athenians, Socrates
was regarded as a dangerous thinker who, beneath the mask of igno-
rance, threatened the stability of the social order. As George Grote
remarked, the wonder is not that Socrates was indicted in 399 B.c., but
that he was not indicted before.**

SOLVING THE RIDDLE OF THE ORACLE

As a result of his many philosophic interrogations, Socrates finally
arrived at the solution to the oracle’s riddle. What began as an apparent
attempt at refutation became a reading. Socrates succeeded in “refuting”
not the oracle itself, but its literal interpretation. The meaning of
Apollo’s pronouncement was that humans are ignorant, and if Socrates
is wise, it is only in the limited human sense that he acknowledges his
own ignorance. The oracle had reinforced its famous counsel to “know
thyself,” which includes understanding one’s limitations, especially one’s
lack of wisdom, since human beings are not gods. Socrates then explains
to the jury that, lest they conclude that he is making an inflated claim
for himself, in truth only God is wise. Hence, Socrates avers, when the
oracle singled him out as the “wisest,” it merely used him as an exam-
ple, as if to say: “He, O men, is the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows
that his wisdom is in truth worth nothing.”* The irony of this statement
must have stunned Socrates’ audience. The wise are, paradoxically,
those who recognize that they are not wise, possessing at most paltry
“human wisdom.”
Nevertheless, even with human wisdom, Socrates turns out to be the
“wisest,” a claim that could not have endeared him to the jurors.
Perhaps, many might have thought, they were being manipulated by a
skillful Sophist. Indeed, Socrates’ extension of the Delphic pronounce-
ment that “no one is wiser” than he to “Socrates is the wisest” is a
 Socrates’ Radical Philosophic Mission

“gap” in the text that is no inadvertence.” Reading the speech between

the lines, searching for the unexpressed in the expressed, we see that
Socrates’ professed ignorance is not a declaration of humility, but of
superiority. All he has done is admit that he is not as wise as God. Until
proven otherwise by his interrogations, Socrates is saying, he is indeed
the wisest Athenian. Thus, his rephrasing of the oracle, expanding “no
one is wiser” to the inflated claim that he is the “wisest,” provides an
aperture through which we can discern the unstated meaning of the
speech. What appears to be a mere mistake in phrasing reveals the
philosopher’s intended meaning. He does indeed regard himself as the
wisest. What is unstated at this point in his speech would become overt
as Socrates would take an increasingly defiant, uncompromising stance.
Although the story of the oracle contains no explicit command
from Apollo, some scholars have argued that Socrates’ philosophic mis-
sion stemmed from his antecedent view of piety. Like the great Hebrew
prophets, he believed that he had a duty to God to promote morality
and justice.” Socrates’ extraordinary claim that he must do God’s work
for the benefit of his fellow Athenians, declares Gregory Vlastos, would
revolutionize the Greek idea of piety.* Moreover, as C. D. C. Reeve con-
tends, Socrates’ long effort to decipher the oracle’s meaning, in addition
to his persisting in a philosophic mission that not only aroused great
enmity but also reduced him to poverty, can only be explained by his
devotion to Apollo.“ But this does nothing to mollify Socrates’ claim,
which must have seemed outrageous to the jury, that he had a special
vocation as God’s missionary. Here again, a “gap” in the text, created
by Socrates’ illogical leap from the oracle’s declaration of his wisdom to
the inauguration of a philosophic mission, is revealing. In essence,
Socrates elevated himself to the status of Apollo’s dialectical instrument.
Many undoubtedly questioned his sincerity. Although Socrates, speak-
ing under oath, insisted that he was telling the truth, the jurors were
being asked to believe that he was sanctioned by Apollo to conduct a
mission to save the Athenians from themselves. Moreover, they were
expected to accept the veracity of the oracle story merely on the word of
Socrates and the brother of the now deceased Chaerephon.
Having related the results of his intellectual odyssey in search of a
wise person, Socrates concludes this segment of his defense by explain-
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

ing that the hostility his interrogations aroused was aggravated when
young Athenians chose to follow him “of their own accord,” since they
enjoyed hearing those who professed wisdom cross-examined. Many
youths were enthralled by Socrates; never before had they witnessed
such a razor-sharp mind in action. Never before had they seen the pre-
tensions and complacencies of the older generation so easily exposed
and deflated. Taking Socrates as their model, these youths turned his
methods against those who thought they knew something, but really
knew little or nothing. As a result, their victims became angry not at
them, but at Socrates, “a villainous misleader of youth” who corrupts
them.” Thus, Socrates has conceded at least some influence upon young
Athenians. Yet, he alleges, unable to ascertain what evil he supposedly
teaches, the pretenders to wisdom resorted to the stock charges against
those who legitimately pursue wisdom, the same charges found in the
Clouds: Socrates teaches the young about things in the heavens and
below the earth, to disbelieve in the gods, and to make the weaker argu-
ment the stronger. This, Socrates explains, is the real source of the hos-
tility that he has incurred for years, now crystallized in the indictment
under the charge that he “corrupts the young.” By this time, many jurors
must have realized that the defendant was in the process of turning his
defense into an indictment of the city. As far as they were concerned,
Socrates’ admission that he had exerted an influence upon the young to
question established authority, even if unintended, was proof enough
that he had corrupted them.
As if to show that his methods had encompassed the wide spectrum
of the Athenian population, Socrates tells the jury that Meletus represents
the poets, Anytus the politicians and craftsmen, and Lycon the orators.
By unmasking the false wisdom among these groups, we have noted,
Socrates undermined the reputations of those who purported to teach
civic virtue to young Athenians. Thus, the three nominal prosecutors
merely represented the multitude of those Athenians who held Socrates
in contempt. Anytus, we recall, was the principal instigator behind the
indictment. In fact, Socrates’ first reference to his accusers is to “Anytus
and his associates.” As a leading proponent of the general amnesty of
403 B.c., issued by the democrats after the overthrow of the Thirty
Tyrants, Anytus may have concluded that his name ought not appear as
 Socrates’ Radical Philosophic Mission 73

the principal instigator of Socrates’ indictment. Anytus is depicted in

Plato’s Meno as a staunch defender of the city against what he regarded
as the corrupting influence of the Sophists: “I only hope that no friend or
kinsman or acquaintance of mine, whether citizen or stranger, will ever
be so mad as to allow himself to be corrupted by them; for they are a
manifest pest and corrupting influences to those who have to do with
them.”** According to Xenophon’s Apology, Anytus bore a personal
grudge against Socrates for allegedly advising his son not to follow him
by confining his education solely to the leather-making trade. Anytus’
reputation as a good citizen, enhanced by his role as a leader of the dem-
ocratic exiles during the time of the Thirty, had been enhanced by his
renouncing, after their fall, any compensation for the loss of his substan-
tial fortune under their rule. Socrates adverts to Anytus’ admonition that
the jury must vote to execute him, for, if acquitted, his corrupting influ-
ence upon the youth would be even greater.*’
Meletus was possibly the same Meletus who indicted Andocides for
impiety in 399 B.c., the year of Socrates’ trial.** If so, he was an ardent
defender of the traditional Athenian religion. In the Euthyphro, Socrates
refers unflatteringly to Meletus as “a young man who is little known. .. .
[H]e has a beak, and long straight hair, and a beard which is ill
grown.”* The orator Lycon is virtually unknown, except for his role in
Socrates’ trial.® Given Socrates’ assault upon conventional rhetoric as
morally irresponsible, one can understand the hostility he aroused
among those orators who used speech to gain power and influence in the
Assembly and the lawcourts. While many orators sought to manipulate
their audiences, sacrificing truth to mere persuasion, we have seen that
Socrates was committed to stating the truth.
Socrates concludes the first part of his defense by conceding that the
considerable prejudice against him, in addition to the limited time the
law allotted for him to speak at his trial, will make the gaining of an
acquittal extremely difficult. Moreover, he alleges, his commitment to
speak the truth, to conceal nothing, to dissemble nothing, will bring fur-
ther resentment. As the remainder of Socrates’ speech illustrates, the
philosopher would confront the Athenians in a way that struck at the
_ very roots of polis life.
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 Chapter 6

THE ATHENIAN POLIS IDEAL

THE FUNERAL ORATION OF PERICLES:

APOTHEOSIS OF THE POLIS
HE FUNERAL ORATION OF PERICLES, re-created by Thucydides, is
the most celebrated example of rhetoric from ancient Greece.
Much of our admiration for Athenian democracy originates
from the noble sentiments that the speech embodies. The funeral ora-
tion, or epitaphios logos, is an Athenian creation, antedating Pericles,
although his speech is the earliest extant of the genre. As Lycurgus
exclaimed, “among the Greeks only the Athenians know how to honor
valor.” And Demosthenes praised the Athenians who, alone in the Greek
world, “deliver funeral orations for citizens who have died for their
country.”! The Athenians, therefore, set the standard. Abraham
Lincoln’s much shorter Gettysburg Address, it has been noted, bears a
marked similarity to Pericles’ oration.’ Pericles sets forth not only the
polis ideal that inspired the Athenians, but also the ideal citizen, one
who participates in politics and willingly sacrifices his life for the city.
Thucydides may have witnessed the event; if not, most scholars agree
that the funeral speech is nevertheless a true reflection of Pericles’ beliefs. aS)
76 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

Ancient Athenian funeral speeches were solemn occasions not only

to honor those who had fallen in battle but also to renew the collective
commitment to the civic ideology. We find in Pericles’ oration the per-
sisting Homeric conception of areté, but now democratized. “Pericles’
conception of glory,” observed C. M. Bowra, “embraced both his city
and her individual citizens.”? According to Alasdair MacIntyre: “Pericles
may have offered a distinctly fifth-century and Athenian version of the
Homeric ethos, but it was still the Homeric ethos.”* As Donald Kagan
concludes: “The aristocratic values never lost their powerful attraction
to all Greeks, and Pericles claimed them for the Athenian democracy. He
rejected the notion that democracy turned its back on excellence, reduc-
ing all to equality at a low level. Instead, it opened the competition for
excellence and honor to all, removing the accidental barriers imposed in
other constitutions and societies.”’ Indeed, Pericles elevated the
Athenian polis itself, the entire citizen body, to the status of a hero,
hence allowing each individual to participate in the areté that once was
limited to individual warriors.
The Funeral Oration of Pericles is the epitome of what the Greeks
termed epideictic, or ceremonial, oratory, a public display speech
designed to inspire an audience. As Peleus had urged Achilles—always
be the best—Pericles similarly sought to inspire the Athenians to main-
tain their city’s preeminence. But the speech is no mere celebration of
Athenian values. Insofar as it spurs the Athenians to future action, it also
becomes deliberative or exhortatory rhetoric. The oration was delivered
in the winter of 431-430 B.c., during the first year of the Peloponnesian
War. According to Athenian custom, a public funeral was held annually
to honor those who had died defending the city. As Thucydides relates,
three days prior to the ceremony, the remains of soldiers slain during the
first year of fighting were placed in a tent, where their families and
friends could mourn and make private offerings. This was followed by
a funeral procession in which the dead were placed in expensive state-
provided cypress coffins, transported on carts. Individual family loss
was now redefined as public, as the deceased were no longer distin-
guished by name, family, or economic status, but were now simply the
“dead” who had given their lives for the city. Such a death brought dis-
tinction greater than any individual or family honor. The solemn funeral
 The Athenian Polis Ideal Ua

procession included one decorated coffin for each tribe, containing the
bones of their fallen members, and an empty bier for those “unknown
soldiers” whose remains could not be recovered. The cortege included
everyone, citizens and foreigners, men and women, who wished to
honor and lament the fallen heroes. After the ceremony, the coffins were
buried in the most beautiful grounds outside the city walls. An exception
to this, Thucydides tells us, had occurred at Marathon, where those who
gave their lives resisting the Persian invasion, displaying uncommon
valor, were buried on the battlefield itself.
After the coffins were placed in the ground, Thucydides relates, a
man chosen by Athens for his “known ability and high reputation”
delivered an oration in praise of the dead.° The individual chosen after
the first year of the war was the great Athenian leader Pericles. A person
of superior intelligence and judgment, he, more than anyone else, had
been responsible not only for the construction of the Athenian empire
but also for the building program that made Athens one of the world’s
most beautiful cities. Pericles had the distinction of being reelected gen-
eral (stratégos) by the Athenian citizenry fifteen times in succession,
until his death in 429 B.c. As Thucydides assessed, while Athens was a
democracy, the citizens often deferred to Pericles’ judgment because of
his persuasive oratory and leadership skills. The challenge for
Thucydides was to recapture not only the essence of Pericles’ speech but
also its spirit. The speech must have exerted an extraordinary influence
upon the audience. According to Plutarch, when Pericles descended
from the speaker’s rostrum, “many of the women of Athens clasped his
hand and crowned him with garlands and fillets like a victorious ath-
lete.”? As a young man in the Athens of Pericles, it is possible that
Socrates had been present for this magnificent speech.
Pericles’ oration exemplifies the truism that a funeral speech is
intended not only to honor the dead but also to console and inspire the
living. He sought to renew the collective commitment to the fundamen-
tal ideals of the polis and to distinguish Athens from other Greek cities,
especially Sparta, its principal enemy. The entire ceremony consisted of
symbolic actions designed to reinforce the cohesion of the community.
As a genre, the funeral speech naturally included a degree of idealiza-
tion, but Pericles’ exaggerations and distortions nevertheless reveal
78 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

faithfully the aspirations of the average Athenian in the age of Socrates.

Pericles proves himself a master at invoking the emotive Athenian sym-
bols: the heroes of the past and present, the mighty empire, and the
famed Athenian democratic system of government. He begins his speech
surprisingly by paying tribute not to those who had recently died, but to
the great ancestors of the Athenians, those who established the city’s
democratic institutions, bequeathing to the present generation the free-
dom it now enjoyed. He refers not only to those ancestors who founded
Athenian democracy but also to those who fought and died at Marathon
and Salamis, saving Greece by defeating, like David against Goliath, the
mighty Persians. From these heroes, the torch passed to those who
founded the Athenian empire. Under Pericles’ leadership, the Athenians
had transformed what had begun as a defensive military alliance against
the Persians into a league of tribute-paying states subject to Athenian
hegemony. The present generation, Pericles proclaims, has added to the
power of the empire and organized a city that can manage successfully
its own affairs, whether in war or in peace. He regards the present gen-
eration as an invaluable bridge between the past and the future. His
audience would understand not only the cause for which their fellow
Athenians gave their lives but also the great price that would be paid if
the city were to lose the present war. Its outcome would determine
whether future generations would be the beneficiaries of the greatness of
Athens. Pericles is asking his audience to ponder their legacy.
Pericles goes on to describe, before the assemblage of grieving citi-
zens and foreigners, the form of government and way of life that made
Athens and her empire great. Like a Homeric hero, Athens does not copy
the institutions of other cities, but is instead a model for them to emulate.
Its system of government, he says, is called a democracy because the
“administration is in the hands of the many and not of the few.”® For the
Athenians, the word démokratia meant that ordinary citizens (the démos)
held the political power (kratos). Pericles is reminding the Athenians that
they were the founders of democracy, a system of government that made
them the envy of the Greek world. Throughout his speech, Pericles argues
that democratic institutions exercise a positive educative influence upon
the Athenian mind and character, providing the basis for the city’s great-
ness. No mention would be made of the fact the Athenian constitution
 The Athenian Polis Ideal 79

excluded so many—women, foreign residents, and slaves—from citizen-

ship. Nevertheless, Athens had the distinction of being the only city of the
ancient world in which a significant portion of the population partici-
pated as citizens in enacting the laws and sharing in the decisions that
determined the fate of the entire community.
Pericles then outlines the principal characteristics of Athenian
democracy. Among the points he makes are that in Athens everyone is
equal before the law. Moreover, in filling public offices, what matters is
not membership in a particular class, but one’s ability and merit. No cit-
izen is excluded from office because of poverty. Hence, the democratic
principle of equality, instead of fostering mediocrity, enabled those with
talent to exercise public leadership. Pericles emphasizes the democratic
ideal of freedom, called eleutheria by the Greeks. This ideal had two
aspects—political and personal. Politically, each citizen was free to par-
ticipate in the public sphere of the democratic polis, voting in the
Assembly and serving on the Council of Five Hundred and the popular
juries. This equal opportunity to participate in the political process was
termed isonomia. Moreover, the Athenians were afforded much freedom
and toleration in their private lives. Not only citizens but also foreigners
were entitled to live free of interference from society, unless they violated
the law or the collective interest of the polis. Pericles avers: “We are not
suspicious of one another, nor angry with our neighbour if he does what
he likes; we do not put on sour looks at him which though harmless, are
not pleasant.” Nevertheless, such freedom does not diminish the deep
respect Athenians have for the rule of law, obeying those persons whom
they have elevated to positions of authority. They especially abide by
those laws which protect the oppressed and those ‘ ‘unwritten laws”
which everyone acknowledges it is a shame to violate.’ By “unwritten
laws” Pericles probably meant the traditional moral laws believed by
Athenians to be universally valid, such as reverence toward the gods,
hospitality to strangers, respect for parents, and proper burial for the
dead."
Pericles proceeds to compare the Athenian and Spartan ways of life.
While Athens is a city “open to the world,” Sparta, with her preoccu-
pation with military security, is a closed city." Here Pericles is adverting
to the fact that, unlike Sparta, Athens attracted people from throughout
80 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

the Hellenic and non-Hellenic world: merchants, skilled craftsmen, and

intellectuals. The rigorous Spartan system of education, imposed from
the earliest boyhood, had a stifling effect upon the mind. The Athenians,
in contrast, have developed refined tastes, including an appreciation of
beauty. Yet such enjoyments, Pericles proclaims, have not detracted from
the ability of Athenians to defend their city with natural rather than the
artificial courage of the Spartans, derived only from laborious training.
Moreover, while the Athenians enjoy wealth, they do not see it as some-
thing to boast about, but to be used properly. In itself, poverty is not
viewed as shameful; the real shame, for Athenians, stems from doing
nothing to escape it.
Pericles’ speech assumes an intimate bond between the Athenian cit-
izen and the polis. Civic virtue consisted in the performance of one’s pub-
lic duties. In Athens, each individual is concerned not only with his own
affairs but also with the affairs of the city. “We alone,” Pericles pro-
claims, “regard a man who takes no interest in public affairs, not as a
harmless, but as a useless character.” Acknowledging that even in a
democracy, positions of leadership will be exercised by the few, the
Athenian leader nevertheless insists that although “few of us are origina-
tors, we are all sound judges of a policy.” With an implied reference to
the democratic Assembly, he declares that the Athenians see no incom-
patibility between words and deeds, basing policy upon public discus-
sion, and never rushing into action without debating the consequences
beforehand. Politics founded on discussion, moreover, enables Athenians
to display true valor. Their bravery is not blind but is based upon prior
calculation of the consequences and risks involved in taking military
action. “And,” Pericles concludes, “they are surely to be esteemed the
bravest spirits who, having the clearest sense both of the pains and pleas-
ures of life, do not on that account shrink from danger.””
Summing up his celebration of the city’s institutions and way of life,
Pericles declares that “Athens is the school of Hellas.” In effect, he places
Athens in the role of Homer.'* Generations of Greeks had been nurtured
on the Homeric epics. But now, he boasts, Greeks can look instead to
Athens as the model of democratic values and institutions, as the school
of civic virtue. The majestic achievements of the Athenians do not need to
be celebrated by a poet such as Homer, for they are manifest for all to see.
 The Athenian Polis Ideal 81

Words of praise from a bard might bring momentary delight, but could
never convey the true measure of the city’s greatness. In fact, Pericles
affirms, when tested, Athens will be found to be even greater than her rep-
utation. Displaying the full arrogance of power, he alleges that no enemy
need be ashamed when defeated by Athens, and no city subject to her
empire can justifiably complain of being governed by people unfit for their
responsibilities. “Mighty indeed are the marks and monuments of our
empire which we have left. Future ages will wonder at us, as the present
age wonders at us now.” While Pericles’ boast proved correct, the
Athenians would be admired not so much for their empire, but for their
great cultural accomplishments. Reflecting ancient retributive justice,
Pericles proceeds to observe that Athens has bravely entered every land
and sea, and “everywhere we have left behind us everlasting memorials of
good done to friends or suffering inflicted on our enemies.”* Concluding
his portrait of the Athenian polis ideal, Pericles declaims: “Such is the city
for whose sake these men nobly fought and died.”
The polis ideal promoted a conception of the hero different from
that found in Homer. Whereas the Iliad identifies numerous heroes, both
Greek and Trojan, who succumbed in battle, Pericles chose to focus
instead upon the city itself, for which the Athenian soldiers died, and to
which all living Athenians must continue to devote themselves. The indi-
vidual hero, immortalized in the Homeric epic, is replaced by the multi-
tude of those who are willing to risk their lives for the glory of Athens.
“In magnifying the city,” Pericles declares, “I have magnified them, and
men like them whose virtues made her glorious.””” Unlike the individu-
ally named heroes who fought and died at Troy, the Athenian civic
heroes of the Peloponnesian War remain anonymous. In truth, they have
no existence apart from the city. To be sure, bravery and ability are still
praised. And one might still, as in Homer, fight for individual goals, such
as the protection of one’s family and home, but the city’s fortune
remained paramount.” Even the private faults of the men who died,
Pericles declares, disappear in light of their courageous service to the
city. For they have “benefited the state more by their public services than
they have injured her by their private actions.””
Given his attempt to summarize the Athenian ethos, Pericles is
strangely silent about the gods. While he does say that the Athenians
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

engage in regular contests and sacrifices, probably referring to the dra-

matic contests of the Great Dionysia and various religious rituals, he rel-
egates these to the status of “recreations,” diversions undertaken after
the work of running the city is completed. And although the gods might
be included under the “unwritten laws” that Athenians obeyed, one
wonders whether the average citizen would have agreed that such an
indirect reference was sufficient. This underplaying of religion probably
reflected the skeptical views of Pericles, who welcomed the Sophists and
their teachings into the city and became an intellectual companion of
Protagoras and Anaxagoras.”” And Thucydides would have concurred
with Pericles’ incredulity, for the gods and oracles play no significant
role in his History. Nevertheless, one wonders why, considering the
importance of the divine in ancient Greek culture, Pericles refrained
from making a more explicit reference to the gods. In a time of war, with
the survival of the city and empire at stake, rhetorical expressions of
piety, beseeching the blessing of the gods, might have added religious
sanctity to the occasion, reminding the citizens of their debt to the divine
and inspiring them to even greater courage in the struggle against
Sparta. But Pericles may have wished to emphasize that the Athenian
achievement owed less to the gods than to human genius. If so, contem-
porary critics would have regarded such a declaration of human self-suf-
ficiency as a reflection of hubris, the gravest sin against the gods. As Leo
Strauss reminds us, Pericles never once mentions moderation (sdphro-
suné).*' Indeed, one of Thucydides’ main themes is that pleonexia, unre-
strained ambition and avarice, led the Athenians to overextend
themselves, paving the path toward the debacle in Sicily. But, in the eyes
of Thucydides, this would be a secular tragedy; for the Athenians them-
selves, not the gods, would be responsible for the city’s downfall.
Some have suggested that explicit reference to the Olympian gods
was not among the traditional topoi of Athenian funeral speeches;
hence, Pericles’ silence on the gods was to be expected.” If true, he must
have decided to take full advantage of his opportunity to proclaim that
the Athenian achievement was the product of generations of extraordi-
nary human effort. He may also have believed that he could better fos-
ter unity among the Athenians by appealing not to the gods, but to the
power of Eros.” Indeed, Eros or passionate love for the city, with its
 The Athenian Polis Ideal 83

honor and glory, could be used to unite the people into a cohesive com-
munity, making the highest good of the individual and the highest good
of the community one and the same.” Standing before his fellow
Athenians on this solemn occasion, with the Parthenon within every-
one’s view and the achievements of Athens within everyone’s memory,
Pericles exhorted: “Day by day fix your eyes upon the greatness of
Athens, until you become filled with the love of her.”** The word he used
was erastai, connoting the “violent passion of the lover for the
beloved.”* According to Victor Ehrenberg, this was a genuine Periclean
concept.” The individual could now surrender his identity to the polis,
sublimating his private Eros in the collective and participating vicari-
ously in the glory of Athens.
Nearing the conclusion of his oration, Pericles refers to those
Athenians who recently died fulfilling their civic “duty,” thus ending
their lives with “honor.” As part of a valiant collective effort, those who
died have won “a praise which grows not old, and the noblest of all
sepulchres—I speak not of that in which their remains are laid, but of
that in which their glory survives, and is proclaimed always and on every
fitting occasion both in word and deed. For the whole earth is the sepul-
chre of famous men.”” Eulogized in a public funeral speech, the anony-
mous heroes were saved from oblivion and granted immortality in the
everlasting remembrance of the community. Pericles ends with a few
words of comfort for the parents of the deceased warriors. Those who
are still able, he entreats, should bear more children, not merely for per-
sonal satisfaction, but also to maintain the population and security of
the polis. Those too old to produce more children for the city should be
buoyed by the fame of their departed loved ones. Finally, turning to the
women widowed by the war, Pericles urges them to continue the life of
anonymity that the polis expected of them. “To a woman not to show
more weakness than is natural to her sex is a great glory, and not to be
talked about for good or for evil among men.”” Excluded from the
Greek notion of heroism, and from virtually all arenas of Athenian pub-
lic life, the anonymous Athenian woman was expected to sacrifice her
identity to the polis. Throughout their lives in the patriarchal Greek cul-
ture, Athenian women were under male guardianship, either of a father,
a brother, or a husband.” As Nicole Loraux reminds us: “The glory of a ©
84 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

woman was to have no glory.”*! As for the children of the fallen heroes,
Pericles declares that the polis will assume the duty, traditionally that of
the family, of providing for them until they reach adulthood.
The Funeral Oration of Pericles reflects the importance of rhetoric
in Athenian life, as the inhabitants of the city fell under what has been
characterized as “the spell of an ideality.”** The captivating and distort-
ing quality of speech that Socrates warns about in the opening of the
Apology is epitomized by the genre of the funeral oration. In the pro-
logue to Plato’s Menexenus, regarded as a parody of the Pericles
Oration, Socrates is represented as demystifying the rhetoric of the
funeral speech. He points out how, by means of a funeral oration, wise
men—an obvious reference to those schooled by the Sophists—captivate
an audience. Their speech exemplifies the corrupt rhetoric, aiming at
mere persuasion rather than moral edification, that Socrates assailed in
the Gorgias and the Phaedrus. As Socrates continues in the Menexenus:
“In every conceivable form they [wise men] praise the city; and they
praise those who died in war, and all our ancestors who went before us;
and they praise ourselves also who are still alive, until I feel quite ele-
vated by their laudations.” Here he refers to the attempt by skillful
speakers like Pericles to elevate the average Athenian citizen indiscrimi-
nately to the status of a Homeric hero, one willing to devote himself to
the polis, even at the ultimate price. As Socrates observes: “O
Menexenus! Death in battle is certainly in many respects a noble thing.
The dead man gets a fine costly funeral, although he may have been
poor, and an elaborate speech is made over him by a wise man who has
long prepared what he has to say although he who is praised may not
have been good for much. The speakers praise him for what he has done
and what he has not done—that is the beauty of them—and they steal
away our souls with their embellished words.” Enchanted by such
speakers, Socrates confesses, with an ironic thrust: “I imagine myself to
have become a greater and nobler and finer man than I was before.” The
effect of such a spell, he continues—echoing the opening of the Apology,
in which Socrates “praises” the prosecution’s speeches for having made
him “forget” who he is—lingers with him for at least three days, during
which he feels as if he were transported to the “Islands of the Blest,”
until he recovers his senses on the fourth or fifth day. “Such is the art of
 The Athenian Polis Ideal 85

our rhetoricians,” he concludes, “and in such manner does the sound of

their words keep ringing in my ears.”*
Socrates proceeds to recite for Menexenus a funeral oration, replete
with all the commonplaces of the genre, allegedly taught to him by
Pericles’ mistress, Aspasia. According to Socrates, Aspasia composed the
Oration of Pericles. In his parody, Socrates claims that, like himself, each
Athenian also identifies with the ringing praises of the speaker of such
an oration. But, unlike Socrates, the average Athenian is unable to cast
off the magical spell. As Loraux observes, the Athenian funeral oration
“abolished the frontiers that separate reality from fantasy and, by trying
to focus excessively upon Athens, which it turns into a spectacle or a
mirage, it ends by displacing Athens from itself and substituting for the
real city the phantom of an ideal polis, a utopia.”* In glorifying the city,
Pericles’ rhetoric raised it to a heroic status, giving the Athenians an
inflated view of themselves, untrammeled by the gods or morality. The
Socrates of Plato’s Menexenus, therefore, attacks the patriotic rhetoric
of Athens as mere flattery, corrupting rather than improving the souls of
the audience. At the same time, he belittles those citizens who allowed
themselves to fall victim to such distortions and prevarications. As we
shall see in our analysis of the Crito, Plato’s Socrates was particularly
adept at draping himself in the garb of unquestioning patriotism, com-
pelling us to grasp his real meaning by reading between the lines of his
ironic discourse.
As the events of the Peloponnesian War and its aftermath illustrate,
beneath the ideal portrait presented by Pericles’ rhetoric lay a dark side
to the Athenian polis, one that would rationalize genocide. Indeed, the
images of Athens in the Funeral Oration of Pericles and Plato’s Apology
present a stark contrast. The city lauded by Pericles is “the school of
Hellas,” allegedly open to the world, priding itself upon its freedom and
tolerance and welcoming thinkers from throughout Greece. But the
Athens revealed in the Apology is a city on the defensive, struggling to
recover its stability, a city humiliated before the Greek world, a city
struggling to maintain its traditional values, a city seeking to stifle the
philosopher Socrates as a subversive.
What Pericles did not realize—and perhaps what Thucydides sought
to teach—was that the power of Eros, left unchecked by moderation
86 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

(sophrosuné), becomes unbridled lust, a rapacious insatiable drive for

conquest after conquest. In the words of Francis Cornford: “Appetite,
doubled, becomes Eros; and Eros, doubled, becomes Madness.”* Eros,
Plato observed, is especially the passion of the tyrant.** As Thucydides
represents Alcibiades declaring to the Athenian Assembly prior to the
Sicilian expedition: “We cannot fix the exact point at which our empire
shall stop; we have reached a position in which we must not be content
with retaining what we have but must scheme to extend it, for, if we
cease to rule others, we shall be in danger of being ruled ourselves.”*”
The foreign policy of Pericles had been engulfed by Eros. According to
Thucydides, virtually the entire Athenian citizenry, young and old alike,
inflamed by erotic passion, clamored for the expedition to Sicily; anyone
who opposed kept silent, lest he be viewed as an enemy to the city.**
Describing the launching of the expedition, Thucydides declared that
“no armament so magnificent or costly had ever been sent out by any
single Hellenic power.” But, he added, “to the rest of Hellas the expedi-
tion seemed to be a grand display of their power and greatness, rather
than a preparation for war.””
When Pericles began his oration by indicating how each generation
of Athenians built upon the achievements of those before them, from the
defeat of the Persians to the founding and expansion of the empire, he
made it incumbent on his contemporaries not only to preserve, but also,
in order to achieve heroic status, to augment the legacy they had inher-
ited. Throughout the Peloponnesian War, the Athenians, consumed by
the quest for empire and glory, wreaked havoc not only upon the
Hellenic world but also upon themselves. As Pericles eventually realized,
the Athenians had crossed a line and there was no turning back. They
could not relinquish their power. “For by this time your empire has
become a tyranny,” he warned with sober realism in his last speech
before he died, “which in the opinion of mankind may have been
unjustly gained, but which cannot be safely surrendered.”*°
The Athenian theater, Bernard Knox observes, could not ignore con-
temporary politics, especially during the Peloponnesian War. We have
seen that Greek tragedy often reflected the city’s basic values and con-
flicts. Sophocles’ Oedipus tyrannos, argues Knox, is more than an indi-
vidual tragic hero, but is also a reflection of Athens, the polis tyrannos
 The Athenian Polis Ideal 87

in her moral decline: “The character of Oedipus is the character of the

Athenian people. Oedipus, in his capacities and failings, his virtues and
his defects, is a microcosm of the people of Periclean Athens.”*' As the
chorus sings in Sophocles’ play: “Violence and pride engender the tyran-
nos.” Knox concludes: “Just as Oedipus, who pursues a murderer
according to the processes of law, is himself a murderer, but goes unpun-
ished, so Athens, the original home and the most advanced center of the
law, rules with a power based on injustice and is beyond the reach of
human law. As the fury and passion of the war spirit mounted, the
actions of Athens became more overtly violent and unjust; the contra-
diction between the laws of the city and a higher law beyond the one
man has made, a contradiction already explored in the Sophoclean
Antigone, became more open, insistent, and oppressive.”
Athenians would eventually pay a price for their apotheosis of the
polis. Indeed, we have seen that the Peloponnesian War reflected a moral
decay throughout the Greek world. As Leo Strauss explains: “When we
open Thucydides’ pages, we become at once immersed in political life at
its most intense, in bloody war both foreign and civil, in life and death
struggles. Thucydides sees political life in its own light; . . . he presents
us political life in its harsh grandeur, ruggedness, and even squalor.”*
Thucydides viewed the war as the greatest disturbance in the history of
Greece: “No movement ever stirred Hellas more deeply than this; it was
shared by many of the Barbarians, and might even be said to affect the
world at large.”** Under the Greek historian’s guidance, we see the dev-
astating impact of the war upon Hellas, both materially and psycholog-
ically. The death of Pericles was for Thucydides the beginning of Athens’
decline. For the Athenian statesman, a person of “transparent integrity,”
led the Athenians, rather than being led by them. “Thus Athens,”
Thucydides concludes, “though still in name a democracy, was in fact
ruled by her greatest citizen.” But his successors, in contrast, “each
struggling to be first himself,” were prepared “to sacrifice the whole
conduct of affairs to the whims of the people.
2945

After Pericles, a series of popular leaders, known as “demagogues,”

or “leaders of the people,” emerged who accelerated the city’s down-
ward moral spiral. According to W. Robert Connor, these “new politi-
cians”—-with Pericles as the prototype and Cleon as_ the
88 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

epitome—ascended to power by appealing directly to the démos. In the

process, they furthered the ideal that Pericles had done so much to pro-
mote, stressing civic virtue and subordinating all personal interests to
the polis. While previously, politicians would have considered their loy-
alties to lie first with their family and their political faction, with the rise
of the demagogues, the city as a whole became the principal focus. As
Connor concludes: “They seemed to foretoken a new era in which the
interests of all citizens would be equitably represented, in which ever
closer ties would bind the citizen to the polis.”*°
This new era was reflected in the language of politics. Connor notes
that during the last third of the fifth century B.c., “the terminology of
friendship is applied to the city and especially to the démos. The indi-
vidual’s relation to his polis comes to be spoken of in ways that had for-
merly been reserved almost exclusively for his relations to persons... .
For the first time in Greece people begin regularly to profess that they
will show the city the kind of loyalty which was formerly promised to
friends. We begin to hear men called ‘démos-lovers’ or ‘démos-haters.’”*”’
To these was added the epithet philo-polis. Thus, any person regarded
as a danger to Athenian democracy, such as Socrates, would be regarded
as an enemy of the people and the polis.
Soon the radical demagogue Cleon became the leader of the people,
manipulating their emotions and leading them toward increased brutal-
ity. He revolutionized the manner of speech in the Assembly and was
responsible for giving to the word demagogue, originally a neutral term,
the pejorative sense that later arose. According to the Constitution of
Athens, attributed to Aristotle, Cleon was the “first to shout when
addressing the people; he used abusive language, and addressed the
ekklesia [the Assembly] with his garments tucked up when it was cus-
tomary to speak properly dressed.” Cleon was succeeded as the people’s
leader, first by Cleophon, then by Callicrates. “After Cleophon there
was an unbroken series of demagogues whose main aim was to be out-
rageous and please the people with no thought for anything but the pres-
ent.”** Under demagogues such as Cleon, Athens became a radical
democracy, with increasing numbers of the lower classes becoming citi-
zens and unscrupulous politicians rising to power by catering to their
- whims.
 The Athenian Polis Ideal 89

At the end of the first year of the war, as we have noted, Athens suf-
fered a plague. In the work of Thucydides, who took Greek tragedy as
his model, the Funeral Oration of Pericles, which portrays a proud
Athens at the height of her power and fame, is followed immediately by
a graphic description of the plague that took so many Athenian lives, a
quarter or perhaps a third of the population, including Pericles. Within
a few pages, Thucydides presents the reader with two contrasting por-
traits: one, a civilized city in which each individual willingly sacrificed
himself to the good of the polis; the other, a city ravaged by horrible dis-
ease, moral as well as physical, where laws, both written and unwritten,
were flouted and civilized life destroyed. The plague foreshadowed the
ultimate defeat of Athens. As death became a frightening reality to the
population, the thin veneer of civilization wore away, exposing human
nature at its worst. For the first time, the toll of the war had been
impressed upon the Athenians. And when their sufferings were not alle-
viated either by prayers in the temples or consultations with oracles, the
population ceased to believe in the efficacy of religion, becoming “reck-
less of all law, human or divine.”*” And yet, Thucydides makes clear, the
Athenians had only themselves to blame. If the historian was inspired by
tragedy, in his hands the story of Athens became, as we have noted, a
secular tragedy. For the Athenian defeat was not a punishment from the
gods, but a natural consequence of their own ambition.
Athens, along with the entire Hellenic world, continued its moral
decline. Thucydides observed—in one of the few places where his voice
intrudes into his narrative—“war, which takes away the comfortable
provision of daily life, is a hard master and tends to assimilate men’s
characters to their condition.” By subjecting people to frightful bru-
tality and abrupt change, war transforms them into violent agents.
When pushed to extreme limits, human beings easily dispense with civ-
ilized notions of morality. The world was out of joint; the proverbial
center could not hold. Surveying Hellas, Thucydides records that civil
war erupted in city after city, with democrats and oligarchs fiercely pit-
ted against one another. Human nature being what it is, Thucydides
declares, many calamities were suffered. Under the austerity of civil war,
even language deteriorated into a kind of proto-Orwellian newspeak, as
Greeks became obsessed with power: “The meaning of words had no
90 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

longer the same relation to things, but was changed by them as they
thought proper. Reckless daring was held to be loyal courage; prudent
delay was the excuse of a coward; moderation was the disguise of
unmanly weakness; to know everything was to do nothing. Frantic
energy was the true quality of a man. A conspirator who wanted to be
safe was a recreant in disguise. The lover of violence was always trusted,
and his opponent suspected. He who succeeded in a plot was deemed
knowing, but a still greater master in craft was he who detected one. On
the other hand, he who plotted from the first to have nothing to do with
plots was a breaker up of parties and a poltroon who was afraid of the
enemy. In a word, he who could outstrip another in a bad action was
applauded, and so was he who encouraged to evil one who had no idea
of it. The tie of party was stronger than the tie of blood, because a par-
tisan was more ready to dare without asking why. . . . The seal of good
faith was not divine law, but fellowship in crime.”*
As Thucydides concluded, these civic calamities led to “every form
of wickedness” throughout the Hellenic world. With the breakdown of
language, the possibility of moral discourse was undermined. The stress
of the numerous civil wars, not to mention the major conflict between
Athens and Sparta and their allies, was too much to bear. Thucydides’
famous account of the civil war on Corcyra, an island off the western
coast of Greece, is representative of the anarchy that ensues when
human nature is no longer restrained by laws: “At such a time the life of
the city was all in disorder, and human nature, which is always ready to
transgress the laws, having now trampled them under foot, delighted to
show that her passions were ungovernable, that she was stronger than
justice, and the enemy of everything above her.”
As the war dragged on, the Athenians discarded the mask of moral-
ity that disguised the arrogance of power. While in the debate over the
fate of Mytilene in 428 B.c., occurring about a year after the death of
Pericles, the Athenians attempted at least to rationalize their iniquity, by
the time of the inhuman crushing of Melos in 416 B.c., we see nothing
but naked self-interest and moral depravity. Indeed, within months of
the massacre at Melos, Euripides’ Trojan Women, an incisive condem-
nation of war and imperialism, was first performed at Athens during the
Great Dionysia. At this time, preparations were underway to send the
 The Athenian Polis Ideal 91

Athenian armada to invade Sicily, with the city of Syracuse the main tar-
get. The message about the horrors of war, in addition to the parallel
between the Greek destruction of Troy and the slaughter at Melos, were
not lost on the Athenian audience. The play’s prologue—foretelling the
destruction of the Greek fleet during its return from Troy as divine pun-
ishment for desecrating sacred altars and defiling virgins in holy
places—should have been interpreted as an ill omen for the Sicilian ven-
ture, a tragic reversal of fortune. It is estimated that, out of an Athenian
citizen population of between 30,000 and 40,000, some 10,000 perished
in Sicily at the hands of the combined Syracusan and Spartan forces in
413 B.c.* Although Friedrich Nietzsche saw conflict as the source of
much that was great among the ancient Greeks, he believed that Athens
caused its own destruction by deeds of hubris: “The Hellenic state, like
the Hellenic man, deteriorates. It becomes evil and cruel, it becomes
vengeful and godless.” Blinded by the appetite to score a decisive vic-
tory, the Sicilian invasion ended in disaster for the Athenians. In the
poignant words of Thucydides, the defeat was “the most ruinous to the
vanquished; for they were utterly and at all points defeated, and their
sufferings were prodigious. Fleet and army perished from the face of the
earth; nothing was saved, and of the many who went forth few returned
home. Thus ended the Sicilian expedition.”*

HOMERIC SHAME CULTURE

The conflict between Socrates and Athens can be better understood by
examining the ancient Greek notion of the hero and its transformation
during the development of the democratic polis. Among the factors that
contributed to the Athenian hegemony in the Hellenic world was the
democratization of the Homeric heroic code. As the Funeral Oration of
Pericles makes clear, the aristocratic values were appropriated by the
polis. In archaic Greece, an aristocratic warrior culture as demonstrated
in the Iliad, the good man was one of noble birth, strong, courageous,
successful, prosperous, one who did good to friends and harm to ene-
mies. While intelligence, in the form of cunning, was valued, as reflected
in the character of Odysseus in the Odyssey, martial virtues necessarily
reigned supreme prior to the development of a stable legal-political
92 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

order. Hence, Homeric society valued most those men, the aristocracy,
or “best people,” who manifested the competitive virtues.** While coop-
erative virtues such as justice, prudence, patience, and self-control were
not entirely absent from archaic Greece, they were clearly subordinated
to the aggressive virtues of strength, courage, and military prowess.
As Friedrich Nietzsche pointed out in The Genealogy of Morals, for
the Homeric Greeks, the “good” was associated with military prowess
and had nothing to do with the altruistic notions of virtue that constituted
later systems of morality. At the same time, the “bad” was associated with
the weak, the ineffectual, and the cowardly. Bruno Snell supports
Nietzsche’s point: “When Homer says that a man is good, agathos, he
does not mean thereby that he is morally unobjectionable, much less
good-hearted, but rather that he is useful, proficient, and capable of vig-
orous action. . . . Similarly areté, virtue, does not denote a moral property
but nobility, achievement, success and reputation.”*’ Because Achilles
excelled in the martial virtues, he enjoyed the status or honor (timé) of
being the “best of the Achaeans.” Generations of Greek youth were nur-
tured on the Homeric poems, which served as their “Bible,” and inspired
by the example of Achilles. Areté (excellence) and agathos (good) were the
most honorific words in the Greek lexicon; and those who demonstrated
such qualities merited honor or status, which included the esteem of their
peers and other social and material rewards. Hence, to the ancient Greeks,
“good” connoted being “good at” something—successful, effective, and
useful—while “bad” (kakos) connoted being “bad at” something—unsuc-
cessful, ineffective, and useless.°* According to the Homeric code of honor,
one was judged not by the interior standard of intentions, but by results.
Alasdair MacIntyre points out that “a man in heroic society is what he
does. . . . To judge a man therefore is to judge his actions.”*° Public opin-
ion, not morality as we understand it today, became the principal sanction
for the warrior’s actions, and there was no excuse for failure. Pitted in an
ongoing competition with his peers for ever more glory, the individual
warrior received his identity from his evaluation by society; only one’s fel-
low heroes can bestow honor. As Sarpedon, the great ally of the Trojans,
declares in the Iliad, the hero’s quest for honor is in fact spurred by his
inevitable mortality. Only honor and fame can soften the blow of death;
without honor and fame, life for Homer’s warriors is not worth living.
 The Athenian Polis Ideal 93

The warrior class of archaic Greece was consumed by the love of

honor, or philotimia, won through fierce competitions known as agones,
from which is derived the English word “agony.” At a time when most
did not believe in the immortality of the soul, courageous individuals
sought meaning in worldly honor and comforts, and a kind of immor-
tality through fame and glory (kleos). “The best men choose one thing
rather than all else,” declared Heraclitus, “everlasting fame.” Part of
Nietzsche’s fascination with the Homeric Greeks derived from their
appreciation of the importance of the contest, at every level, in bringing
out the best in humanity. “The greater and more sublime a Greek is,”
proclaimed Nietzsche, “the brighter the flame of ambition that flares out
of him, consuming everybody who runs on the same course.” Nietzsche
relates the story that Themistocles could not sleep until he surpassed the
laurels of Miltiades. Such ambition spurred him to great achievement.
“Every talent must unfold itself in fighting,” Nietzsche concludes.” And
while a hero such as Achilles might express solicitude for others, such as
his love for Patroclus, his primary duty was to himself, his personal
honor, fame, and glory, or to his household, which was merely an
extension of himself.*’ According to Moses Hadas: “The most striking
single feature of the Homeric ethos is the enormous importance attached
to individual prowess, individual pride, individual reputation. Heroes of
other epics prize their individuality also, but in none is the drive for self-
assertion so ruthless and pride so paramount as in Homer.”® Peleus
exhorted his young son Achilles “always be the best, my boy, the
bravest, and hold your head up high above the others.”* In avenging
Patroclus’ death, Achilles fulfilled the accepted ethical injunction to
return harm with harm, injustice with injustice, behavior that Socrates
would later condemn as the antithesis of morality and justice. In such a
competitive or agonistic culture, even the deities were preoccupied with
the competitive quest for honor. As Werner Jaeger explains, the Homeric
gods were an aristocracy, priding themselves on their worshipers and
jealously avenging any infringement of their honor.”
The work of Bruno Snell, Arthur Adkins, and E. R. Dodds has
shed light upon the psychological roots of the Greek obsession with
earthly fame.” Ancient Greece was a “shame culture,” in which the
worth of an individual was determined by “what people say,” as
94 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

opposed to a “guilt culture,” in which an individual’s sense of worth

originated from a good conscience.® In a shame culture, praise and
blame are the sources of honor (timé) and shame (aidés). Compared to
being judged favorably by others, having a “good conscience” was not
deemed important. “Homeric man’s highest good,” concluded Dodds,
“is not the enjoyment of a quiet conscience, but the enjoyment of timé,
public esteem.”® In a shame culture, “action morality,” whether one has
done certain things, is the primary criterion in judging someone; in a so-
called guilt culture, an individual’s intention, “intention morality,”
determines the judgment of the action.”
Alvin Gouldner clarifies the distinction between the two cultures:
“The basic difference between the shame and guilt cultures is the agent
or locus of reproach. In shame cultures the reproachful party is some
person other than the reproached; in guilt cultures reproach comes
essentially from the self, so that the reproacher and the reproached are
one and the same person. In shame cultures the person conforms with
the norms of the group because of the cost of nonconformity or because
of the rewards of conformity, which are—in both cases—created by the
judgments of others. In guilt cultures the person avoids nonconforming
and pursues group norms because of his desire to avoid self-criticism or
to optimize self-approval.”” In a shame culture, therefore, behavior is
dictated by external or social control; in a guilt culture, behavior is dic-
tated by internal control or conscience. Shame is public, guilt is private.
In ancient Greek culture, public opinion determined one’s self-esteem,
and dishonor or shame was the worst fate. “In a guilt culture,”
Gouldner concludes, “the norms are regarded as intrinsically significant;
they are experienced as desirable in and of themselves. In a shame cul-
ture, however, the norms—even when well-known—have relatively little
intrinsic significance.” The mission of Socrates was to attempt to trans-
form Greek ethics from its preoccupation with external societal
approval to an internal concern for one’s conscience and soul.

DEMOCRACY APPROPRIATES HOMER

When Greece passed from the archaic to the classical age, the competi-
tive heroic Homeric values persisted, and the epic poem continued to be
 The Athenian Polis Ideal 95

the staple of Greek education. But now these values were integrated into
the life of the polis.” One of the greatest fears of the Greeks was that of
stasis, or internal discord within a community, which threatened har-
mony and sometimes destroyed cities. The Athenians would be unable to
maintain a cohesive polis unless they found a way of reconciling the ago-
nistic striving of immoderate individuals with the need to live together
peacefully in a community, in accordance with the rule of law. Among the
most significant developments of the Athenian polis occurred under the
leadership of Solon, the great statesman and poet of the early sixth cen-
tury B.c. One of the renowned Seven Sages of Greek tradition, his
reforms brought political and economic stability to Athens during a sem-
inal phase of its development. During the seventh century B.c., Greece
was plagued by a severe economic crisis. As the poor were preyed upon
by the rich, Athens was threatened by disruption that could be cured only
by the rule of law and a new view of virtue. This view came from Delphi,
as the oracle admonished all to live by the maxim, “Nothing to excess.”
Moralists joined the oracle in calling upon Greeks to curb their fiercely
competitive behavior. And laws were initiated by reformers like Solon
who sought to establish moderation in community life. In 594 B.c., Solon
drafted a new law code designed to introduce more social equality into a
city on the verge of class war. To assist the poor and restrain the rich, he
canceled the debts of the poor, abolished the practice of enslavement for
debt, placed a limit on the size of landed property, and broke the upper-
class monopoly on political power. To make the Athenian democracy
more efficient, he established a Council of Four Hundred to prepare the
business of the Assembly of citizens, which met regularly. Moreover, he
created the first popular appeal court, the Eliaia, which, unlike the aris-
tocratic Areopagus, was open to all citizens.
According to Solon, diké, or justice, is part of the divine order.
Those, therefore, who sacrifice justice to greed and lawlessness face a
definite peril. For justice is ultimately victorious, trampling upon human
hubris by bringing the nemesis of crippling disorder to the community,
endangering its survival. The unjust society, like the sick physical body,
is ravaged by severe disturbances and disease, while the just society is
rewarded by peace, prosperity, and order. With Solon, we see a move to
engender a sense of collective responsibility, subordinating the interests
96 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

of individuals and classes to the good of the polis. He not only averted
a class war but also laid the foundations for the development of
Athenian direct democracy. Solon’s legacy was that “a heightened con-
sciousness about public affairs, vital to a polis, emerged in the Athenian
community.”” A public sphere emerged to balance the private sphere, as
each member of the community was encouraged to accept his civic
responsibility. The citizenry, which Solon divided into four classes based
upon property, was given a place in the Assembly and the popular juries,
and participation was regarded not as a privilege, but as a duty.
Members of the community thus became truly “citizens,” and Athenian
society became, in Solon’s words, “our polis.” In one of his more
famous poems, Solon eulogized eunomia, good order under the rule of
law, and condemned its opposite, dysnomia.
After a period of rule under the Pisistratid tyrants, during which
Athens flourished economically and culturally, the next important
development toward greater democracy came with the reforms of
Cleisthenes, 508-507 B.c. Regarded as the father of Athenian democ-
racy, Cleisthenes replaced the old system of four tribes, which had
allowed a minority of wealthy families to exercise inordinate power,
with a system of ten tribes, or demes, based not upon birth but upon res-
idence in Attica. The Assembly of all citizens became the sovereign leg-
islative body of the polis. Cleisthenes also originated a Council of Five
Hundred to assist the Assembly in governing. The judicial functions
were placed in the hands of juries of the people, chosen annually by lot.
Cleisthenes thus laid the foundation for the radical, lower-class democ-
racy that would later characterize Athens. In the late 480s B.c., Ephialtes
and Pericles instituted reforms that weakened the powers of the ancient
council of the aristocratic Areopagus and strengthened the powers of the
Assembly and the Council. The introduction of a small payment for
attendance in the Assembly and the lawcourts made possible the partic-
ipation of at least some of the poor in the public affairs of the polis.
The Athenians had thus constructed a unifying political culture that
became the basis for their greatness under the age of Pericles. Athena
went from being a household goddess to Athena Polias, protectress of
the city’s freedom and security. Her temple, the beautiful Parthenon atop
the Acropolis, symbolized the polis, whose primacy is captured by
 The Athenian Polis Ideal 97,

Werner Jaeger: “The enormous influence of the polis upon individual

life was based upon the fact that it was an ideal. The state was a spiri-
tual entity, which assimilated all the loftiest aspects of human life and
gave them out as its own gifts... . The polis is the sum of all its citizens
and of all the aspects of their lives. It gives each citizen much, but it can
demand all in return. Relentless and powerful, it imposes its way of life
on each individual, and marks him for its own. From it are derived all
the norms which govern the life of its citizens. Conduct that injures it is
bad, conduct that helps it is good. . . Even the most intimate acts of the
private life and the moral conduct of its citizens are by law prescribed
and limited and defined.”” To the ancient Athenian, the polis was not
merely a set of laws and institutions but an organic, living entity, con-
ferring upon its citizens a civic identity.
With the rise of democracy, the Greek conception of the hero was
transformed. This was made possible by the post-Homeric introduction
of the armed hoplite phalanx into the Greek world. Despite the
advanced civilization represented by the growth of cities, warfare con-
tinued to be one of the most valued means of attaining fame and glory.
“War was quite natural to the Greeks of the classical period,” observes
Jean-Pierre Vernant. “Organized, as they were, into small cities, all
equally jealous of their own independence and equally anxious to affirm
their supremacy, they saw warfare as the normal expression of the
rivalry that governed relations between different states, so that times of
peace, or rather truces, seemed like dead periods in the constantly
renewed web of conflict.” According to one historian, from the war
with Persia to the beginning of the Peloponnesian War, 479-431 B.c.,
“Athens was at war, or Athenians were on campaign . . virtually every
year.” With war so prevalent, the polis became the principal focus of
the citizen, not only for the protection that it afforded but also as the
only means to a civilized life. While the Homeric warrior concentrated
upon individual exploits and personal duels to demonstrate superiority,
the Athenian hoplites fought and died together, shoulder-to-shoulder, in
a collective effort on behalf of the city. The phalanx, heavy infantry
armed with shields and spears and arranged in tight battle formation,
depended for its success not upon individual prowess but upon cooper-
ation among large groups of soldiers. In the age of the phalanx, it was
98 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

no longer possible to achieve individual honor like Achilles and Ajax.

Thus, while the Homeric heroic ideal persisted, the focus shifted from
the individual to the polis.” Moreover, economic and political changes
undermined the aristocratic monopoly in warfare, as the middle classes
entered the hoplite ranks or became rowers in the Athenian navy. With
the emergence of the Athenian democratic polis, defended by the nonar-
istocratic citizens, collective success replaced the older individual quest
for glory.*® When Pericles stood before the throng of mourners to deliver
his Funeral Oration, he found an audience receptive to his call for indi-
viduals to devote themselves, sacrificing their lives if necessary, to the
continued glory of the polis.
As democracy emerged in Athens, the quest for honor was directed
into ways more compatible with communal life. Competitions now
occurred, and honor was won or lost, in the Assembly, the lawcourts,
the dramatic festivals, and the athletic fields. These public arenas served
to regulate and sublimate the aggressive drives of the Athenians. As
Isocrates declared, with the Athenians “it is possible to find with us...
contests not alone of speed and strength, but of eloquence and wisdom
and of all the other arts—and for these the greatest prizes.”*! In each
competitive setting, Athenians strove to win honor as they performed
outdoors in the presence of numerous spectators. The link between
individual achievement and service to the polis extended beyond war-
fare to every aspect of public life. As Jacob Burckhardt explained:
“Great deeds really belonged not to the individual but to the native
city; it was the city, not Miltiades or Themistocles, that was victorious
at Marathon and Salamis.”*? The Homeric values endured, therefore,
but the hero became democratized. While the honor of Achilles was
dictated by a minority of great warriors, the honor of an Athenian cit-
izen was dictated by the entire polis. As Jean-Paul Vernant explains:
“In a face-face society where to be recognized one had to surpass one’s
rivals in constant competition for glory, each person was placed under
the gaze of others; each person existed because of that gaze. One was
what the others saw in one. The identity of an individual coincided
with his social evaluation; from derision to praise, from scorn to admi-
ration.”* The Homeric hero had been transformed into the Athenian
citizen.
 The Athenian Polis Ideal 29

THE POLIS AND THE INDIVIDUAL

The philosophic mission of Socrates brought him into conflict with the
Athenians, raising the question of whether an individual should be free
to challenge values fundamental to the community and whether he
should be permitted to encourage others to do likewise. The Athenians
prided themselves on their freedom of speech, which they believed
constituted an essential difference between a democracy and a tyranny.
The importance of this freedom is underscored by Aeschylus at the con-
clusion of the Oresteia. When Athena, the goddess of wisdom, finally
persuades the vengeful Furies to accept their new role as Eumenides, the
Kindly Ones, she honors two new divinities of the Athenian polis:
Peitho, the goddess of persuasion, and Zeus Agoraios, the god of popu-
lar assemblies. Both divinities represent an Athens that has replaced
bloodthirsty violence and vengeance with reason and persuasion, the
hallmarks of civilized life. Athenians designated two forms of free
speech. The first was iségoria, the equal freedom of each citizen to speak
and make proposals in the Assembly. After the opening of each meeting
with a sacrifice and a prayer, a herald signaled the beginning of the day’s
deliberations with the question, “Who wishes to speak?” This equal
freedom of each citizen to speak in the Assembly was celebrated by
Theseus, the hero of democracy, in Euripides’ Suppliants: “Liberty is
epitomised in these words: ‘Let each man who would give good advice
to the city come forward and speak.’ Each one can according to his will
either bring himself into prominence by speech or keep silence. Is there
a finer equality than this for citizens?”** Any citizen could mount the
speaker’s platform, either to initiate a proposal or to address one already
under consideration. In addition to iségoria, Athenians cherished par-
rhésia, the freedom of citizens to speak their mind frankly and com-
pletely, in all political forums, largely without fear of reprisal.
Even Socrates praises Athens in Plato’s Gorgias as “the most free-
spoken state in Hellas.”*” In no other Greek city would Socrates have
been permitted to conduct his mission with impunity for so many years.
Citizens were free to express themselves not only in the Assembly but also
in the agora—the political, legal, and commercial center of Athens. An
open space, the agora was the focal point where Athenians gathered to
discuss political matters that would be more formally addressed in the
I0o0 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

Assembly. Here, along the borders, were the principal government offices
and the lawcourts. There also were the stalls or tables of various traders,
and the stoa, open-fronted, covered buildings where citizens freely con-
ducted business and philosophers such as Socrates engaged in intelligent
conversation. During the state-sanctioned religious festivals, the tragic
and comic poets were also permitted considerable liberty to criticize not
only popular politicians and civic institutions but even the gods.
Nevertheless, the Athenian conception of free speech differed from
the modern liberal one. Speech was more tolerated in the acceptable
public forums, where unorthodox views could be examined by the mul-
titude. All freedom was subordinate to the interests of the polis, which
could exercise considerable coercive power over dissenters. As the
heresy trials of the second half of the fifth century B.c. show, philoso-
phers and religious skeptics, whenever perceived as a menace to the val-
ues that made civic order possible, were granted less tolerance than
poets and dramatists.** As M. I. Finley asserts, although the Athenians
valued and practiced freedom, “they would not allow that the Assembly
had no right to interfere. There were no theoretical limits to the power
of the state, no activity, no sphere of human behaviour, in which the
state could not legitimately interfere provided the decision was properly
taken for any reason that was held to be valid by the Assembly.”*
Athenian liberties were not founded on what were later called natural
rights, existing anterior to the state, but were acquired through active
participation in the public realm—the Assembly, lawcourts, and agora—
the realm of speech and reason, discussion and persuasion. The purpose
of Athenian law was not to guarantee rights but to preserve the polis.
Citizens had no rights to claim against the community.” The primary
focus was not upon rights, but upon political participation and civic
duties.”' The individual could not be understood apart from the social
matrix of values and relationships. With virtually everything the state’s
business, the ancient Greeks would not have comprehended the modern
liberal view of individual rights. Nor would they have comprehended
the liberal view that limits the state’s function to the protection of rights.
Socrates spoke the language of duty, especially his paramount duty to
obey God, rather than rights. Indeed, throughout the Apology, he never
claimed a “right” to free speech or a “right” to believe in God as he
 The Athenian Polis Ideal

chose. In the words of Victor Ehrenberg: “Freedom within the state was
a general fact, freedom from the state was the exception.””
Despite the Athenian value of freedom, democracy can easily deteri-
orate into a “tyranny of the majority,” with the sovereign many impos-
ing their will upon minorities or individuals, not only by law, but also by
public opinion. Using Athens in the time of Socrates as an example, Plato
and Aristotle warned that democracy, whenever it degenerates into mere
license, becomes destructive of freedom. Unlike modern democracy, in
which tyranny can be checked by the separation of powers, in ancient
Athens, the legislative, judicial, and, in part, executive powers were
united in the multitude of citizens. The sovereign citizenry possessing
unlimited power, they subordinated justice to expediency.” The
Athenians had a history of oppressing some of their most outstanding cit-
izens by means of a device known as ostracism. Each year, the citizens
were given an opportunity to banish, by means of a quorum vote of six
thousand, any powerful person deemed a threat to the interests of the
polis. The citizens voted by scratching on a fragment of pottery
(ostrakon) the name of the person whom they wished to see banished.
During the turbulent years after the Persian Wars, several Athenian politi-
cians, including Themistocles and Cimon, were ostracized. Hundreds of
pottery fragments have been unearthed in Athens, some bearing the
names of famous persons such as Themistocles, but many others bearing
names otherwise unknown. While ostracism was ostensibly designed to
protect the freedom of the polis from tyrants, in practice it was often
abused; no measures were taken to protect the liberty of individual citi-
zens from the collective power of the majority. Even Pericles, a leader
known for his integrity, was removed from office, tried for embezzlement
of funds, and fined in 430 B.c. Soon after, the Athenians reversed them-
selves, reelecting him general shortly before his death from the plague in
429 p.c. As Thucydides remarked, in a “time of public need” the
Athenians “thought that there was no man like him.””
While the Athenian hero-culture valued individual achievement, the
individual remained subordinate to the community. Athenian citizenship
was “communal” rather than “individualistic” in the modern liberal
sense.** The most important Athenian freedom was not personal, but
political: the independence of the polis from alien rule and the freedom
1o2 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

of citizens to participate in the government.” Aristotle expressed what

no Athenian of the fifth and fourth centuries B.c. was allowed to forget:
“The state is by nature clearly prior to the family and to the individual.”
Moreover: “Neither must we suppose that anyone of the citizens
belongs to himself, for they all belong to the state, and are each of them
a part of the state, and the care of each part is inseparable from the care
of the whole.”’” Benjamin Constant, a French liberal of the early nine-
teenth century, argued that Athens offered its citizens greater liberty
than a city such as Sparta, but “the individual was much more sub-
servient to the supremacy of the social body in Athens, than he is in any
of the free states of Europe today.” According to Constant, among the
ancients “all actions were submitted to a severe surveillance. No impor-
tance was given to individual independence, neither in relation to opin-
ions, nor to labour, nor, above all, to religion.” The state was
responsible for the education and protection of each citizen. As Max
Pohlenz notes, for Pericles and his Greek contemporaries, “the state
comes first. . . . It is the whole of which the individual is the part and
upon which alone man can exist. . . . Only within the limits set by the
interests of the community was the individuai to enjoy his freedom.””
In fact, the citizenry was regarded as virtually identical to the polis. “In
the good days of the Polis,” Victor Ehrenberg explains, “there was no
real individual life apart from the Polis, because it was a community
embracing all spheres of life, and because the citizens were also the
rulers, and their interest, properly understood, coincided with those of
the Polis.”!”
The primacy of the Athenian polis is reflected in the fact that a cit-
izen who lived an exclusively private life, refusing like Socrates to par-
ticipate in the institutionalized collective decision-making process, was
known as an ididtés. The origin of the modern word “idiot,” ididtés
designated a citizen who neglected his civic responsibilities." The Greek
adjective idids means “one’s own” or “private”; and the derivative noun
idiotés means a “private person.” As Hannah Arendt elucidates: “In
ancient feeling the privative trait of privacy, indicated in the word itself,
was all-important; it meant literally a state of being deprived of some-
thing, and even of the highest and most human of man’s capacities.”!”
Athenian citizens were expected to defend their city in war, participate
 The Athenian Polis Ideal 103

in religious and other civic festivals, attend the Assembly and vote on
matters determining public policy, and serve on juries. Such participa-
tion was regarded as essential to the life of a free person. And in politi-
cal disputes, one had a duty not to remain neutral. According to
tradition, Solon decreed that whenever the city was beset by a factional
dispute, “anyone who did not choose one side or another in such a dis-
pute should lose his citizen rights.” As Democritus declared, the man
who neglects public business earns a bad name.’ To the ancient
Athenian, citizens who deliberately avoided public business not only
neglected their duty to the polis, but also acted contrary to their essen-
tial social nature. Only within the nurturing polis could the citizen
become fully human, living a rational and virtuous life. As Aristotle
argues, the polis, which makes possible the good life, reflects the human
faculty of speech (Jogos) through which human beings communicate
their shared views of the good and the evil, the just and the unjust.
Whereas other species also live communally, humans are the only beings
with the capacity to organize a community on the basis of shared prin-
ciples and values, communicated by speech.’ Speech found its most sig-
nificant expression in Athens’ democratic institutions, the institutions
that Socrates chose to shun.
The trial of Socrates illustrates that when a city seeks power and
wealth at the expense of justice and morality, the good man is perceived
as a bad citizen. In Athens, the virtue of a good citizen (agathos polités)
consisted of those qualities that contributed to the success of the state.
Indeed, the Mytilenean debate and the Melian dialogue—immortalized
by Thucydides—show that, throughout the Peloponnesian War, the
power and material self-interest of Athens took precedence over all
other considerations, especially justice. But Socrates sought to transform
the notions of virtue and the good, making justice (dikaiosuné) their
essential ingredient. He also introduced a new conception of freedom,
an interior moral or psychological freedom that comes with self-knowl-
edge. He offered freedom from the obsession with material possessions
and political power. In so challenging Athens, Socrates, the good man,
was perceived as a bad citizen. Aristotle later argued in the Politics that
only in a just state will the good citizen and good man coincide.’” The
good man is defined morally and is viewed in an absolute sense. That is
104 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

to say, the good man is always the same, virtuous in any state, regard-
less of the constitution. On the other hand, the good citizen is defined
relative to the particular constitution. Good citizenship is thus under-
stood in a contingent and functional sense, varying with each constitu-
tion, and a good citizen in democratic Athens would be a bad citizen in
oligarchic Sparta.'
Socrates regarded the good man as the only good citizen. In Plato’s
Gorgias, Socrates declares that the virtuous citizen is one who morally
improves his fellows.’ Yet this contradicted the prevailing view.
According to most Athenians, for whom virtue was intimately connected
to the city, the good citizen was the good man. For Socrates to have been
acquitted, he would have had to demonstrate that, since he was a good
citizen by Athenian standards, the charges in the indictment were pre-
posterous. But, as the remainder of the Apology makes clear, the philoso-
pher collided with Athens by subordinating values and beliefs regarded
as essential to the city’s interest to his divine mission. Socrates did not, of
course, argue explicitly for a modern notion of individual freedom.
Nevertheless, his subordination of the duty to obey the state to his duty
to obey God, expressed by his conscientious refusal to commit any act of
injustice, even if commanded by the state, constituted a significant step
toward a modern conception of autonomy. By Athenian standards of
civic virtue, one could argue that Meletus was correct. Socrates, insofar
as he promoted a way of thinking and values antithetical to the Athenian
ethos, was legally guilty of “corrupting” the Athenian young. To the
extent that Socrates did influence the young not to follow blindly the dic-
tates of the state, but to consult first their conscience, he did “corrupt”
them. At the same time, Socrates could respond, if enough Athenians
were to follow his counsel, pursuing virtue and the perfection of their
souls, the good man would be the good citizen. Having improved their
souls, the Athenians could then improve the polis.
 Chapter 7

SOCRATES CONFRONTS HIS

PRESENT ACCUSERS:
THE INTERROGATION OF MELETUS

CORRUPTING THE YOUNG

OCRATES’ CROSS-EXAMINATION OF MELETUS is the only section in
the Apology that deals with the charges in the formal indictment.
Socrates exercised his right under Athenian law to question his
nominal accuser. As reconstructed by Plato, we have an example of the
Socratic elenchus. Meletus, who, according to Socrates, had referred to
himself in his own speech as a good man and a good citizen, proves to
be an easy opponent. Readers of the Apology might wish for a more for-
midable adversary, someone like Callicles, Thrasymachus, or Gorgias,
who presented a greater challenge to Socrates. The cross-examination of
Meletus resembles the dialectical debates popularized by the Sophists.
These debates frequently occurred in the Athenian Assembly and law-
courts and were also sources of entertainment in the gymnasia and at
informal gatherings in private homes. The Athenians, we have seen, cel-
ebrated speech as a means of enhancing one’s prestige in the city.
Established by the Sophists, agonistic debates featured two participants
and an audience. Each participant adopted a side on an issue, and the
contest began. The participants were given the opportunity to question 105
106 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

their opponents, employing logical devices that would later be codified

by Aristotle in his Topics. If the respondent admitted to a proposition
that contradicted his earlier viewpoint, he lost the argument. The goal
of the questioner was to elicit a contradictory statement from the
respondent; the goal of the respondent was to anticipate logical traps in
the questions and deal with them effectively and consistently. The audi-
ence, while not a direct participant in the debate, played the role of a
chorus, interrupting to encourage or reprimand the debaters.’ As
Friedrich Nietzsche observed, the interrogating Socrates “discovered a
new kind of agon,” and part of the fascination some Greeks had for
Socrates derived from the fact that his dialectic appealed to their fierce
“agonistic impulse.”? At the same time, as we have noted, those
Athenians who were humiliated by the philosopher’s formidable cross-
examinations became resentful and envious of him. Such personal ani-
mosity played an important role in the trial of Socrates.
Confronting Meletus, Socrates easily catches him in logical absurd-
ities and a gross contradiction. We have observed that, according to
Athenian legal procedure, the trial’s preliminary hearing included an
important phase in which the magistrate of the court, the King Archon
in the case of Socrates, questioned the disputants, who were also per-
mitted to question each other.’ At this point, Socrates would have had
the opportunity to size up his opponent. When the time came to cross-
examine Meletus during the trial, Socrates would score a dialectical vic-
tory. Nevertheless, despite his deft handling of his accuser, Socrates does
not deal effectively with the formal charges. Nor does he elicit the sym-
pathetic emotions from the jury necessary to gain an acquittal. Instead
of merely defeating Meletus logically, Socrates chooses to badger him
and attack his character.
Socrates begins by repeating the charges in the indictment: “Socrates
is a doer of evil, who corrupts the youth; and who does not believe in
the gods of the state but has other new divinities of his own.”* The atten-
tive juror would have noted that Socrates reversed the order of the
charges, placing that of corrupting the Athenian youth first. In thinking
out his defense, Socrates may have decided on this tack because he con-
sidered corrupting the young to be the root charge. In itself, corrupting
the young was probably not an indictable offense.’ Hence, the corrup-
 Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers 107

tion charge would have had to be specified by the prosecution in their

speeches to the jury. The fact that the case was initiated before the King
Archon, who had jurisdiction over religious offenses, seems to indicate
that the corruption charge was linked to impiety. If Socrates were guilty
of impiety, such irreverence would serve as a corrupting influence upon
his associates. At the same time, those who might have borne a grudge
against Socrates for criticizing Athens’ politicians and for avoiding pol-
itics could readily incorporate this into their understanding of the cor-
ruption charge. Would Athenian youth follow Socrates’ example and
abandon politics for philosophy? If many had followed his critical
example, questioning the traditional values and behavior of their fathers
and challenging their wisdom, one can understand why Socrates would
be perceived as a threat to the established order.* The future of the city
depended upon its youth. Thus, the charge of corrupting the young, and
of undermining paternal authority, was considered a grave offense, one
that Socrates would have most difficulty refuting.” And if he corrupted
the youth, he must, of course, be morally corrupt himself.
From the outset, Socrates casts aspersions upon the motives and sin-
cerity of Meletus, whom he rebukes for treating a serious matter frivo-
lously, bringing men to trial not from a genuine concern for justice but
from a pretended zeal for issues “in which he never really had the small-
est interest.”* Like so many whom Socrates had cross-examined,
Meletus professed to know what he really did not, especially regarding
the moral edification of the young. In interrogating Meletus, Socrates
exposes him to public ridicule. In the process, Socrates makes a damag-
ing tu quoque argument, reversing the charge by alleging that Meletus,
not Socrates, is a doer of evil or injustice, since he is untruthful and dis-
respects the intelligence of his audience. By seeking to undermine
Meletus’ character and defend his own, Socrates resorted to a technique
common in the Athenian lawcourts. Many might question the wisdom
of the philosopher’s treatment of his accuser, for he could not possibly
win the jury’s favor by a display of the same elenctic questioning that,
by his own admission, had aroused the hostility toward him over the
years. Many jurors might have concluded that, by questioning Meletus’
character, Socrates merely detracted from his own. Nevertheless, he
wanted to demonstrate that Meletus, the self-proclaimed good citizen,
108 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

was a hypocrite who lacked the character expected of one professing

concern for the morals of the young and that he did not comprehend the
charges in the indictment of which he was the nominal leader.
Significantly, Socrates’ cross-examination of Meletus occurred
against the backdrop of the amnesty of 403 B.c., issued by the restored
democracy after the overthrow of the Thirty Tyrants.’ The new demo-
cratic government declared the year 403-402 B.c., that of the archon-
ship of Eucleides, to be the inauguration of a new era of harmony. The
amnesty, also known as the Act of Oblivion, was designed to heal the
wounds resulting from the civil war between democrats and oligarchs
over the past several months. The amnesty prevented the prosecution of
those who were considered political enemies, having supported the reign
of the Thirty. As decreed, no person could be indicted for crimes against
the state, other than homicide, committed prior to 403 B.c. Excluded
from the amnesty were the notorious Thirty; the first Board of Ten who
had succeeded them in the city; the Eleven, who had administered the
state prison; and the Ten Governors of Piraeus; but even these individu-
als could be immune from prosecution if they successfully defended
themselves upon a formal review of their activities. The amnesty agree-
ment, perceived as the most effective way to allow Athens to escape fur-
ther bloodshed, evidently had wide support. According to Aristotle, a
man was denounced before the Council and executed without a trial for
violating the agreement.” In the spirit of reconciliation, the Council and
all jurors took annual oaths confirming the amnesty. Athenian jurors
were required to swear: “We will remember past offenses no more.”"
The amnesty, therefore, not only was enforced by government decree but
also secured divine support by a sacred oath.
Yet, as Gregory Nagy reminds us, an amnesty, a government-insti-
tuted act of selective nonremembering, is never value free.” Legislation
might control actions, but not memory; those who suffered under the
terror of the Thirty could not forget the past. The purpose of the
amnesty was to “forget” selectively only those things not essential to the
city’s future. As the trial of Socrates makes clear, the conciliatory spirit
of the amnesty did not induce many Athenians to forget that the philoso-
pher’s beliefs and activities posed a danger to the city. In modern times,
an amnesty is a general pardon, especially for political offenses against
 Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers 109

the government. But the ancient Athenians made no clear separation

between religion and politics. We have noted that in 399 B.C., just prior
to the trial of Socrates, the orator Andocides was tried for impiety. He
had been implicated in the religious scandals of 415 B.c., but managed
to secure immunity after confessing and retiring from Athens. Upon
returning, he was indicted in 399 B.c. for a religious crime. He was
accused of defying a decree that prohibited his visiting Athenian tem-
ples, allegedly committed after 403 B.c., and thus not technically under
the protection of the amnesty. But Andocides argued that his indictment
violated the amnesty, under which, he alleged, he was entitled to full
public rights. He was acquitted, either because he had managed to con-
vince the jurors of his innocence or because they decided that his indict-
ment violated the amnesty, at least in spirit. The indictment of
Andocides demonstrates that the amnesty applied to religious as well as
political crimes against the state.
Any intention to indict Socrates prior to 399 B.c. would have been
severely hampered because, after the amnesty, the Athenians undertook
a complete revision and codification of their law. Completed in 400-399
B.c., this reform nullified all previous legislation, including a decree
against impiety in the early 430s B.c. that was directed against
Anaxagoras. Thus, if Socrates were indicted for religious crimes
allegedly committed after 403 B.c., it would have had to be on the basis
of a new impiety statute that has not survived. By 399 B.c., the resent-
ment that had been building against Socrates reached its zenith. The oli-
garchs finally crushed in 401-400 B.c., Athens was once again a united
city. When the commission charged with revising the Attic law com-
pleted its work the same year, the courts were no longer in a condition
of confusion. The newly codified laws having been inscribed for all to
see on the Royal Stoa, the way seemed clear for legal action against
Socrates." As the city struggled to maintain stability, the prosecution
most likely concluded that charging the philosopher with corrupting the
young and religious unorthodoxy would best arouse the prejudices and
fears of the average juror.
While the amnesty was essential to the creation of a peaceful new
order, the prohibition against “recalling evils” from the past hindered
the prosecution’s efforts against Socrates and may help explain the lack
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

of specification in the written indictment. As I. F. Stone noted, the trial

of Socrates lacked what is now known as a bill of particulars linked to
the indictment.'* A bill of particulars is an amplification of an indict-
ment, providing a defendant with a more detailed picture of the case
against him. Ordinarily, the prosecution must provide such particulars,
which it is their burden to prove in court. Moreover, having a bill of par-
ticulars enables the accused to plan a defense. Nevertheless, while
Socrates was charged with impiety and corrupting the young, no specific
impious actions by him are mentioned in the indictment, nor do we find
the names of individual youths that he allegedly corrupted. The basis for
the impiety charge was probably not some alleged failure by Socrates to
abide by Athenian religious rituals, but was related instead to his
unorthodox beliefs.* The reference in the indictment to introducing
“new divinities” probably related to Socrates’ divine “voice” or “sign,”
the strange, mystical communication between the philosopher and God.
This divine voice played an instrumental role in the philosopher’s mis-
sion and, as we shall see, figures prominently in the Apology. Again,
since the amnesty prohibited the explicit inclusion of crimes committed
prior to 403 B.c., the indictment could not specify Socrates’ divine voice,
which guided him throughout most of his life. Since the Athenian polis
had insisted on complete control over religion, an individual who
claimed to enjoy private, unmediated communications from the divine
would be regarded as a threat.
The fact that Socrates had to question Meletus on the precise mean-
ing of the indictment might indicate that the speeches of the prosecution
did not shed much light on the charges. Evidently, the accusers feared
that specification might have jeopardized their case, violating the
amnesty in spirit, if not in law. They were aware that Andocides had
been acquitted of the charge of impiety and that the question of whether
the amnesty had been violated had played an important role. Thus,
while the prosecutors may have wished to indict Socrates for his beliefs
and activities prior to 403 B.c., the amnesty prevented them from mak-
ing this explicit. That is, they could not have indicted Socrates on the
grounds that two of his former “students,” Critias and Charmides, had
been members of the Thirty Tyrants. Critias, a cousin of Plato, had also
been implicated in a religious sacrilege. In 415 B.c., just prior to the
 Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers ELL

Athenian expedition to Sicily, stone statues of the god of travelers,

Hermes, situated in doorways and at sacred places throughout the city,
were mutilated, causing a general uproar, as the sacrilege was regarded
not only as an ill omen for the expedition but also as part of an aristo-
cratic conspiracy to overthrow the democracy."* Critias also partici-
pated in the short-lived oligarchic revolution of the Four Hundred in
411 B.c. He was, moreover, the reputed author of Sisyphus, a satyr play
that suggested that the gods were invented by rulers to secure the obe-
dience of their subjects. As Victor Ehrenberg pointed out, Critias actu-
ally lived the right of the stronger doctrine expressed by Plato’s Callicles
and Thrasymachus.’” Charmides, cousin of Critias and uncle of Plato,
entered politics on Socrates’ advice, and he participated in the oligarchic
revolution of 404 B.c. During the reign of the Thirty, Charmides com-
manded Piraeus.
The amnesty also forbade the indictment of Socrates for his associ-
ation with Alcibiades, who had done much to subvert the Athenian
democracy, first by his betrayal of Athens to Sparta during the disas-
trous Sicilian expedition, and then by his role in the oligarchic revolu-
tion of 411 B.c. Alcibiades was also implicated in the mutilation of the
Hermae and the profanation of the Eleusinian mysteries. All these reli-
gious and political crimes of Socrates’ associates made an indelible
impression upon the minds of Athenians, augmenting their fear of insta-
bility and contributing to an atmosphere of hysteria during the latter
part of the Peloponnesian War and its aftermath. While Socrates could
not be legally charged with complicity in the crimes of his associates, the
prosecution could expect any Athenian jury to harbor hostile feelings
toward the city’s gadfly.
In framing the indictment against Socrates, the prosecution had to
be careful not to violate the amnesty.’ It must at least appear that
Socrates was charged of crimes committed during the four years since
the democracy was restored in 403 B.c. But the philosopher’s associa-
tions prior to the amnesty, although not legally part of the formal
indictment, could still be introduced against him. Evidence from the
speeches of Lysias and others reveals that while a litigant’s deeds under
the Thirty and before could not, owing to the amnesty, be made the basis
for a legal indictment, such deeds could be used as evidence of charac-
II2z SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

ter. In Athenian courts, regardless of the question legally at issue, the

whole life of an individual could be submitted to lend credence to his
good or bad citizenship, his deserving judicial condemnation or acquit-
tal.” Hence, references to acts committed under the Thirty, such as
whether a person had sided with the democrats or the oligarchs, could
be freely made without contravening the amnesty.” In 399 B.c., the pros-
ecution may have been especially concerned with linking Socrates to the
Sophists, since many Athenians believed that these professional teachers
had corrupted the young leaders of both the oligarchic revolution of 411
B.c., and the tyrannical rule of the Thirty in 404-403 B.c.”! Establishing
such a connection could aggravate whatever political grievances the jury
might have had against Socrates, which could not have been expressly
stipulated in the indictment.
Although politics undoubtedly played a role in the indictment of
Socrates, the prosecution may have determined that because, under the
terms of the amnesty, Socrates could only be charged with crimes
allegedly committed during the period from 403-399 B.c., they had a
better chance of succeeding with the more vague charge of impiety,
expecting that the prejudiced and superstitious minds of many jurors
would supply the precision that the written indictment lacked. If
Socrates had been indicted on strictly political charges, the trial would
have had to take place in a different court, as the Court of the King
Archon had jurisdiction only in cases involving impiety and murder. In
avoiding explicit charges, political or religious, relating to Socrates’
activities prior to 403 B.c., the prosecution would escape any suspicion
that they had violated the amnesty. At the same time, the amnesty would
not have prevented the prosecution from referring to Socrates’ political
behavior and associations during and before the reign of the Thirty to
establish that a person of his character did not deserve the court’s mercy.
Socrates’ well-known association with infamous enemies of Athenian
democracy would serve to confirm in the minds of many jurors the old
accusation of the Clouds that the philosopher was a corrupter of the
young who turned them against cherished Athenian values.
Given the intertwining of Athenian religion and politics, to isolate
the religious charges against Socrates from unstated political charges is
to separate what Athenians regarded as inseparable. In effect, the reli-
 Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers 113

gious charges were political, and the political charges were religious. If
the amnesty prohibited explicit inclusion of political charges in the offi-
cial indictment, the jury would nevertheless construe the religious and
corruption charges as related to crimes against the state. Moreover, if the
religious charges were a mere pretext to disguise fundamentally political
motives for the indictment, Socrates himself did not believe so. In fact,
the political conspiracy theory, endorsed by I. E. Stone and others, suf-
fers from underestimating the profound influence of religion and super-
stition upon the Athenians in Socrates’ day.” The impiety charge alone,
which struck at the root of polis life, was sufficient to arouse most
jurors. Whatever role politics played in the indictment of Socrates, the
prosecution realized that they stood the best chance of convicting the
philosopher of impiety, as broadly conceived by the Athenians.”? While
Socrates’ three accusers may have had political motives, many jurors
would have found every aspect of the philosopher’s mission, religious as
well as political, a threat to the polis.** Socrates took the indictment’s
religious charges seriously, making no reference in his speech to dis-
guised political motives of the prosecution.” Plato’s Seventh Letter indi-
cates that he too, reflecting upon the execution of Socrates, took the
religious charges seriously.% It would seem that, in 399 B.c., with
Alcibiades and Critias already dead, many Athenians were more con-
cerned with the subversive influence that a philosopher like Socrates,
willing to subject every belief, every tradition, and every institution to
critical questioning, might exert upon the young.
Taking advantage of the amnesty’s restrictions, Socrates begins his
interrogation of Meletus with the corruption charge. Donning the ironic
mask of a learner, he asks Meletus to instruct him on who improves the
young. Mocking the name Meletus, which means “the man who cares,”
Socrates says his adversary must know the answer. When, after some
hesitation, Meletus credits the laws, Socrates rejects this abstraction,
challenging him to name a person who exercises a beneficial effect upon
the young. The philosopher is aware that it would not be in Meletus’
interest to offend anyone. Since the corruption charge implies that some
person, namely Socrates, bears moral responsibility for corrupting the
young, he feels justified in asking Meletus to name those persons who
improve them. Sensing a trap, Meletus fumbles for a reply, as Socrates
114 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

badgers him: “Observe, Meletus, that you are silent and have nothing to
say. But is not this rather disgraceful and a very considerable truth of
what I was saying, that you have no interest in this matter?” Meletus
finally answers that the members of the jury improve the young.
Socrates responds with mock praise: “By the goddess Hera, that is good
news! There are plenty of improvers then.” He then takes advantage of
Meletus’ predicament, encouraging him to push his generalization to
what might appear to be an absurd degree. Under Socrates’ prodding,
the opportunistic Meletus indulges in what seems to be a gross exagger-
ation, extending successively the identity of those who improve the
young from the jury to the spectators present in court, to the five hun-
dred members of the Council and finally to all the members of the
Assembly.”
Thus, with an expression of democratic piety, Meletus declared that
the entire citizen population of Athens contributed to the moral edifica-
tion of the young. To this, Socrates replies: “Then every Athenian
improves and elevates them; all with the exception of myself; and I alone
am their corrupter?” When Meletus affirms, Socrates proceeds to refute
his victim’s sweeping claim by an argument from analogy. Just as in the
case of horses, Socrates asserts, only one or a few persons, not everyone,
can train or improve them, so one should expect to find only a few capa-
ble of improving the young. With stinging irony, Socrates emphasizes the
apparent absurdity of Meletus’ claim: “Happy indeed would be the con-
dition of youth if they had one corrupter only, and the rest of the world
were their improvers.””* If the burden of proof lay with the prosecution,
it seems that Socrates has succeeded in defending himself on the grounds
of probability. With virtually all of Athens improving the young, it is
unlikely that his single negative influence, even if true, ought to be
feared. Yet, throughout the remainder of his defense, Socrates would
undertake to demonstrate that he alone has an edifying influence upon
the young.
Socrates then proceeds to point out another absurdity. After induc-
ing Meletus to admit, first, that it is better to live in a good rather than
a bad community and, second, that no one prefers to be harmed rather
than benefited by his associates, Socrates asks Meletus whether he
means to charge him with corrupting the young voluntarily. When
 Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers 115

Meletus replies affirmatively, Socrates subjects his victim to additional

sarcasm: “Is that a truth which your superior wisdom has recognized
thus early in life, and am I, at my age, in such darkness and ignorance
as not to know that if a man with whom I have to live is corrupted by
me, I am very likely to be harmed by him?”” Socrates then argues that
since bad people always exert a bad effect and good people a good
effect, it would be absurd to conclude that he would voluntarily harm
the characters of his associates, for he would then risk being harmed
himself by those whom he had corrupted. Generating evil in others
would be self-destructive. Socrates next alleges that if he does not will-
fully harm the characters of his associates, the proper course of action
toward him should not be indictment before a court of law, but private
reproof and enlightenment, since he would not act to harm himself.
This argument is based upon the well-known Socratic teaching that
virtue is a form of knowledge. According to Socrates, to know the good
is to do the good; to know one’s duty is to perform one’s duty. If one
knows what is good, that which leads to true human happiness, one
cannot fail to act morally; thus, no one does evil voluntarily. No per-
son, moreover, would willingly do an evil to himself. Hence, moral evil
is the product of intellectual error, not of a weak or sinful will in the
later Christian sense. Socrates assumes that once persons have a clear
understanding of their real moral interests, reason and will should
direct them to a good end. “He who knows the beautiful and good will
never choose anything else,” Socrates is represented as saying by
Xenophon; “he who is ignorant of them cannot do them, and even if he
tries, will fail.”°° But a critic might respond that, according to this logic,
since crime harms society and the criminal must live in society, no one
would ever voluntarily commit a crime.” If all evil is involuntary, crim-
inals should be admonished and educated, not punished. Socrates’
more perceptive listeners may well have seen this as sheer sophistry.
“That this defence does not amount to much,” judged Kierkegaard, “is
clearly seen by all, for in this way one could explain away every offence
and transform it into error.”** Moreover, many jurors may have viewed
the claim that no one willingly does evil as contrary to everyday expe-
rience. No legal system will accept the contention that criminals do not
willingly commit crimes.
T16 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

It has often been pointed out that Socrates’ intellectual view of

ethics fails to allow for weakness of the will or incontinence, what is
termed akrasia, and underestimates the power of the passions in over-
coming the understanding.*? According to Socrates, one will do what
one rationally knows to be good and will refrain from what one ration-
ally knows to be bad. For Socrates, there was no such thing as sin, only
ignorance. Convinced that wrongdoing was rooted in the lack of knowl-
edge, he devoted himself to examining his fellow Athenians, exhorting
them toward a clear and rational understanding of their beliefs. Only
when they mistakenly see evil as good will they do evil. Yet, critics might
respond, not everyone is always able to understand the good, and even
when one is, lack of self-control often leads to willful actions contrary
to rational self-interest. In other words, individuals frequently do freely
what they know to be wrong. Socrates took no account of that condi-
tion which led Saint Paul to lament: “The good that I would I do not:
but the evil which I would not, that I do.”** Knowledge of the good,
therefore, is necessary but is not alone sufficient for the virtuous life.

THE POLIS AS TEACHER

The claim of Meletus that all Athenians contribute to the moral
improvement of the young might seem incredible, but it reflects the tra-
ditional, corporate view of the polis. Meletus assumed that virtually
everyone in society contributed to the formation of the individual citi-
zen. Plato addressed this point in the Protagoras, in which the famous
Sophist expounds to Socrates a theory of the origins of human civiliza-
tion. Plato’s rendition of Protagoras’ views is apparently based on the
Sophist’s lost treatise, On the Original Condition of Mankind.
Protagoras begins with a mythos similar to that of the social contract
theorists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. He employs the
myth to demonstrate the important educative function of society.
Originally, humans, having been created by the gods, lived a scattered
existence in a state of nature. But the solicitude of Prometheus bestowed
upon humankind the means to a better life—technical arts and fire. With
these gifts, humans provided themselves with food, clothing, shelter, and
speech. Alone among living creatures, they believed in gods, erected
 Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers iatyd

altars, and created divine images. Yet humans lived without cities, leav-
ing them unprotected from animal predators. To preserve themselves
from beasts in the state of nature, humans took the necessary step to
form communities. Yet, lacking the “art of politics,” they continually
harmed each other, leading to a reversion to the original precarious state
of nature. Fearing the extinction of the human race, Zeus dispatched
Hermes to humankind “bearing reverence and justice to be the ordering
principles of cities and the bonds of friendship and conciliation.” When
Hermes asked Zeus whether these political blessings, which made soci-
ety possible, should be distributed only to select human beings, like the
arts of medicine and other skills, Zeus replied: “I should like them all to
have a share; for cities cannot exist, if a few only share in the virtues, as
in the arts. And further, make a law by my order, that he who has no
part in reverence and justice shall be put to death, for he is a plague of
the state.”** The polis thus received divine sanction.
Protagoras proceeds to explain that while the political or social
virtues are by nature bestowed upon every human being, these virtues
require conscious development by means of education. Although indi-
viduals differ in endowment and the degree in which they have perfected
the art of politics, the seeds of this areté are universally distributed
among humankind and perfectible by education and practice. Thus, the
divinely sanctioned polis is responsible for the education of its citizens.
Their participation in public affairs, a fundamental principle of
Athenian democracy, is in itself an education in civic virtue. Protagoras
therefore explains to Socrates that while the Athenians may listen only
to the few in matters that demand special technical expertise, such as the
crafts, “when they meet to deliberate about political virtue, which pro-
ceeds only by way of justice and wisdom, they are patient enough of any
man who speaks of them, as is also natural, because they think that
every man ought to share in this sort of virtue, and that states could not
exist if this were otherwise.”* Since all men, therefore, possess political
virtue, they are entitled to participate in the government of their city. In
essence, Protagoras had explained the rationale for Athenian democracy,
earning himself the reputation as the first democratic theorist.”
The teaching of political virtue, Protagoras argues to a skeptical
Socrates, requires no special expertise; in fact, “all men are teachers of
118 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

virtue, each according to his ability.”** This moral education begins in

childhood, first with the parents, then with teachers and study of great
poets, and is completed with the laws. Thus everyone—parents and
teachers, neighbors and friends—promotes virtue for their mutual self-
interest. This view is echoed in Plato’s Meno, when, in response to
Socrates’ request to identify an Athenian capable of teaching virtue to
Meno, Anytus replies: “Why single out individuals? Any Athenian gen-
tleman, taken at random, if he will mind him, will do far more good to
him than the Sophists.”*” Thus Meletus’ inclusive claim regarding the
educative role of all Athenian citizens merely reflected the prevailing
belief. As the poet Simonides declared: “A city teaches a man.”*° Yet, if
indeed so many contributed to the edification of the young, one wonders
why the Athenians feared the alleged single corruptive influence of
Socrates so much as to convict him of a capital offense. Nevertheless, the
dauntless philosopher would use his speech to reverse the charge, main-
taining that most of the older generation, having neglected to pursue
virtue and the perfection of their souls, were the true corrupters of the
young. Indeed, as Plato’s Socrates argues in the Republic, Athenian
youth have been corrupted not by individuals, especially not by philoso-
phers, but by “the greatest of all Sophists,” the public at large.*!

ATHENIAN POLIS RELIGION

The ancient Greeks understood piety (eusebeia) principally as reverence
or respect for the gods and the religious rituals of the polis. But piety
also included proper behavior toward the dead, one’s parents and ances-
tors, and all members of the polis. As one scholar observed, the Greek
conception of piety was “so extended and, indeed, indefinitely extend-
able as to make piety just about incapable of being defined as a partic-
ular rather than an all-inclusive virtue.”** Hence piety encompassed all
virtuous action, and impiety (asebeia) was regarded as a threat to the
foundations of civil life. Impiety toward the gods, a grave offense, cov-
ered a broad spectrum of behavior, including disrespectful actions, such
as damage to sacred property, destruction of divine images, or profana-
tion of the Eleusinian mysteries. It also included denial of the deities rec-
ognized by the polis and the introduction of new deities not officially
 Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers [19

recognized. In a speech of Lysias, two cases of alleged impiety toward

the mysteries of Eleusis are mentioned: Diagoras of Melos was “impious
in speech regarding the sacred things and celebrations of a foreign
place,” and Andocides “was impious in act regarding the sanctities of
his own city.” The impious individual was regarded as polluted, and
this pollution (miasma), the Greeks believed, could induce the gods to
inflict severe punishment upon the entire community, such as sterility or
plague. The legal penalty for impiety was usually death or exile.
Greek religion was more one of ritualistic action, or orthopraxy,
than of belief, or orthodoxy. The polis established various rituals and
constructed temples in honor of the gods in order to secure divine pro-
tection for the community.** The Athenians had no church, no sacred
scripture, no dogmas, and, except for certain exclusive sects, no priest-
hood. Although Greek religion had a mystical side, as manifested in var-
ious mystery cults, the intense religious self-consciousness found later in
Saint Augustine’s Confessions would have been unfathomable to the
contemporaries of Socrates. Nevertheless, while it is no doubt true that
impiety was primarily a matter of behavior, an offense against estab-
lished religious customs or rituals, it also included unorthodox beliefs
about the gods and atheism.** As we have noted, the impiety charge in
Socrates’ indictment probably referred not to some failure to conform to
religious ritual but rather to unorthodox beliefs. Concern for correct
beliefs about the deities did not begin with the case of Socrates. The
Athenian orator Isocrates declared that poets who spread falsehoods
about the gods, along with those who believed them, were guilty of
impiety. As Harvey Yunis explains, Athenian polis religion was predi-
cated upon three fundamental beliefs: The gods exist; they are concerned
about human affairs; and the relationship between the gods and humans
is reciprocal, albeit unequal.’
Impiety could also include teaching or speech that had a corrupting
influence upon public morals. In a little-noted speech by Hyperides, a
younger contemporary of Plato, delivered in 361-360 B.c., the
Athenians were reminded that they punished Socrates not for his deeds,
but for his words.” Socrates’ words, subjecting traditional values, polit-
ical or religious, to critical examination, must have been interpreted by
many as impious. The ancient Greeks believed, in the words of the poet
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

Pindar, that “Nomos is king of all.”*” The general population thus was
unwilling to tolerate an individual who challenged established conven-
tions, values, views, and customs.” As Edward Caird concluded, the
teaching of Socrates “was essentially individualistic and unsocial in its
effect. It set each man to think out the problem of life for himself; and
if it did not put him in opposition to society, at least it made him regard
his relations to it as secondary, and not as the essential basis of his moral
existence. And from the point of view of a religion like that of Greece,
which was essentially national (and even municipal) in its spirit, conse-
crating the City-state as a kind of church or divine institution, this was
a profoundly irreligious attitude. Thus, literally and absolutely, Socrates
was guilty of the charges against him.”*
The survival of the community, the Greeks believed, depended upon
maintaining a proper relationship with the divine. Hence, Athenians in
Socrates’ day were expected to believe in the gods of the polis and par-
ticipate in religious rituals. According to Plato’s Euthyphro: “Piety or
holiness is learning how to please the gods in word and deed, by prayers
and sacrifices. Such piety is the salvation of families and states, just as
the impious, which is unpleasing to the gods, is their ruin and destruc-
tion.” Since religion was so closely bound with Greek society, there
was no real distinction between the sacred and the secular, no modern
separation between church and state. Religion was the vital center of the
polis, and the elaborate symbolic system of rituals reinforced social
cohesion. The Athenians regarded their democratic constitution as
divinely sanctioned. Indeed, whenever they pronounced the name of
their city, they thereby invoked the name of the goddess Athena, their
divine protectress. The religious festivals of Athens were attended by all
members of the population, citizens and resident foreigners, male and
female. Even slaves, excluded from all other significant aspects of civic
life, participated.** As Martin Nilsson observed, Greek religion was
“from the beginning a religion of the community. . . . No such unity as
we find in Greece between state and religion has ever existed else-
where.” During the Age of Pericles, the marriage between religion and
the Athenian state was reflected by the Parthenon, the Temple of Athena
Nike, and the Erechtheum, symbols of the greatness of the city and its
devotion to the gods.
 Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers

Traditional Greek piety demanded not only belief in the gods and
participation in the religious rituals of the city but also respect for the
institutions that made city life possible. In the ancient city, religion
inevitably took on political overtones, becoming a form of patriotism.
Each meeting of the Athenian Assembly opened with prayers and purifi-
catory sacrifices. The pious person was a good citizen, one who not only
abided by the state religion but also promoted the public interest. A
crime against the state, endangering the fabric of society, was regarded
as a form of impiety, and impiety was regarded as a crime against the
state, not a matter of private conscience. The interdependence between
Athenian religion and politics is reflected in the official indictment
against Socrates, which charged him with disbelieving in the gods “of
the state” and substituting gods of his own. To offend the gods was not
only a sacrilege but was also a form of treason, since it invited disaster
for the community.
If the Euthyphro accurately represents the religious beliefs of the
historical Socrates, he was indeed subversive of orthodox Athenian reli-
gion. Socrates asks Euthyphro “whether the pious or holy is beloved by
the gods because it is holy, or holy because it is beloved of the gods.”*
While the latter alternative, consistent with traditional piety, would
imply that piety or goodness is arbitrary and provisional, whatever the
gods enjoin, Socrates proceeds to argue instead that the gods love things
because these things are pious in themselves. Indeed, it is the essential
character of something that makes it good or holy. Such a belief detracts
from the power of the gods and contradicts traditional Athenian poly-
theism, for, instead of determining morality, the gods are themselves sub-
ject to an absolute objective ethical standard. And if the Olympian gods
are really gods, Socrates further believed, they should be unequivocally
good. If so, their depiction in Greek epic and myth is patently false.
Shortly after the beginning of the Peloponnesian War, possibly in
response to the plague, Athens issued a decree prohibiting disbelief in the
gods and teaching doctrines about the heavens. This was the decree of
Diopeithes, promulgated in the early 430s B.c., the first known Athenian
attempt to extend the scope of impiety beyond actions to speech and
belief. Yet the decree was not strictly enforced, and the Athenians did
make some allowances. The persecution of unorthodox religious beliefs
I22 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

was the exception rather than the rule. Greek playwrights often ridiculed
the gods with impunity. Aristophanes mocked not only Zeus but also
Dionysus, the god whom the dramatic festivals were designed to honor.
Nevertheless, the comic dramatists could never assume a freedom of
speech “right” to ridicule.” While Athenians were tolerant of the critical
religious views of playwrights, expressed within the conventions of reli-
gious festivals, they did not extend the same degree of freedom to
philosophers.** Indeed, since intellectual freedom in Athens resulted from
the absence of restrictive law, rather than a legally guaranteed right, such
freedom could be curtailed whenever it was deemed a threat to the polis.
The natural philosopher Anaxagoras, who taught that the sun and moon
were not deities but fiery stones originally part of the earth, became a vic-
tim of Athenian persecution. According to one tradition, he was prose-
cuted for impiety, fined, and exiled. Another source alleges that he fled
Athens in response to Diopeithes’ decree and was condemned to death in
his absence.” Diagoras of Melos, a well-known atheist, escaped Athens
after allegedly being condemned to death for mocking the Eleusinian
mysteries. The Sophist Protagoras was indicted for his agnostic views
expressed in his treatise, On the Gods, where he states: “Concerning the
gods I am unable to discover whether they exist or not, or what they are
like in form.”® According to tradition, Protagoras’ books were publicly
burned. Charged with impiety, he fled Athens and drowned at sea while
sailing to Sicily. As Diogenes Laertius quipped, the Sophist escaped
Athens, but not Hades.*! Thus, although ancient Athenian religion was
primarily concerned with ritual, those thinkers, including Socrates,
whose beliefs were perceived to contradict the religious foundation of the
polis were regarded with fear and hostility. Individuals were punished not
only for actions but also for ideas deemed irreligious.* The Athenian
heresy trials, argues E.R. Dodds, “prove that the Great Age of Greek
Enlightenment was also, like our own time, an Age of Persecution.”®
The trial of Socrates is the foremost example of the application of
an Athenian impiety law to a person for unorthodox religious belief or
speech.” If the philosopher was a bad citizen, many would have
regarded him as impious. Conversely, if he was impious, many would
have regarded him as a bad citizen. Thus, we see that the prosecution
benefited from the vague literal form of the indictment against Socrates.
 Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers 123

In the minds of many Athenians, for him to be guilty of the impiety

charge was also to be guilty of the corruption charge; at the same time,
to be guilty of corrupting the youth was also to be guilty of impiety.
And, like corruption, impiety affected the welfare of the polis. The
Greeks, we have noted, believed that the gods would punish the entire
city for the impious acts of individuals. The Iliad opens with the Greeks
afflicted by a plague because Agamemnon had incited Apollo’s wrath.
And many Athenians may have believed that their defeat in the
Peloponnesian War stemmed from some offense given to the gods. They
may have also believed that the goddess Athena Polias had deserted the
city in its defeat at the hands of the Spartans. The interdependence of
Athenian politics and religion was illustrated when statues of the god
Hermes were mutilated in 415 B.c., on the eve of the Sicilian expedition.
Many interpreted the sacrilege as an evil omen. Their fears were con-
firmed, as Athens soon suffered one of its most devastating defeats.
Thus, impiety was regarded as a crime subject to punishment not only
by the gods but also by the state.
But Socrates had not profaned the mysteries, and, if we can believe
the testimony of Xenophon, he was scrupulous in observing the various
Athenian religious rites, performing the requisite prayers and sacrifices.®
It is possible that Socrates may have aroused resentment by avoiding a
number of important religious festivals. During the fifth century B.c.,
despite the advances of the Greek Enlightenment, the Olympian gods
continued to grip the popular imagination. It has been estimated that
festivals were celebrated on about half of the days of the year.% Socrates
was so consumed by his philosophic mission that, as he told the jury, he
found no time for public politics, neglecting his family and other per-
sonal concerns. He may have possibly also ignored many religious festi-
vals. While his absence may have been legal, it was not unnoticed, and
might, in the less tolerant political climate of 399 B.c., have lent cre-
dence to the religious charges in the indictment.
There are serious implications in the charge that Socrates was guilty
of not “recognizing” or “acknowledging” the gods of Athens. The gods
referred to were probably those regarded as essential for the protection
of the city: Athena Polias, Zeus Polieus, and Apollo Delphinios.” The
Greek word for “recognize” (nomizein) is the verb from the noun
124 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

nomos, meaning law, convention, or tradition.* As we have noted, the

ancient Greeks regarded nomos, the entire legal-social order, as the gift
of the gods. Although human intelligence played a part in shaping the
nomoi, which explains their variety, they were believed to be ultimately
rooted in the world of the divine. During the latter half of the fifth cen-
tury B.c., as we have seen, the Sophists attempted to sever the link
between the xomoi and the divine, treating social institutions, including
religion, as human conventions and relative, based solely upon utility.
While, as Bruno Snell observed, nomizein originally referred to valuing
or respecting the gods through the prescribed sacred rituals, by the mid-
dle of the fifth century, as indicated by the charges against Socrates, the
word seemed also to refer to proper belief concerning the gods.” If,
therefore, Socrates were guilty either of not believing in the accepted
gods or of introducing gods not formally recognized, he would have
been perceived as a subversive. Acknowledging the gods according to
the established procedures was regarded as integral to the survival of the
polis. Moreover, Socrates’ individualistic view of piety, involving a per-
sonal relationship to a divinity, inevitably clashed with the traditional
collective and more exclusively ritualistic view. Finally, in light of the
Greek understanding of impiety, which was broad enough to include vir-
tually any action regarded as a threat to the polis, such as corrupting the
young, even actions of Socrates not considered impious by modern stan-
dards might fall within the purview of the ancient Athenian impiety law.
It is probable that the prosecution, given the intimate relationship
between religion and the state in ancient Athens, capitalized on the thin
line between impiety and treason by framing an indictment sufficiently
vague so as to allow the jury to project a number of grievances upon
Socrates. Owing to the great political insecurity of the time, with the
democracy struggling to establish itself and the imprecise nature of the
impiety law, the prosecution had sufficient basis to believe that their
efforts would succeed. Anyone who taught the young to question the
established beliefs and traditions, either in religion or politics, could be
seen as a corrupter. Moreover, the large jury, some five hundred citizens,
entrusted with great power and responsibility but lacking expert legal
knowledge, were liable to be swayed by reasons irrelevant to strict jus-
tice and the facts.”
 Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers

While the Athenian impiety statute has not been preserved, we can
assume that the crime itself was not precisely defined. Nor did the city
have an institution that could have offered an authoritative definition.
As David Cohen concludes: “Whereas more centralized legal systems
regard the resolution of such questions of statutory interpretation or
definition as the exclusive preserve of some elite group of specialists,
Athens chose not to follow this path because it would have taken a cru-
cial element of power away from the people.””! The community, it was
assumed, would recognize impiety when it occurred. As we have noted,
the Greeks had a general understanding of what constituted impiety. The
imprecision of the statute left the definition in the hands of untrained
juries who decided on a case-by-case basis. Since the Athenian judicial
system did not provide for professional judges to assist jurors in wading
through complex legal issues and to advise them on how the law should
be applied, ordinary citizens not only had to define impiety in particular
cases but also had to judge whether the crime had been committed.”
According to one authority: “Every juror had to make up his own mind,
not only on the facts but also on questions of law and equity, solely from
the speeches and evidence presented by the rival litigants.””* Given such
latitude, it was possible for juries to judge a person guilty of impiety
either for actions or for unorthodox beliefs. Moreover, juries were not
afforded the opportunity of consulting a body of judicial decisions. In
Athenian courts, precedents did not have legal authority. In fact, jurors
took an oath to decide cases on their individual merits. Like all Athenian
jurors, those assigned by lot to Socrates’ case had been required to swear
by Zeus, Apollo, and Demeter—the Heliastic Oath—which can be
reconstructed from the work of Demosthenes: “I will cast my vote in
consonance with the laws and with the decrees passed by the Assembly
and by the Council, but, if there is no law, in consonance with my sense
of what is most just, without favour or enmity. I will vote only on the
matters raised in the charge, and I will listen impartially to the accusers
and defenders alike.””
At the time of Socrates’ trial, the challenge to the jurors was exac-
erbated because, as we have noted, a substantial revision of the
Athenian legal code, authorized by the Assembly in 410-409 B.c. and
renewed after the reconciliation of 403 B.c., had finally been com-
126 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

pleted. The revised legal code, we recall, could be viewed in the Royal
Stoa in 400-399 B.c. With this in mind, as Robert Garland observes,
the jury may have regarded Socrates’ indictment as a “test case” for
them to decide definitively what actions and beliefs fell under a new
impiety statute.’ Hence, beliefs and actions long tolerated could now
be brought under firm state control. As we have seen, Athenian juries
decided cases not solely on their judgment as to whether or not the
defendant committed a crime. Their judgment was largely influenced by
their opinion of the defendant as a citizen.” Thus, we can understand
why Socrates felt constrained to begin his defense, not with a discussion
of the official charges, but with the damaging prejudices against him
that had accumulated over the years, thus hindering an impartial trial.
He realized that, given the Athenian legal system, the jury would be
judging him by standards much broader than those stipulated by the
written indictment. The success of Socrates’ defense, we have empha-
sized, depended largely upon whether he could induce the jurors to
interpret vague charges in his favor.

SOCRATES AND IMPIETY

In addressing the indictment, Socrates sees the corruption charge as
rooted in the impiety charge. In other words, he is accused of corrupt-
ing the minds of the young by influencing them to believe in new deities
instead of those officially recognized by the polis. After Meletus con-
curs with this interpretation, he appears to fall into a trap set by
Socrates. The charge of impiety is divided into two parts, positive and
negative: that Socrates introduces new gods and that he rejects the gods
officially recognized. Alleging that he does not understand precisely the
point of the indictment that he has just restated, Socrates asks Meletus
to clarify whether it means that he believes in some gods, in which case
he cannot be a complete atheist; whether he believes in gods different
from those acknowledged by the polis; or whether he believes in no
gods at all and teaches others to do the same.” It is plausible that the
philosopher had taken the opportunity to question Meletus during the
trial’s preliminary hearing and concluded that his opponent lacked a
firm grasp of the charges. As we have noted, Athenian juries had great
 Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers 127

latitude, functioning as both judges and juries. Hence, they would, in

effect, define the crime of impiety at Socrates’s trial, and then decide
whether he was indeed impious.” Strictly speaking, the written indict-
ment did not charge Socrates with atheism, which he could easily
refute, but with heterodoxy. If, therefore, he can elicit an interpretation
from his accuser that exceeded the sworn indictment, making atheism
the principal offense, perhaps the jury will ignore the less severe literal
charge of not acknowledging the gods of the polis and acquit him.
Socrates is in a better position to defend himself against atheism, belief
in no gods, rather than unorthodoxy, belief in false gods. If he succeeds
in maneuvering Meletus, he will gamble that the jury will be moved by
his earlier disclaimers to conclude that he is not the atheistic Socrates
of Aristophanes’ Clouds.
Seizing the opportunity to extend the charges of the indictment,
Meletus responds that Socrates does not believe in the gods at all; he is,
in fact, a complete atheist. To this, Socrates retorts: “Nobody will
believe you, Meletus, and I am pretty sure that you do not believe your-
self.”” If the jury regarded Socrates as an atheist, he would certainly be
a corrupting influence upon the young. Obliging Socrates, who
expresses surprise at this radical interpretation of the charge, Meletus
contradicts the positive part of the indictment, thus revealing the con-
nection between the current charges and those of the “old accusers.”
Striving to link Socrates with the dangerous teachings of Anaxagoras,
regarded as atheistic by many Athenians, Meletus becomes a victim of
Socrates’ incisive cross-examination. Many jurors would have regarded
any unorthodox view of the deities as tantamount to atheism, despite
the written indictment.*® Hence, when asked for clarification, Meletus
responds that Socrates believes the sun and moon not to be gods, but
masses of stone. Socrates then asks his accuser whether he imagines he
is prosecuting Anaxagoras, whose theories were then accessible in writ-
ten form to any Athenian.*! Socrates’ point is that since these views are
readily available, Athenian youth did not have to learn them from him.
The interchange between Socrates and Meletus merely confused the
issue for the jury. Were they to judge Socrates solely on the literal terms
of the indictment, which accused him of heterodoxy, or according to the
more radical atheistic interpretation now submitted by Meletus? Having
128 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

allowed himself to be pushed out on a limb, Meletus is then induced by

Socrates to saw it off. After prodding Meletus to again charge that he is
an atheist, Socrates, exploiting this extended interpretation of the indict-
ment, points out the blatant contradiction. Accusing Meletus of being
“reckless and impudent,” having composed the charges “in a spirit of
mere wantonness and youthful bravado,” he rebukes him for contra-
dicting the sworn indictment. With transparent sarcasm, Socrates claims
that Meletus had devised a riddle for him to solve, saying to himself: “I
shall see whether the wise Socrates will discover my facetious contradic-
tion, or whether I shall be able to deceive him and the rest of them.”
Socrates alleges that Meletus, having charged him of “not believing in
the gods and yet believing in them . . . is not like a person who is in
earnest.”
The conclusion to this line of questioning provoked the jury and
numerous spectators. Requesting them not to interrupt—the third such
request thus far in his speech—Socrates resumes his cross-examination.™
He seizes the opportunity to point out the blatant contradiction between
the indictment’s negative charge, which does not expressly relate to
atheism, but with not believing in the gods recognized by the polis, and
the positive charge of replacing them with different deities. Under com-
pulsion from the court to answer Socrates’ questions, Meletus is then
deftly led to concede that just as anyone who believes in horse matters
or music matters must believe in the existence of horses or music, any-
one who believes in supernatural matters must believe in supernatural
beings. Moreover, if the supernatural beings that Socrates professes to
believe in are mere children of gods, who could believe in the offspring
of gods without also believing in the gods themselves? Socrates con-
cludes by taunting Meletus, alleging that he charged him with impiety
simply because no legitimate offense could be found.
Despite his adroitness, Socrates fails to defend himself adequately
against either the corruption charge or the impiety charge in his cross-
examination of Meletus. Instead of concrete instances in refutation, he
is content to rely solely upon a dialectical victory over his mismatched
opponent. In questioning Meletus, rather than considering the truth of
the charges, he concentrates on their meaning.** Having shown that his
accuser apparently does not comprehend his own charges, Socrates
 Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers 129

assumes that no further refutation is necessary. Although he easily dis-

credits Meletus’ allegation that he is an atheist, Socrates never denies
that he introduces new deities, nor does he specifically address the
charge that he disbelieves in the gods of Athens. Moreover, if, as
Xenophon claimed, Socrates had diligently observed the religious rituals
of the city, he fails to mention this at his trial. The religious charges in
the indictment are therefore pushed into the background, unanswered.”
While Apollo, an official deity of Athens, plays a central role in the
Apology, Socrates’ putative relationship with the deity was more likely
to incite anger or suspicion among Athenians. And although Socrates
does attempt to distance himself from Anaxagoras, who denied that the
sun and the moon were gods, by claiming that such an eccentric belief
would have brought “laughter” upon himself, these were neither the
anthropomorphic deities that the Athenians valued most, nor were they
particularly associated with the city.” While Socrates, during his inter-
rogation of Meletus, mentions Zeus and Hera—the gods he is accused
of replacing in Aristophanes’ Clouds—he does so merely in passing, like
figures of speech.” Whereas some might argue that an explicit affirma-
tion of the Athenian gods and his devotion to them may have been well-
received by the jury, Gregory Vlastos maintains that this might not have
been possible for Socrates. His commitment to the truth would have
made him reveal that his view of the mythic deities was anything but
orthodox. Unlike the city’s gods, who lie, steal, kill, and commit adul-
tery without compunction, the gods of Socrates can only be good and do
good. In the Euthyphro, Socrates speculates that the impiety charge
against him might have stemmed from his refusal to believe accepted
myths depicting the gods as acting immorally.” Hence, Vlastos affirms,
for Socrates to explain his conception of the gods “he would have had
to clean out the Augean stables of the Olympian pantheon.”” And what
Socrates would soon say about his “divine voice,” implying a private
relation to a deity, was probably impious according to Athenian reli-
gious beliefs.
Although Socrates proclaims triumphantly that he need not deal fur-
ther with Meletus, many jurors might have concluded that the philoso-
__pher had refused to take the written indictment seriously. Indeed, while
six pages of the Apology are devoted to Socrates’ old accusers, whom he
130 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

considers more dangerous, the interrogation of Meletus on the official

charges occupies a mere three. Socrates ends this section of his speech by
avowing that if anything brings about his destruction, it will not be
Meletus or Anytus, but the many “enmities which I have incurred,” in
addition to the “envy and detraction of the world.”” Thus, instead of
following the conventional practice of showering flattery upon his
judges, praising their fairness and justice as “guardians of the law and
the constitution,” Socrates claims that, unable to discard their preju-
dices, they will render an unjust verdict.”! Public hostility, now called the
tyranny of the majority, he concludes, has destroyed many innocent men
in the past, and “there is no danger of my being the last of them.””
 Chapter 8

SOCRATES BRINGS THE PHILOSOPHIC

MISSION INTO THE COURT

DEATH BEARS NO STING

AVING DISPOSED OF MELETuS, Socrates passes to the most
H important part of his speech. Digressing from the charges in
the indictment, he will present a veritable apologia pro vita
sua, explaining his philosophic mission. We have referred to the Athenian
notion of parrhésia, the freedom of citizens to express their views frankly
in public forums. As Michel Foucault argued, the significance of Socrates
is that he transformed parrhésia from a political virtue, practiced in the
Assembly, to a moral virtue, practiced between individuals.' An ethical
parrhesiast, Socrates exhorted individual citizens to be concerned not for
wealth and power, but for the welfare of their souls. At considerable risk
to himself, he would compel the Athenians to confront the truth about
themselves at his trial. While he may have offended a number of jurors
with the first part of his speech, he will now arouse even greater antipa-
thy, as he undertakes two feats at once: a defense of his mission as a
philosopher—in fact, the only sustained public explanation of his philo-
sophic activity in the works of Plato—and an attack upon the Athenians.
Socrates will bring his philosophic mission into the court. Accused of 131
na) SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

being a Sophist, a natural philosopher, an atheist, and a corrupter of the

young, he will devote the remainder of his speech to establishing his true
identity. But many jurors would regard this true Socrates as more threat-
ening than the one they had allegedly misconstrued.
Socrates begins by introducing his second fictitious “objector,” sug-
gesting that some jurors might ask whether he is ashamed of having pur-
sued an activity that now places him in danger of being condemned to
death. To this, he responds: “There you are mistaken: a man who is
good for anything ought not to calculate the chance of living or dying;
he ought only to consider whether in doing anything he is doing right or
wrong—acting the part of the good man or of a bad.” For Socrates, a
good or just life is more important than a long life. His sense of moral
duty overrides every other concern. He then asserts that if death were
something to fear, the Greek heroes who died at Troy would be less than
honorable. Especially Achilles, whom Socrates does not name but
alludes to as the “son of Thetis,” a reference certainly familiar to all
Athenians, having been raised on Homer.’ Socrates focuses upon the
turning point in the Iliad, when Achilles, the greatest Greek warrior,
after being offended by Agamemnon, leader of the combined Greek
forces, withdrew from the Trojan War. Agamemnon had asserted his
right of kingship to seize from Achilles his prize for prowess in battle,
the young Briseis, daughter of Chryses, priest of Apollo. Achilles’ valor
having thus gone unrecognized, he incurred a severe loss of esteem
(timé) in the eyes of his fellow warriors. As we have noted, esteem, a
reflection of one’s excellence (areté), was the principal value among
Homeric heroes. According to Achilles, Agamemnon’s imperious action
left him with no alternative but to cease fighting. “You will eat out the
heart within you in sorrow,” predicted Achilles, “that you did no hon-
our to the best of the Achaians.”? But when, after the Greeks suffered a
series of defeats, his beloved friend Patroclus was slain by the Trojan
warrior Hector, Achilles mourned, accepted a peace offer from
Agamemnon, and resumed fighting to avenge his friend.
Socrates is reminding the jurors of the dramatic moment when
Thetis, the goddess mother of Achilles, informs her son that if he
avenges the death of Patroclus and kills Hector, he himself will soon die.
Yet, Socrates relates, Achilles “utterly despised danger and death, and
 Socrates Brings the Philosophic Mission into the Court
133

instead of fearing them, feared rather to live in dishonour, and not to

avenge his friend.” Rather than endure such shame, Achilles replied:
“Let me die forthwith, and be avenged of my enemy, rather than abide
here by the beaked ships, a laughing stock and a burden of the earth.”
Unlike the immortal gods, a Greek warrior could become a hero by
courageously facing suffering and death. Achilles had been offered a
choice: either a long anonymous but dishonorable life or a short life with
honor and immortal fame. As a hero, he chose the path that promised
honor and fame, even though it meant his impending death, thus fulfill-
ing the moral code of a Greek warrior. Avenging Patroclus’ death thus
would enable Achilles to regain something more important to a Greek
warrior than life itself—the esteem he had lost among his peers. Like
Achilles, Socrates no doubt realized that the inflexible stand he was tak-
ing before the court that day, one that would brook no compromise with
his divine mission, made his death inevitable. Yet he concludes: “For
wherever a man’s place is, whether the place which he has chosen or that
in which he has been placed by a commander, there he ought to remain
in the hour of danger; he should not think of death or of anything but
of disgrace.”*
While Socrates’ response to the first “objector” had enabled him to
digress on the the origins of his philosophic mission, the introduction of
the second “objector” provided him with the opportunity not only to set
forth his uncompromising ethical stand, even in the face of death, but
also to identify his sense of duty with that of the Greek heroic ideal.’
Linking himself to Achilles and Heracles, Socrates claimed to enjoy
divine favor. For the philosopher to proclaim, even by insinuation, him-
self a hero, must have infuriated many jurors, for he usurped a privilege
of the city. As Nicole Loraux reminds us, “heroization always depended
on a decision by the community.”* Yet Socrates was also revising the tra-
ditional notion of heroism. This subtext in the Apology reveals a radical
Socrates. As the remainder of his speech makes clear, he is challenging
his fellow Athenians to rise to a new moral conception of the heroic. To
Achilles, the “good” and the “bad” were defined, not according to
morality as we understand it today, but solely in relation to the values
dictated by his culture. To the ancient Greeks, the good and just person
is one who gains honor by doing good to friends and harm to enemies,
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

including avenging the death of one’s friends. By avenging the death of

Patroclus, Achilles would win great glory. Like Achilles—in the words of
Homer, the “best of the Achaians”—Socrates carried out his mission
without fear of death. But he contradicted the traditional notion of the
hero. To the philosopher-hero Socrates, a life of “dishonor,” living as an
“unjust” or “bad” person, differed fundamentally from the popular
understanding. For him, vengeance is unjust, and honor is won only in
the pursuit of moral virtue, even at the expense of violating the values
of the community.
The new hero that Socrates represented was not one who excelled
on the battlefield or one who surrendered his life unthinkingly to the
polis, but one who remained steadfast in his commitment to justice.
Characterizing the comparison Socrates draws between himself and
Achilles as “breathtaking in its boldness,” Gregory Vlastos sums up the
profound differences between the two heroes: “Socrates is a plebeian,
Achilles the noblest of the heroes, darling of the aristocracy. Socrates is
the voice of reason, Achilles a man of passion rampant over reason.
Socrates abjures retaliation, while Achilles, glutting his anger on
Hector’s corpse, gives the most terrible example of vengeance in the
Iliad. What can Socrates and this savagely violent young nobleman have
in common? Only this: absolute subordination of everything each values
to one superlatively precious thing: honour for Achilles, virtue for
Socrates.”’ In 399 B.c., therefore, two conflicting visions of the heroic—
one based on an ethics of honor and shame, the other based on an ethics
of conscience—collided at the trial of Socrates.
Socrates also uses the device of the second “objector” to introduce
unobtrusively his record of contribution to Athens in warfare, in which
he distinguished himself for bravery. Although he believed the true hero
to be a person of moral principle, Socrates had also demonstrated on the
battlefield the kind of heroism most acceptable to the ancient Greeks.
Defendants in Athenian courts usually spoke of their civic contributions,
military and financial. In cases where guilt or innocence could not be
easily ascertained, defendants expected that service to the city would tes-
tify to their upright character and patriotism.‘ The citizen who risked his
life for the city not only displayed a character of courage and loyalty but
also engendered feelings of gratitude from the jurors. As a hoplite,
 Socrates Brings the Philosophic Mission into the Court

Socrates had demonstrated his willingness to die in defense of his city.

He had participated in three battles. First, he fought in the successful
siege of Potidaea on the north Aegean coast in 432 B.c., where at the age
of thirty-seven he saved the life of Alcibiades but declined a reward for
valor, insisting magnanimously that Alcibiades receive it instead.
Socrates also played a significant role in the disastrous retreat at Delium
in Boeotia in 424 B.c., where, at the age of forty-five, he rescued
Xenophon. Finally, in 422 B.c., he served in the unsuccessful attempt to
recapture Amphipolis, located in Thrace, during which both Cleon and
Brasidas, the Athenian and Spartan commanders in the Peloponnesian
War, were killed.
Socrates adverts to his valorous military career not only to demon-
strate patriotism, his willingness to die for the city he loved, but also to
prepare the jury for an extraordinary claim. “Strange, indeed, would be
my conduct, O men of Athens,” he alleges, “if I, who, when I was
ordered by the generals whom you chose to command me at Potidaea
and Amphipolis and Delium, remained where they placed me, like any
other man, facing death—if now, when, as I conceive and imagine, God
orders me to fulfil the philosopher’s mission of searching into myself and
other men, I were to desert my post through fear of death, or any other
fear.”’ Socrates’ highest allegiance is not to the state, but to the God who
assigned him the post of philosophy. Whenever his duty to obey God,
the highest “commander,” conflicted with his duty to obey the state, the
state must be subordinate.
Socrates thus regards himself as a soldier of Apollo, the god of wis-
dom and truth, who has imposed upon him a philosophic mission that
cannot be overridden by the authority of the state. He will obey the state
only on condition that its commands are just. Socrates then executes a
stunning reversal. If, through fear of death, he were to disobey the ora-
cle and cease his philosophic mission, as many Athenians would have
liked, then he might be justly “arraigned in court for denying the exis-
tence of the gods.” Yet many jurors probably found the philosopher’s
comparison inappropriate. It is one thing to receive, as all soldiers do, a
command from one’s military superior, but it is quite another to allege
that one has received a special mandate from God to undertake a philo-
sophic mission. Socrates’ claim simply could not be verified. Moreover,
136 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

he continues, fearing death as the greatest evil is to assume wisdom one

does not possess, for it supposes one knows what one does not. Death
may in fact be the greatest blessing. Socrates affirms that he differs from
“men in general” and that he is perhaps “wiser” in that “whereas I
know but little of the world below, I do not suppose that I know: but I
do know that injustice and disobedience to a better, whether God or
man, is evil and dishonourable, and I will never fear or avoid a possible
good rather than a certain evil.”"°
In defending himself against his accusers, who portrayed him as a
danger to the city, Socrates boldly associates himself with the ancient
Greek heroic tradition, first, as we have noted, through a comparison
between his own elenctic pilgrimage and the mythical labors of
Heracles. Then came the comparison with the great Achilles, where
Socrates linked his own concern for acting “justly,” like a “good” man,
with the bravery of the hero of the Iliad, but in a radically different sense
of justness and goodness. In claiming a divine mission as the moral sav-
ior of Athens, Socrates might be considered as usurping the honor due
to Theseus, the mythical hero revered for founding Athenian democracy
and saving the city from the Minotaur. But this time it was the devour-
ing monster of ignorance and hubris that afflicted the Athenians.
A philosopher-hero devoted to the pursuit of virtue, Socrates would
show courage by maintaining his convictions, despite his rejection by
Athenian society. He thus ranks as the greatest of the Greek sages and
heroes. He was the hero of moral principle. In fact, his steadfast adher-
ence to justice helped define our modern conception of integrity.'! While
Achilles sacrificed his life for the sake of public esteem, Socrates sacri-
ficed his life for the sake of his soul, and the soul of Athens. What Allan
Bloom says about the relationship between Socrates and Achilles in
Plato’s Republic applies also to Socrates’ challenge to the conventional
Greek hero in the Apology: “The figure of Achilles, more than any
teaching or law, compels the souls of Greeks and all men who pursue
glory. He is the hero of heroes, admired and imitated by all. And this is
what Socrates wishes to combat; he teaches that if Achilles is the model,
men will not pursue philosophy, that what he stands for is inimical to
the founding of the best city and the practice of the best way of life.
Socrates is engaging in a contest with Homer for the title of teacher of
 Socrates Brings the Philosophic Mission into the Court

the Greeks—or of mankind. One of his principal goals is to put himself

in place of Achilles as the authentic representation of the best human
type.”"*

CARING FOR ONE’S SOUL

Socrates’ missionary concern for the soul revolutionized Greek ethics.
The philosopher sought to convince his fellow Athenians that living an
examined life, pursuing virtue and the good of the soul, rather than
power and material wealth, would bring a wayward city into harmony
with superior ethical standards. Francis Cornford credits Socrates with
the discovery of the soul, or the true self.” To Socrates, the soul or psyché
is the essence of a person, what distinguishes a human from every other
living entity. The soul is perfected by virtue and ruined by vice. Before
Socrates, this notion of the soul is absent from Greek philosophy and
religion. The archaic Greeks, Bruno Snell observes, lacked a word that
could be translated to our “soul” or “mind,” the seat of thinking and
feeling.’* For Homer, a person is the body; the “psyché” or soul was the
life force or “breath of life,” essential for the human body’s survival but
unrelated to a person’s mental life. This life force, devoid of mental or
emotional functions, remained inactive in the living individual. At death,
it left the body, becoming a mere ghostly shadow of the deceased, fated
to wander aimlessly in Hades, devoid of either pain or joy. For the
Orphics, an ancient Greek religious cult, the soul, divorced from a per-
son’s consciousness, was regarded as a “fallen spirit,” fated to reincar-
nate in a series of bodies until, after sufficient ritual purification and
ethical conduct, eventual liberation from the wheel of birth and rebirth
and union with the divine.’ Socrates was the first to view the soul as the
conscious personality related to the individual’s intellectual and moral
nature.”
Socrates’ notion of the soul essentially reinterpreted the Delphic
maxim, “know thyself,” which for generations meant to avoid hubris
and know one’s limits, especially that one is mortal and not a god.
“Surely there is nothing which may be called more properly ourselves
than the soul,” he declares in Plato’s Alcibiades I. “He who bids a man
know himself, would have him know his soul.””” This soul, the true self,
138 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

should be the prime concern of humans. As Cicero, under the influence

of Socrates, later exclaimed: “When Apollo says ‘Know thyself,’ he says,
‘Know thy soul.’”"* This notion of the soul is undoubtedly among
Socrates’ greatest legacies. According to Michel Foucault, Socrates
stands before his judges in the Apology “clearly as a master of the care
of the self... . The god has sent him to remind men that they need to
concern themselves not with riches, not with their honor, but with them-
selves and with their souls.” The cultivation of one’s soul, or “the care
of oneself” would later become the center of that “‘art of existence’
ase

which philosophy claimed to be.”"” Unlike Achilles, the warrior of vio-

lence, Socrates was the spiritual warrior, devoting his life to self-exami-
nation and a philosophic mission to encourage others to follow his
example. As Albin Lesky observed: “In the greatest possible contrast
with the aristocratic theory of life, man’s value is now completely sepa-
rated from power, property and outward recognition, and placed in the
soul, which is his most precious possession and at the same time his
greatest duty. This way of Socratic thinking leads to a radical opposition
against the old aristocratic norm that being useful to one’s friends and
harming one’s enemies makes one a man. Doing wrong is now felt as a
stain on one’s soul, and is no more permissible to an enemy as in any
other case.” Socrates’ view of the soul also pointed to a more demo-
cratic conception of virtue; instead of the preserve of an aristocratic
elite, all persons were now called to an examined, ethical life.
By directing attention to the interior person, Socrates transformed
the Greek conception of the sage and the heroic ideal, anticipating the
radical ethics taught later by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount.
According to Werner Jaeger: “Socrates always uses the word soul with
exceptional emphasis, a passionate, a beseeching urgency. No Greek
before him ever said it in that tone. . . . Like his ‘service of God’ and
‘care of the soul,’ it sounds Christian. But it first acquired that lofty
meaning in the protreptic preachings of Socrates.” Through Socrates,
Jaeger continues, “the word psyché, soul, acquired the particular char-
acter which made it truly representative of all the values implicit in the
intellectual and moral personality of Western man.”2! In the words of
Bruno Snell: “The figure of Socrates constitutes the turning-point from
the moral thinking of the archaic and classical periods to that of the
 Socrates Brings the Philosophic Mission into the Court 139

post-classical and Hellenistic ages.” And A. E. Taylor argues: “It was

Socrates who, so far as can be seen, created the conception of the soul
which has ever since dominated European thinking.”® With this reori-
entation in Greek thought, from the external world of science to the
inner world of the soul, Socrates accomplished a revolution. The title
of Francis Cornford’s book, Before and After Socrates, emphasizes the
philosopher’s pivotal role in the history of Western thought. On the
basis of the moral revolution associated with Socrates, later thinkers
would be able to speak of the inherent dignity of the individual person.
If Jesus represented a new Moses, Socrates represented a new Achilles.
Nevertheless, many of Socrates’ contemporaries were unwilling or
unprepared to accept the philosopher’s teaching. Centuries before Jesus,
Socrates exhorted humans to turn from their preoccupation with
worldly goods and save their souls. Indeed, the philosopher anticipates
the profound question raised by the Christian Gospels: “What does it
profit a man, if he gains the whole world, but loses his soul?”*> For
Socrates, salvation was not related to an afterlife, but meant striving
toward a more human life in this world, here and now. Unlike Plato’s
Socrates of the Phaedo, the Socrates of the Apology merely entertains a
hope in the soul’s immortality, professing that his ignorance precludes
definitive knowledge of such matters. Yet for the average Greek, to
whom the body was more real than the soul, caring for one’s soul had
nothing to do with one’s inner life, but simply meant caring for one’s
material welfare. To these Greeks, Socrates’ counsel to strive for the
soul’s perfection was tantamount to advising one to care for one’s dim
shadow at the expense of his real substance.” Socrates’ concern for the
soul, for the development of the true inner self, spurred him in an
uncompromising pursuit of virtue and brought him into tragic conflict
with Athens.

STEPPING UP THE OFFENSIVE

Returning to the Apology, we see Socrates continuing the aggressive
stand that accentuated his conflict with Athens. By means of a third
“objector,” he submits a startling hypothetical proposition. Anytus had
admonished the jury that acquitting Socrates, rather than putting him to
140 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

death, would abandon the city’s youth to his corrupting influence.

Suppose, Socrates says, the jurors vote to acquit him, but on the condi-
tion that he abandon his philosophic mission and that if he resumes he
will be put to death. If the jury were to make such an offer, this would
be his emphatic reply: “Men of Athens, I honour and love you; but I
shall obey God rather than you, and while I have life and strength I shall
never cease from the practice and teaching of philosophy.””’ Socrates
knew that the charges against him were rooted in his life as a philoso-
pher. Even though the court apparently did not have the authority to
issue such an order, he wishes to make clear that nothing will stand in
the way of his divinely appointed mission. Socrates thus lays down the
gauntlet before the polis, declaring that he regards his obedience to
God’s mandate to practice philosophy as a moral imperative that pre-
vails over all other duties. If commanded by the court to relinquish phi-
losophy, he would assert his moral autonomy and conscientiously
refuse. The boldness of this challenge to the state’s authority must have
appalled the jurors.
As a citizen in Athens, Socrates probably attended the theater on
many occasions. One imagines that, before and after the performances,
he took the opportunity to discuss philosophy with his fellow citizens.
He was likely to have been present for the first performance of
Sophocles’ Antigone in 442 B.c., which advocated that the individual’s
obligation to fulfill divine law is superior to the commands of the state.
Socrates and his fellow Athenians were also familiar with Aristophanes’
antiwar comedy, Lysistrata, first performed in 411 B.c., just two years
after the Athenian failure in Sicily. Practicing militant civil disobedience,
the Athenian women seized the Acropolis, including the war treasury, in
an effort to compel an end to the senseless slaughter brought on by the
Peloponnesian War. Athenians also knew the tragedies of Aeschylus,
Sophocles, and Euripides that dramatized the various conflicts, such as
the individual or family versus the state or the laws of the gods versus
those of the state.
Performed during the festival of the Great Dionysia, in an outdoor
theater that seated an audience of between 14,000 and 15,000, drama,
we have noted, was a principal means for Athenians to explore issues of
consensus and conflict, employing speech and argumentation.
 Socrates Brings the Philosophic Mission into the Court 141

Throughout the Peloponnesian War, the fate of the community would be

under constant discussion; and the Athenian theater of ideas would be
an invaluable forum to explore vital communal concerns. According to
Paul Cartledge: “In a straightforward and broad sense all Athenian
tragedy was political, in that it was staged by and for the polis of the
Athenians, through its regular public organs of government, as a fixed
item in the state’s religious calendar.” Moreover, for average Athenian
citizens who lacked a higher education, “tragic theatre was an important
part of their learning to be active participants in self-government and
open debate between peers.”** Since Athenian tragedy was so closely
intertwined with politics, the parallels between the trial of Socrates and
a dramatic conflict would have been obvious to the jurors. As we have
argued, the inherent drama of the lawcourt was captured by the genius
of Plato in the Apology. When Sophocles and Euripides died in 406 B.c.,
tragedy was no longer the exclusive province of the theater. As Eric
Voegelin concludes, the Platonic dialogue would succeed tragedy as the
means of dramatizing the struggle between right order and unruly pas-
sion: “The tension of order and passion that had been mastered by the
cult of tragedy had broken into the open conflict between Socrates and
Athens.” While Aeschylus, in the concluding play of the Oresteia tril-
ogy, brings the courtroom to the stage, dramatizing the conversion of the
vengeful Furies into the conciliatory Eumenides, Plato’s Apology brings
the theater into the lawcourt.
In effect, like the mythological Antigone, Socrates had boldly
informed the court, which represented the state, that the only way to
stop him was to kill him. The state may have jurisdiction over his body,
but not over his soul. As Kierkegaard observed: “Socrates’ whole life
was a protest against the establishment, the substantial life of the state.”
The views of Socrates were so radical that “his attack must be regarded
from the standpoint of the state as of the utmost danger, as an attempt
to suck the blood out of it and transform it into a phantom.””
Highlighting the tragic conflict between the philosopher and the state,
Kierkegaard concludes that Socrates was “not a good citizen, and he
assuredly did not make others so. Whether the standpoint which
Socrates represented was in actuality higher than that of the state,
whether he was in truth divinely authorized, must be adjudicated by
142 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

world history. But if it is to judge fairly, it must also admit that the state
was within its rights in judging Socrates.”*! In condemning Socrates,
Athens condemned a philosopher whose moral message threatened to
transform fundamentally the identity of the polis. In order to reform
itself along Socratic principles, Athens would have had to discard many
of its traditional values and pursue a profoundly different understand-
ing of the purpose of human life.
In locating the essence of the individual in the soul, Socrates reveals
the basis of his conflict with Athens. According to the philosopher,
morality should be founded not upon unquestioning obedience to tradi-
tional authority and customary values but upon moral convictions
arrived at through rational discussion. Socrates, therefore, threatened
the established morality of his culture by striving to base ethics upon
reason, in which individuals can think for themselves as autonomous
agents and are capable of criticizing the rules and values of society. In
the view of Hegel, Socrates represented a high point in the progressive
development from an externally based unreflective traditional morality
(Sittlichkeit) to a morality based upon the critical reflective individual
consciousness (Moralitat):

Morals have become shaken because we have the idea present

that man creates his maxims for himself. The fact that the
individual comes to care for his own morality, means that he
becomes reflectively moral; when public morality disappears,
reflective morality is seen to have arisen. We now see Socrates
bringing forward the opinion, that in these times every one has
to look after his own morality, and thus he looked after his
through consciousness and reflection regarding himself. . . .
He also helped others to care for their morality, for he awak-
ened in them this consciousness of having in their thoughts the
good and true, i.e. having the potentiality of action and
knowledge.”

According to Hegel’s grand interpretation, the trial and death of

Socrates reflect a tragic collision between the equally legitimate demands
of the collective morality of the Athenian polis and the individual con-
science of Socrates:
 Socrates Brings the Philosophic Mission into the Court 143

It was in Socrates, that at the beginning of the Peloponnesian

War, the principle of subjectivity—of the absolute inherent
independence of Thought—attained free expression. He taught
that man has to discover and recognize in himself what is the
Right and Good. And that this Right and Good is in its nature
universal. Socrates is celebrated as a Teacher of Morality, but
we should rather call him the Inventor of Morality. The
Greeks had a customary morality; but Socrates undertook to
teach them what moral virtues, duties, etc., were. The moral
man is not he who merely wills and does that which is right—
not merely the innocent man—but he who has the conscious-
ness of what he is doing. . . . Socrates—in assigning to insight,
to conviction, the determination of men’s actions—posited the
Individual as capable of a final moral decision, in contraposi-
tion to Country and to Customary Morality, and thus made
himself an Oracle in the Greek sense. . . . The principle of
Socrates manifests a revolutionary aspect towards the
Athenian State; for the peculiarity of this State was, that
Customary Morality was the form in which its existence was
moulded, viz.—an inseparable connection of Thought with
actual life. When Socrates wished to induce his friends to
reflection, the discourse has always a negative tone; he brings
them to the consciousness that they do not know what the
Right is. But when on account of giving utterance to that prin-
ciple that was advancing to recognition, Socrates is con-
demned to death, the sentence bears on the one hand, the
aspect of unimpeachable rectitude—inasmuch as the Athenian
people condemns its deadliest foe—but, on the other hand,
that of a deeply tragic character, inasmuch as the Athenians
had to make the discovery, that what they reprobated in
Socrates had already struck firm root among themselves, and
that they must be pronounced guilty or innocent with him.”

Socrates, anticipating the moral revolution represented by Jesus,

sought to ground morality upon inner reflection and self-knowledge.
The similarity between Socrates and Jesus was noted in Hegel’s Lectures
144 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

on the Philosophy of Religion: “He [Socrates] also taught that human-

ity must not stop short at obedience to ordinary authority but must form
convictions for itself and act according to them. Here we have two sim-
ilar individualities with similar fates. The inwardness of Socrates was
contrary to the religious beliefs of his people as well as to their form of
government, and hence he was put to death: he, too, died for the
truth.”>* We have observed the parallel between Socrates and Jesus. Just
as Jesus would take the Mosaic Law—traditionally interpreted in a
legalistic sense—and redirect it inward, focusing upon moral reflection
and intention, Socrates likewise took the Greek notion of virtue (areté)
and redirected it inward with his idea of caring for the soul. To care for
one’s soul means pursuing the truth and living justly.
As Socrates moved into the central part of his speech, the soul would
become paramount, as he related it first to the purpose of human life and
then to his philosophic mission.** This stress upon the soul merely high-
lighted the conflict between the individual moral autonomy of the
philosopher and the authority of the city. If many Athenian youth chose
to place primary emphasis upon conscience, looking within for moral
truth rather than to custom and employing critical thought rather than
accepting traditional beliefs complacently, the stability of the city might
be fatally undermined. Having developed a notion of his spiritual center,
Socrates bequeathed to posterity a basis for resisting the state whenever
its commands conflict with justice. Although the philosopher recognized
the individual’s obligations to the community, if compelled to make a
choice he would obey God rather than the state. Socrates gave the
Athenians no way out: They must either acquit him or execute him. If
acquitted, he insists, the jury should expect him to continue prodding his
fellow Athenians with his usual intensity, saying to each of them: “You,
my friend,—a citizen of the great and mighty and wise city of Athens,—
are you not ashamed of heaping up the greatest amount of money and
honour and reputation, and caring so little about wisdom and truth and
the greatest improvement of the soul, which you never regard or heed at
all?”** The soul is improved intellectually, by thinking consistently and
morally, by acting rightly.’ If any person claims that he does care for the
improvement of his soul, “I do not leave him or let him go at once; but I
proceed to interrogate and examine and cross-examine him and if I think
 Socrates Brings the Philosophic Mission into the Court

that he has no virtue in him, but only says that he has, I reproach him
with undervaluing the greater, and overvaluing the less.” Hence, Athens
should not expect the sharp sword of Socrates’ critical elenchus to be
blunted in any way: “I shall repeat the same words to everyone whom I
meet, young and old, citizen and alien, but especially to the citizens, inas-
much as they are my brethren.”* He calls for nothing less than a con-
version, a turning away from a lower toward a higher, moral way of life.
His reference to Athens’ great fame, power, and wisdom—a mocking
echo of the Funeral Oration of Pericles, now seen in the shadow of the
recent devastating loss to Sparta—could not fail to sting many jurors and
spectators. And later readers of the Apology, aware that Athens would
never recover the glory of the Age of Pericles, may reflect upon the dra-
matic irony in Socrates’ chiding remark.
Continuing his onslaught, the intrepid Socrates makes another
attempt to revise the Athenian definition of a good citizen. His greatest
service to Athens, he proclaims, has been spiritual and moral: “I believe
that no greater good has ever happened in the state than my service to
the God. For I do nothing but go about persuading you all, old and
young alike, not to take thought for your persons and properties, but
first and chiefly to care about the greatest improvement of the soul. I tell
you that virtue is not given by money, but that from virtue comes money
and every other good of man, public as well as private. This is my teach-
ing, and if this is the doctrine which corrupts the youth, I am a mischie-
vous person.” Having specified his mission as encouraging others to
improve their souls, the ironic Socrates asserts that if his message does
indeed corrupt the young, he will concede that his influence has been
harmful.
Recoiling from the force of Socrates’ criticisms, many jurors proba-
bly concluded that he was a bad citizen, an enemy of democracy. But
Socrates took a stand not against democracy as such, but against the
deplorable conduct of the Athenians of his day, with their obsession with
material wealth and power politics. One imagines that had Socrates been
free to speak as a citizen of Sparta, he would have been equally forthright
in his attack on that city’s unjust behavior. Although living in a democ-
racy, Athenians had been unwilling to subject themselves to the kind of
self-scrutiny necessary for the maintenance of an open and just society.
146 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

As Karl Popper reminds us: “There is no need for a man who criticizes
democracy and democratic institutions to be their enemy, although both
the democrats he criticizes, and the totalitarians who hope to profit from
any disunion in the democratic camp, are likely to brand him as such.
There is a fundamental difference between a democratic and a totalitar-
ian criticism of democracy. Socrates’ criticism was a democratic one, and
indeed of the kind that is the very life of democracy.” He believed “that
the way to improve the political life of the city was to educate the citizens
to self-criticism.”*! Citizens of a democracy must be able to think for
themselves in order to deal with the complex issues that confront any free
society.” To say that Athenian democracy was prone to the tyranny of the
majority, as Socrates suggested in the Apology, was not to advocate that
the city adopt a different constitution, but to warn that a democracy,
more than any other form of government, places upon citizens the
responsibility to become educated and virtuous.
There is no substantial evidence that the historical Socrates favored
a government other than democracy for Athens. According to Plato’s
Seventh Letter, his mentor was indicted, not for his political views, but
for “impiety.”** Moreover, Socrates’ favorable view of democracy is
reflected in the Crito, where, by means of a literary device, he delivers a
speech on behalf of the Athenian Laws. Giving them voice, Socrates has
them declare that he preferred the democratic constitution of Athens to
that of any other state, Greek or barbarian.** Gregory Vlastos argues
that this reflects the conviction of the historical Socrates.** And while
Xenophon testifies that Socrates criticized the Athenian practice of
choosing magistrates by lot instead of according to their qualifications
for office, this hardly counts as advocacy of a different constitution.“
At best, it is a summoning to rational reform, as most supporters of
democracy would concede that appointments affecting the welfare of
the entire community should be made on the basis of merit and not left
to mere chance. Even fervent democrats, moreover, have often lamented
that undereducated or unwise voters are easily led astray by dema-
gogues. Notwithstanding his loyalty to Athens, the aggressive stance
that Socrates adopted throughout the trial, reminding his fellow citizens
of their moral and political failings, alienated many jurors. As Aristotle
later taught, referring to a remark by Plato’s Socrates, a good speaker
 Socrates Brings the Philosophic Mission into the Court
147

must be sensitive to the audience, for it was not difficult to sing praises
to Athens before Athenians, preoccupied as they were with honor and
fame.” Conversely, we might add, it was dangerous to criticize Athens
before an Athenian audience.
Socrates had now reached a turning point in his speech. He
remained steadfast in his refusal to follow the convention, dictated by
forensic rhetoric, in which a defendant would attempt to conciliate the
court. To the contrary, in clarifying his philosophic mission, Socrates in
effect put Athens on trial, displaying the megalégoria, the arrogant tone
that would contribute to his conviction. Professing to have easily refuted
the formal charges against him, Socrates turned his defense into an
offense.** Xenophon reported that all those who wrote about the trial
drew attention to Socrates’ megalégoria.” In contrast, Cicero observed
that Socrates, in addressing the jury not as a suppliant and prisoner but
as an accuser and judge, revealed “a noble obstinacy derived from
greatness of soul (megalopsychia), not from pride.” Undoubtedly, the
distinction between greatness of soul and hubris was lost on many
jurors; Socrates seemed to have forgotten that his position before the
court was that of a defendant, not a prosecutor.
From here on, Socrates’ offensive becomes increasingly blatant, and
the trial takes an inevitable path, with the philosopher bringing about
his own condemnation. In choosing to lecture the Athenians on their
moral weaknesses, Socrates reveals his commitment to philosophical
rhetoric, speech designed to edify morally his listeners. But the argu-
ments he made and the patronizing tone he adopted merely antagonized
many jurors and spectators. Those sympathetic to Socrates must have
been dismayed as they witnessed him seal his fate. There was no turning
back as the collision between the philosopher and his city—a collision
between the morality of the individual soul and the morality of the
polis—took a tragic course to its denouement.

THE GADFLY
“Men of Athens, do not interrupt, but hear me.” Socrates once again
had to remind his audience that he deserved to be heard without inter-
ruption. Yet, by this point in the trial, many jurors and spectators were
148 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

unable to restrain their fury. Nevertheless, he informs them that his next
argument is likely to incite even greater outrage. If they kill him,
Socrates declares, “you will injure yourselves more than you will injure
me.” Moreover, neither Meletus nor Anytus can possibly harm him, for
“a bad man is not permitted to injure a better than himself.”
Emphasizing that Athens, not he, was really on trial, Socrates then avers:
“Athenians, I am not going to argue for my own sake, as you may think,
but for yours, that you may not sin against the God by condemning me,
who am his gift to you.”*! The philosopher seemed to be taunting the
jury. By this time, many must have agreed that the only way to put an
end to Socrates’ radical scrutiny was to execute him.
Socrates is now ready to move into the most famous segment of his
speech. He makes the startling claim that God has assigned him to Athens
to play the role of a “gadfly,” to interrogate, exhort, reproach, and pro-
voke the Athenians, awakening them from their dogmatic slumber and
stimulating them to lives of virtue: “If you kill me you will not easily find
a successor to me, who, if I may use such a ludicrous figure of speech, am
a sort of gadfly, given to the State by God; and the State is a great and
noble steed who is tardy in his motions owing to his very size, and
requires to be stirred into life. I am that gadfly which God has attached
to the State, and all day long and in all places am always fastening upon
you, arousing and persuading and reproaching you. You will not easily
find another like me, and therefore I would advise you to spare me. I dare
say that you may feel out of temper (like a person who is suddenly awak-
ened from sleep), and you think that you may easily strike me dead as
Anytus advises, and then you would sleep on for the remainder of your
lives, unless God in his care of you sent you another gadfly.”
Needless to say, Socrates’ comparing Athens to a morally indolent
horse that needed to be roused could not fail to offend. What readers of
the Apology may view as a shrewd combination of playfulness and seri-
ousness was most likely regarded by the majority of jurors as an impu-
dent insult. Socrates was, moreover, perverting a device that was
standard in Athenian courts. Defendants often rested much of their case
upon a principle of reciprocity or charis, gratitude. According to Greek
custom, a gift obligated the beneficiary to reciprocate. Hence, Athenian
defendants frequently made an explicit claim that their service to the city
 Socrates Brings the Philosophic Mission into the Court
149

had earned them an acquittal. Services offered as grounds for charis

included holding office, devotion to democracy, beneficial public
speeches, conducting oneself as a good citizen, and military experience.*?
Of these, according to most Athenians, Socrates would have distin-
guished himself only by his service in the Peloponnesian War. To suggest,
as he does, that the Athenians owe him an acquittal on the basis of a
philosophic mission that led him to be charged with impiety and cor-
ruption constituted a reversal of the accepted understanding of service
to the city.
The gadfly trope demonstrated that Socrates regarded philosophy as
a radical activity. He is the conscience of Athens, prodding his fellow cit-
izens to self-examination. Earlier in his speech, he rejected the notion
that he was a teacher. According to the conventional view, a teacher was
one who passed on traditional knowledge and values to be accepted
without question. Such teachers merely promoted blind subservience of
the individual to society. But Socrates represented a new conception of
a teacher, one who assists others in their own self-discovery, encourag-
ing them to judge every institution, belief, and value according to criti-
cal reason. To most Athenians, such a teacher was a dangerous threat.
Indeed, the city had been subjected unremittingly to the gadfly’s irritat-
ing scrutiny and painful bite. Like the Sophists, Socrates seemed to be
engaged in a merely destructive activity, contributing to the erosion of
the moral foundations of the city. According to Socrates’ metaphor, he
was a stinging fly “attached” to the sleeping horselike city, sinking his
dialectical teeth into its slothful body. And, as most jurors must have
realized, Socrates the gadfly was now conducting his provocative philo-
sophic mission in the lawcourt.
Fulfilling the divine mandate involved, Socrates affirms, much per-
sonal sacrifice, which could only corroborate his sincerity. “The proof
of my mission is this:—if I had been like other men, I should not have
neglected all my own concerns or patiently seen the neglect of them dur-
ing all these years, and have been doing yours, coming to you individu-
ally like a father or elder brother, exhorting you to regard virtue; such
conduct I say would be unlike human nature.”® In order to devote him-
self, free of charge, to assisting others privately in the pursuit of moral
goodness, he has had to reduce himself to poverty, neglecting the welfare
150 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

of his family. Such unselfish service to his city, he implies, must have
been in obedience to the divine. Nevertheless, Socrates’ voluntary
poverty probably drew the disdain of the many Athenians who viewed
material prosperity as evidence of moral worth. The funeral speech of
Pericles makes clear that, while the Athenians may not have stigmatized
poverty in itself, those like Socrates, who made no effort to raise them-
selves from impoverishment, were regarded as shameful. As Arthur
Adkins observes, “almost all Greeks in the heyday of the city-state
agreed that poverty cripples areté.”®»
But Socrates represented a new vision of virtue. He was prepared to
sacrifice everything the Athenians found valuable—material wealth,
power, family, even life itsel{—engaging in a philosophic mission
designed to induce his fellow citizens to pursue virtue and the welfare of
their souls. Carrying out his mission as a good man, meant Athenians
concluded that Socrates was a bad citizen. By bringing his mission into
the court, addressing a large audience in a political forum that he had
hitherto avoided, Socrates accentuated his conflict with his city. He
would proceed to argue that in an unjust state, such as Athens, the
proper and potentially most useful place for the just person was outside
the realm of conventional politics.
 Chapter 9

DOE POLETUGS. OF
AN UNPOLITICAL MAN

A PRIVATE RATHER THAN A PUBLIC STATION

AVING EXPLAINED HIS MORAL SERVICE TO THE CITY, Socrates
anticipates—by means of his fourth fictitious “objector”—
that many will question why he goes about “in private giving
advice and busying myself with the concerns of others, but do not ven-
ture to come forward in public and advise the state.”! He responds that
his philosophic mission prevented him from participating in politics. As
he declares to Polus in Plato’s Gorgias, “Polus, Iam not a public man.”?
Other citizens also did not participate in politics, preferring to remain
“quiet Athenians,” but such avoidance was not illegal.’ Nevertheless,
the democratic notion of the good citizen gave rise to social expectations
and pressures to become active in the deliberative forums of the city. As
Robert J. Bonner observed: “Men who refused to participate in public
affairs were generally regarded with contempt, if not with suspicion.”*
The fact that Socrates felt obligated to introduce the subject of his non-
participation in politics demonstrates that it had been a source of some
animosity toward him. The Greek value of political participation was
reflected in the verb politeuesthai, meaning “to be a citizen (polités),” I5r
152 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

or, more precisely, “to be active in managing the affairs of the city.”
Most Athenian citizens held such an exalted conception of the polis and
its sustaining democratic process that they probably viewed Socrates’
refusal to take a more active role in the city’s affairs as a shameful neg-
lect of civic duty.
Indeed, Socrates must have been regarded as an anomaly. For
Athenians, citizenship was an invaluable asset; it was the principal dis-
tinction between a Greek and a barbarian. A good citizen (agathos
polités) was defined as one who contributed service to the community,
advancing its security and prosperity.’ This service was primarily politi-
cal. As we have noted, the Athenians referred to the person who avoided
public office and public responsibility, devoting himself instead exclu-
sively to individual or personal concerns of business, family, and friends,
as an ididtés.’ We recall that Pericles considered such a person “useless.”
Participation in democratic politics was a primary means for Athenians
to achieve honor among their peers. Aristotle later argued that while
philosophy is the most important human activity, the good life is one
directed by practical wisdom, or phronésis, which requires a citizen to
become active in government, participating in decisions affecting the
community as a whole.’
To what extent did Socrates shun the political life of Athens? Of the
means of political participation available to him, the most obvious
would have been the democratic Assembly (ekklésia), the sovereign
body of Athens, open to all citizens. Each male citizen over the age of
twenty had the right and duty to attend meetings of the Assembly. It has
been estimated that, at the beginning of the Peloponnesian War in 431
B.c., Athens had between 40,000 and 50,000 adult male citizens; by the
end of the war, this number was probably reduced by half, owing to the
casualties of battle and the devastating plague.’ Within the Assembly,
which met throughout the classical period on a hill known as the Pnyx,
west of the Acropolis, public issues were openly debated. Speakers
mounted a rostrum (béma) and argued their positions, after which the
entire body voted by a show of hands. Since there were no political par-
ties, individual citizens had to arrive at decisions independently.
Although it is difficult to determine the number of Athenians who regu-
larly attended the Assembly’s meetings, often as many as 6,000 citizens
 The Politics of an Unpolitical Man 153

of the estimated 22,000 to 25,000 eligible at the end of the fifth century
B.C. were present for important decisions that affected the common
interest.” During this time, the Pnyx seems to have had a capacity of no
more than 6,000, the quorum for certain types of decisions, such as
ostracism. While most citizens did not speak as leaders in the Assembly,
they were duty-bound to follow its proceedings and judge the political
discourse of those who did speak.'' During the time of Aristotle, the
Assembly met about every forty days, perhaps less during the latter part
of the fifth century B.c."* For most Athenian citizens, even peasants,
attendance at regular sessions of the Assembly was not a severe hard-
ship, although distance and preoccupation with their farms or busi-
nesses often curtailed attendance. For important decisions in periods of
crisis, attendance at extraordinary meetings of the Assembly would have
been higher. But in time of war, most citizens would be away from
Athens, serving as hoplites on land or rowers at sea.
In addition to the Assembly, there was a Council of Five Hundred
(boulé), composed of male citizens age thirty or over, who were chosen
by lot, held office for one year, and could serve not more than twice in
their lifetimes. The Council, which met in a building known as the
bouleutérion, was charged with preparing the agenda for the Assembly
and executing its decisions. After matters were discussed by the Council,
they were formulated into proposals for the Assembly to consider. When
the Assembly was not in session, the Council, which convened every day,
except during important festivals, served as the government of Athens.
The Council was further divided into a rotating executive committee of
fifty members, known as the prytaneis. Headquartered in a circular
building in the agora known as the Tholos, the prytaneis convened the
Assembly and the Council, prepared their agendas, and presided over
their meetings.” Finally, there were hundreds of administrative offi-
cials—most, except the ten generals (stratégoi) and those occupying cer-
tain other offices demanding special expertise, chosen by lot.
Socrates may have avoided the Assembly entirely, thus ignoring a
paramount duty of citizenship. If he sometimes attended, he would have
shunned a leadership role. As for the Council, we know that at least
once, during the trial of the generals in 406 B.c., he was a member of
the prytaneis and was most active. But service on the Council, with its
154 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

daily meetings, was so demanding and time-consuming that Socrates

undoubtedly found such work an impediment to his life’s mission. When
he did serve, it was merely to fulfill a civic duty he could not avoid.”
Moreover, he apparently never submitted his name to be chosen by lot
for one of the several hundred magisterial offices, at home and abroad,
which were instrumental to the efficient administration of Athenian
democracy and its empire. Another means of political participation was
jury duty. Judicial matters were dealt with by the People’s Courts
(dikastéria), located throughout the city. Each year, several thousand cit-
izens, age thirty and older, volunteered their names for inclusion in a lot-
tery, from which a panel of 6,000 was chosen for service in the various
Athenian courts several days a month throughout the year. To encour-
age service, which was not mandatory, Pericles introduced payment for
jurors during the 450s B.c. Volunteers received a daily rate of two obols,
which Cleisthenes increased to three obols in 424 or 423 B.c. Ordinary
citizens, including the poor, could participate in the courts as jurors, or
dikasts, because payment made it possible for volunteers to be away
from their normal sources of income. Service on juries, regarded by
Athenians as a solemn civic obligation, could nevertheless be avoided by
not volunteering for the lottery. Socrates probably never volunteered.
Moreover, at a time when the Athenians were known to be litigious, he
never brought suit against anyone nor, until his trial, had he been
indicted. Yet he was not entirely ignorant of court proceedings, for he
indicated in his defense speech that he had observed men of reputation
stoop to humiliating themselves in order to solicit the jury’s sympathy."
Since many decisions required special expertise and the ability to
argue persuasively, there emerged in the Assembly a number of citizens,
usually with sufficient wealth, status, and leisure, who took on leader-
ship roles. All citizens were free to speak, but in practice only a minor-
ity actually did so. While any individual who addressed the audience
was termed a rhétor or “speaker,” the word was more loosely applied to
those who repeatedly spoke with effectiveness, hence becoming leaders.
Although an elite of speakers thus arose in Athenian politics, as Josiah
Ober has shown, this was not a “dominating elite.”'* Success in the
Assembly required a mastery of the art of rhetoric in order to move the
sovereign citizenry to adopt one’s proposals. The rhétores were masters
 The Politics of an Unpolitical Man T55

of what Aristotle later termed deliberative or political rhetoric, the aim

of which, we have seen, is to persuade an audience to adopt or to reject
a particular measure or policy. The rhétores were in effect full-time
politicians. While they held no office or legal position and enjoyed no
special privileges that distinguished them from other citizens, they nev-
ertheless exercised considerable influence. Before putting a proposal to
a vote, the Assembly listened to the views of the various rhétores, whom
they regarded as “advisers.”'7 Hence, the speakers assisted the
Assembly in determining which proposals were in the best interest of
the community. When, therefore, Socrates reminds the jury that he
never sought to “advise” the Assembly on matters of public policy, he
probably meant that he never served as a rhétor. Indeed, as he declared,
his philosophic mission and his poverty would have precluded such an
ambition.
The Assembly, the Council, and the lawcourts were integral to
Athenian democracy, arenas in which citizens competed to display their
areté. Socrates’ neglect of these public forums, therefore, could have
been perceived as an insult to the city’s institutions and values. In a mod-
ern representative democracy, Socrates’ abstention from politics would
have hardly been noticed. In fact, his obedience to the law and his dis-
tinguished service in the army would have brought him praise. But being
a citizen in Athens involved participating in a wide array of civic activi-
ties, especially the Assembly. Athens had no notion of representative
government; all responsible citizens were expected to be active partici-
pants in the principal political institutions. For a person of acknowl-
edged superior intellect, such as Socrates, to refuse to involve himself in
politics must have been regarded by many Athenians as a perverse view
of citizenship."*
I. E Stone attacked Socrates for avoiding politics, alleging that he
did nothing to resist Athenian injustice either in the massacre of Melos
or in the Assembly debate over whether to inflict a similar fate upon
Mytilene.” Yet there is no evidence of Socrates’ views on Athens’ treat-
ment of Mytilene and Melos. Socrates would have accomplished little
had he become a prominent leader in the Athenian Assembly. Had he
been present to protest the genocide against Melos, he would have been
defeated by the majority and implicated against his will in their atrocity.
156 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

And while it may be true that, according to Thucydides, the single voice
of the orator Diodotus succeeded in convincing the Assembly to reverse
its decision to massacre the inhabitants of Mytilene, he did so only on
the strength of an argument that disregarded justice and appealed
instead to Athenian self-interest. Judging from Thucydides’ re-creation
of the Mytilenean debate, most Athenians were willing to conduct the
city’s foreign affairs according to a realpolitik that Socrates would have
found unconscionable. For him to engage in Athenian politics, he would
have entered a realm of corruption that would have destroyed his moral
autonomy and harmed his soul. Ironically, he was morally unfit for con-
ventional Athenian politics, whether conducted by democrats or oli-
garchs. The only side Socrates would take was that of philosophy.
Political partisanship was anathema to the philosopher, who harbored
no personal ambition, seeking nothing other than the moral perfection
of the Athenians. As a politician, Socrates would either have been exe-
cuted years before or been rendered ineffectual by the collective tyranny
of the Assembly, where “truth” became majority opinion. If Socrates
would have attempted to address the Assembly, attacking injustices,
resisting prevailing opinion, and condemning unjust laws, he would
have been branded a traitor. Hence, Socrates’ abstention from politics
was an act of prudence, permitting him to continue his philosophic mis-
sion while adhering to his conscience.
The trial of Socrates highlights a fundamental conflict between phi-
losophy and politics, between the philosopher and the citizen.”° In the
Republic, Plato’s Socrates speaks of an “old quarrel between philosophy
and poetry.”* Philosophy, as practiced by Socrates, a moral life of rea-
son in pursuit of truth, was incompatible not only with the myths and
distortions of poetry but also with the ethical compromises necessitated
by politics, especially Athenian power politics. Socrates suffered first at
the hands of poetry, victimized by the misrepresentations of
Aristophanes’ Clouds, in which truth is trumped for the sake of comic
effect.” At his trial, Socrates would suffer from his head-on collision
with Athenian politics. In the eyes of many Athenians, the danger posed
by philosophy was that it threatened to undermine the polis. The trial of
Socrates was, then, a trial of philosophy. Allan Bloom captures the view
of Socrates shared by many Athenians: “Such a man’s presence in the
 The Politics of an Unpolitical Man

city and his association with the most promising young men make him
a subversive. Socrates is unjust not only because he breaks Athens’ laws
but also because he apparently does not accept those fundamental
beliefs which make civil society possible.”™

SOCRATES’ DIVINE VOICE

Anticipating criticism for refusing to play a more active role in Athenian
politics, Socrates defends himself by introducing what he considers an
unimpeachable transcendent support: the divine. Just as he had derived
his philosophic mission from the command of Apollo, he now relates his
avoidance of politics to the will of God. Together, these claims give the
Apology a distinct religious tone. If the jury believed the story of the ora-
cle, and what he is about to tell them, he will have established his case.
Hence, Socrates explains his neglect of politics: “You have heard me
speak at sundry times and in divers places of an oracle or sign which
comes to me... . This sign, which is a kind of voice, first began to come
to me when I was a child; it always forbids but never commands me to
do anything which I am going to do. This is what deters me from being
a politician.”** Here Socrates introduces his famous and perplexing dai-
monion, the divine “voice” or “sign.” He claims to have heeded the
admonition of a divine voice, steering him away from a life of politics.
As he reminded the court, he had spoken publicly of this voice over the
years. Meletus, he says, had travestied the voice in his speech for the
prosecution.” In Plato’s Euthyphro, Socrates does not deny his inter-
locutor’s inference that the impiety charge is linked to his divine voice.”
Xenophon confirms that the voice was the basis for the accusation of
impiety.” What was this strange, perplexing monitory voice? How many
Athenians believed that Socrates was privileged to receive direct divine
communications? According to W. K. C. Guthrie, a complete account of
the mind of Socrates must include the philosopher’s “belief in a special,
direct relation between himself and divine forces.””* James Adam saw in
Socrates a rare union of transcendentalism and rationalism, “the two
apparently opposite poles in the character of Socrates. On the one hand,
a fixed and unalterable conviction that he stood in a peculiar relation to
the Godhead, and was entrusted with a divine mission to his country-
158 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

men; and, on the other hand, a singularly clear and penetrating intellect,
which refused to acquiesce in anything that reason could not justify—
these are the two predominant characteristics of the man.””
Socrates considered his divine voice to be supernatural, stemming
from a transcendent source and probably unique to himself. “Rarely, if
ever,” he admitted in Plato’s Republic, “has such a monitor been given
to any other man.”*° Socrates spoke of the voice not as a personal deity
or daimon, but rather as a divine experience or daimonion.*' He also
claimed that his mission had been further communicated to him “by
oracles, visions, and in every way in which the will of divine power has
ever intimated to anyone.”** Although Xenophon alleged that the voice
acted in both a positive and a negative sense, intervening to counsel
Socrates not only what he ought to do but also what he ought not to do,
Plato’s Socrates explicitly said that the voice was only negative, merely
warning him if he were about to veer from the right path, while remain-
ing silent when he pursued the good.*’ Like conscience, the voice served
as a monitor. A modern psychologist might speculate that the voice
stemmed from his unconscious.** Socrates merely projected his own
innate sagacity or intuition upon an exterior transcendent agency.
Regardless of its nature or source, such an unverifiable claim to divine
favor would not be well received by Socrates’ contemporaries. To allege
that a god has chosen you for private communications, unmediated by
priests or cults, violated the Athenian notion of piety and the preroga-
tive of the polis to regulate religion. Moreover, to some jurors, Socrates’
voice may have reflected possession by a divinity. Although a common
phenomenon in the mystery religions, the sense of being filled with a
divine power, what the Greeks called “enthusiasm,” was not necessarily
a good. In fact, the Greeks regarded entheos (“within is a god”) as an
abnormal psychic state.** In Euripides’ Hippolytus, the illicit love of
Phaedra was inspired by Aphrodite, and in the same playwright’s
Bacchae, Argave murders her own son when possessed by Dionysus.
By this point in the trial, many jurors must have determined that
Socrates had presented an argument not for acquittal, but for his con-
demnation. After professing to be the city’s gadfly, Apollo’s gift to the
Athenians, the philosopher reminded the court of his rejection of
Athenian politics, again enlisting support from the divine, this time a
 The Politics of an Unpolitical Man 159

cryptic voice. The provocative issues that emerged from his defense sig-
nified the culmination of the conflict between philosophy and politics.
Socrates stood diametrically opposed to Athens. The danger he posed is
emphasized in Plato’s Gorgias, when Callicles questions the philosopher:
“If you are in earnest, and what you say is true, is not the whole of
human life turned upside down; and are we not doing, as would appear,
in everything the opposite of what we ought to be doing?” Every soci-
ety necessarily depends for its survival upon adherence to fundamental
values—religious, moral, and political—inculcated through the family,
education, and various institutions. While, in many instances, those who
threaten the established system are in fact guilty of wanton disregard for
order, history provides numerous examples of individuals who were
ahead of their times morally and intellectually, who perceived truths that
were beyond the comprehension of the average person. These excep-
tional, individual trailblazers often act in response to some intuitive
“voice” in direct violation of the “conscience” of society. As Erich
Neumann explains: “The revolutionary (whatever his type) always takes
his stand on the side of the inner voice and against the conscience of his
time, which is always an expression of the old dominant values; and the
execution of these revolutionaries is always carried out for good and
“ethical” reasons. .. . The revelation of the Voice to a single person pre-
supposes an individual whose individuality is so strong that he can make
himself independent of the collective and its values. All founders of
ethics are heretics, since they oppose the revelation of the Voice to the
deliverances of conscience as the representative of the old ethic.””
What Friedrich Nietzsche says about society’s reaction to radical
reformers can be applied to Socrates: “Behold the good and the just!
Whom do they hate most? The man who breaks their tables of values,
the breaker, the lawbreaker; yet he is the creator. Behold the believers of
all faiths! Whom do they hate most? The man who breaks their tables
of values, the breaker, the lawbreaker; yet he is the creator.”** In essence,
Socrates threatened to bring about a revaluation of Athenian values.
Although opposed to Socrates’ rationalism and his kind of moral reval-
uation, Nietzsche understood why Athens had much to fear from its
gadfly. Visionaries like Socrates “take a new route and suffer the high-
est disapproval from all the representatives of the morality of custom—
160 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

they take themselves out of the community as immoralists, and are, in

the deepest sense of the word, evil.”*” Nietzsche interpreted the Apology
as an expression of the fundamental conflict between Socrates and
Athens. In lectures delivered at the University of Basel, Nietzsche hailed
the Apology as a “masterpiece of the highest rank.” Indeed, “Plato
seems to have received the decisive thought as to how a philosopher
ought to behave toward men from the apology of Socrates: as their
physician, as a gadfly on the neck of man.”*°

DEFENDER OF JUSTICE
Socrates proceeds to argue that had he ignored the admonitions of his
divine voice and entered politics, he would have “perished long ago,”
without doing any good either to Athens or to himself. He implies that for
years, Athenian politics had been plagued by such immorality and license
that the life of a principled citizen would have been in grave danger. “The
truth is,” he declares, “that no man who goes to war with you or any
other multitude, honestly striving against the many lawless and unright-
eous deeds which are done in a state, will save his life; he who will fight
for the right, if he would live even for a brief space, must have a private
station, and not a public one.”*! Socrates’ equating Athenian politics with
corruption must have struck many jurors as utter insolence. According to
Gregory Vlastos, “no harsher indictment of Athenian political conduct
has survived” than these words of Socrates in the Apology.* He had ele-
vated himself onto a pedestal of justice, above partisan politics, conscien-
tiously opposing the corruption, democratic or oligarchic, that afflicted
Athens throughout much of the Peloponnesian War.* He insists that only
as a private person could he have survived to fulfill his divine mission.
To prove his contention, Socrates submits two examples from recent
Athenian history in which, despite the warnings of his divine voice, he
could not avoid involvement in politics. The first occurred late in the
Peloponnesian War. In 406 B.c., the Athenians defeated the Spartan fleet
at Arginusae, a small group of Aegean islands between Mytilene and the
coast of Asia Minor. Unfortunately, the victory was marred when a storm
prevented the rescue of survivors from a number of disabled ships. A
great number of lives were lost, perhaps more than during any other bat-
 The Politics of an Unpolitical Man I6I

tle of the war. The failure to recover the dead and wounded aroused great
indignation in Athens against the eight generals who had taken part in
the battle, inducing two of them to flee without returning home. As
Sophocles’ Antigone reminds us, Greek piety required that the dead
receive a proper burial according to the traditional funeral rites; the
unburied soul finds no rest in the hereafter. The accusers of the generals
were headed by Theramenes, who had been a leader in the oligarchic rev-
olution of 411 B.c. As we have noted, Athenian constitutional procedure
dictated that only after matters had been discussed in the Council of Five
Hundred and formed into proposals could they be brought before the
Assembly. Accordingly, Callixenus, a member of the Council, proposed
that the remaining generals be tried by a process known in Athenian law
as eisangelia, which meant that they would be judged by a vote of the
Assembly instead of by a sworn jury. The accusers also demanded that
the generals be tried not separately, but together collectively, with a sin-
gle verdict for them all, which was contrary to the constitution and hence
illegal.** Athenian democracy having concentrated virtually all power in
the hands of the multitude of citizens, with no effective system of checks
and balances, the majority could easily infringe the constitution and com-
mit injustices whenever expedient. The sovereignty of the Athenian
Assembly was absolute, unchallenged, and final.
At that time, Socrates, who was about sixty-five years of age, had
been among those chosen by lot to serve on the Council of Five Hundred.
This was apparently his only experience in public office. A political duty
had apparently devolved upon him unsought; instead of volunteering, he
was probably drafted to serve. As Robert J. Bonner argues: “It is difficult
to imagine that Socrates of his own accord presented himself for allot-
ment, or that he would have accepted the office if he could legally have
refused it.”“° Within the Council, it was then the turn of Socrates’ “tribe”
to serve as the prytaneis, or body of fifty, which presided at meetings of
the Assembly and prepared business for its discussion. As we have noted,
the function of this presiding committee was to bring Council proposals
before the Assembly for a vote.” The prytaneis took an oath not to allow
illegal motions to be placed before the Assembly. According to
Xenophon’s account of the deplorable events, when a certain
Euryptolemus tried to resist Callixenus’s unconstitutional proposal, a
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

“great mass shouted out that it was an intolerable thing if the people was
not allowed to do what it wanted to do.”** Although some members of
the presiding committee refused to present the illegal motion to the
Assembly for a vote, they quickly relented after Callixenus, encouraged
by the angry crowd, threatened them with prosecution.
Socrates recalls for the jury that he was the only member of the pry-
taneis who remained steadfast, voting against the unconstitutional pro-
posal. His conscientious refusal to support the Assembly’s proposal
could be defended on both religious and constitutional grounds. As a
member of the Council and the presiding committee, he had taken an
oath to do nothing against the law.” This law was the Athenian consti-
tution. To lend his support to the illegal proposal, a breaking of his oath,
would be not only a violation of the constitution but also an act of impi-
ety. In contravening the constitution, the Athenians chose to ignore the
principle of the rule of law that made their democratic community
viable. Socrates reminded the jury and the crowd of spectators at his
trial that “when the orators threatened to impeach and arrest me, and
you called and shouted, I made up my mind that I would run the risk,
having law and justice with me, rather than take part in your injustice
because I feared imprisonment and death.” Socrates’ courageous moral
stand proved unavailing, as the Assembly ultimately voted for
Callixenus’ proposal, and the six generals, including Pericles, son of the
great statesman, and Diomedon and Thrasyllus, distinguished for their
service to the democracy, were judged guilty and executed. This was the
first time that Athenian generals had been put to death.*! But Socrates
would not allow the Athenians to forget their unjust and unconstitu-
tional behavior. Having referred to himself as “he who will fight for the
right,” Socrates five times identifies the present jury—“you”—with the
Assembly that committed judicial murder. The démos had shown itself
to be tyrannical. Socrates also reminds the jury and spectators that “as
you all thought afterwards,” the motion to try the generals together had
been illegal. Hence, the Athenians conceded that they had not only com-
mitted an injustice but also violated their democratic constitution.”
Socrates’ conscientious resistance to the Assembly in defense of the con-
stitution demonstrated that he would not sacrifice his moral convictions
to what the majority irresponsibly regarded as the city’s interest.
 The Politics of an Unpolitical Man 163

Socrates points out that his second experience with public politics
occurred when Athens was ruled by an oligarchy. Democracy is not the
only form of government subject to the tyranny of the multitude. As
Socrates will show the jury, no matter what the government, a single indi-
vidual cannot prevent the commission of injustices by those who hold
power with the support, express or tacit, of a large number of people. In
the aftermath of Athens’ defeat in the Peloponnesian War, we recall, the
democracy was overthrown and, with support from a Spartan garrison
under admiral Lysander stationed on the Acropolis, the Thirty Tyrants
came to power. Charged with the responsibility of drawing up a new oli-
garchic constitution, the Thirty seized this opportunity to impose their
will upon Athens, dismantling its democracy. In the course of their brief
despotic rule, the Council and the people’s lawcourts were abolished and
some fifteen hundred supporters of democracy, citizens and foreign resi-
dents, were summarily executed and their property confiscated.
According to Xenophon, the Thirty came “close to killing more
Athenians than all the Peloponnesians did in ten years of war.”*? Among
the Thirty, Critias, the former associate of Socrates, led the extremists,
while Theramenes led the moderates. Eventually Theramenes expressed
his opposition to the reign of terror and led the moderates in a demand
to draw up a list of three thousand citizens to constitute a voting body.
After initially acceding to this demand, Critias squelched the plan and
had Theramenes seized as a traitor. Dragged off to prison without a trial,
Theramenes was forced to drink the hemlock, but not before presenting
Critias with a mocking toast: “To my beloved Critias.”** According to the
historian Diodorus Siculus, Socrates actively opposed Theramenes’ exe-
cution.®> Meanwhile, many staunch democrats, including Socrates’ later
accuser Anytus, had gone into exile to organize a resistance movement.
On one occasion, says Socrates, in accord with their design to
implicate as many people as possible in their heinous affairs, the Thirty
summoned him along with four others to their headquarters in the
Tholos and issued them a directive to go and arrest the democrat Leon
of Salamis, reputedly a just man, for summary execution. According to
the Greek orator Lysias, the Thirty had “declared that the city must be
purged of unjust men.”** They decreed that they could confiscate the
property and execute anyone not included on the list of three thousand
164 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

citizens. By declaring Leon a traitor, the Thirty sought to seize his sub-
stantial estate, thus helping to alleviate their financial burdens. W. K. C.
Guthrie speculates that perhaps two of the Thirty, Critias and
Charmides, another former associate of Socrates, believed that, in view
of Socrates’ criticisms of Athenian democracy, they could count upon his
support; but they obviously underestimated the philosopher’s commit-
ment to justice.” Moreover, the Thirty feared Socrates’ moral influence,
for they issued a decree, probably in response to his criticisms, forbid-
ding teaching “the art of words” to the young.* Yet even the Thirty were
unable to stop the philosophic activities of Socrates. The work of
Thucydides reveals that, in times of political turmoil, language often
becomes a casualty. As the Thirty sought to undermine speech, making
the immoral appear moral, Socrates’ philosophical rhetoric of truth
posed a threat to the regime.
Socrates informs the jury that, while the others carried out the order
to arrest Leon, he refused and went home. He responded to an unjust
command with an act of conscientious disobedience. This time, he acted
not as an officer of the state, but as a private citizen. Even though silent,
Socrates’ action, inasmuch as it expressed a moral conviction, was a
form of public speech. The Thirty’s command was unjust, but legally
valid under positive law. While during the trial of the generals Socrates
claimed to have “law and justice” on his side, in the case of Leon, he
made no reference to the law. It is clear that he believed that the Thirty’s
command, although legal, was unjust.°? While Socrates acknowledged
the Thirty as the “government” or ruling body in power, he nevertheless
felt morally obligated to defy their legal command. To justify his dis-
obedience, he assumed a higher standard of justice. Whenever the law
contravenes justice, one must disobey. Unwilling to do anything
“unrighteous or unholy,” Socrates demonstrated, “not in word only but
in deed,” that the threat of death would not deter him from doing what
he believed to be just.*' He concludes that, had the despotic oligarchy of
the Thirty not been overthrown by the democrats in 403 B.c., he might
have been executed for his defiance. Throughout his life, he had
remained consistent in all his actions, “public as well as private.”
Having demonstrated his refusal to commit any act of injustice, under
any circumstance, under any system of government, democracy or oli-
 The Politics of an Unpolitical Man 165

garchy, Socrates concludes: “Do you really imagine that I could have
survived all these years, if I had led a public life, supposing that like a
good man I had always maintained the right and had made justice, as I
ought, the first thing?”®
Although he shunned conventional politics, Socrates’ philosophic
mission was designed to reform Athenian politics morally. His concep-
tion of piety, serving others morally on behalf of God, made him politi-
cal in the deepest sense—ministering to the polis. As Henry David
Thoreau argued, most men serve the state with their bodies, obeying its
laws and defending it in war, without exercising their moral faculty.
Others serve the state with their heads, as legislators or office holders.
These, too, rarely make moral distinctions. “A very few,” argued
Thoreau, “as heroes, patriots, martyrs, reformers in the great sense, and
men, serve the state with their consciences also, and so necessarily resist
it for the most part; and they are commonly treated by it as enemies.”
Socrates was not “useless” in the sense denigrated by Pericles. The
philosopher served the state, the common moral good, with his con-
science. Thus the unpolitical Socrates did practice a private kind of pol-
itics, addressing individuals, one-on-one, rather than addressing the
polis as a whole.® If, stimulated by the gadfly, the Athenians had
engaged in self-examination, pursuing virtue rather than unbridled
power, the polis would have reaped substantial moral benefit. Hannah
Arendt explains that conscience, the ability to distinguish right from
wrong, depends upon the faculty of reflective thought, which is essential
in maintaining one’s moral integrity in the midst of political crises, when
things fall apart and “everybody is swept away unthinkingly by what
everybody else does and believes in.” The Athenians, resistant to
Socrates’ mission, became consumed by the polis ideology, forfeiting
conscience to expediency and confusing might with right.
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 Chapter 10

THE TRIAL CONCLUDES:

SOCRATES CONDEMNED

THE CORRUPTION CHARGE REVISITED

HE TIME ALLOTTED FOR SOCRATES TO ADDRESS THE COURT, gov-
erned by the waterclock, was nearing its end. Before resting his
case, he returns to the corruption charge, but now more explic-
itly. The jurors were probably troubled because some of his former “stu-
dents,” namely Alcibiades, Critias, and Charmides, had committed
religious or political crimes against the city. Should not Socrates be held
responsible for the misdeeds of his wayward associates? Did he not con-
cede earlier in his speech that many youths had followed his example,
cross-examining the older generation?’ Socrates thus devotes this part of
his speech to reaffirming his integrity and disclaiming any responsibility
for the actions of his “disciples.” To declare him guilty by association
would be a grave injustice. He proclaims: “I have been always the same
in all my actions, public as well as private, and never have I yielded any
base compliance to those who are slanderously termed my disciples or
to any other.”? Echoing his response to the allegation that he was a
Sophist, Socrates again insists that neither did he presume to be anyone’s
teacher nor did he have any regular disciples. As we have seen, while he 167
168 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

had been a prominent figure in the public walkways and gathering

places of Athens, conversing with anyone, citizen or foreigner, young or
old, who cared to listen, Socrates did not conform to the accepted defi-
nition of a teacher. He explains: “If anyone likes to come and hear me
while I am pursuing my mission, whether he be young or old, he is not
excluded, nor do I converse with those who pay; but anyone, whether
he be rich or poor, may ask and answer me and listen to my words; and
whether he turns out to be a bad man or a good one, neither result can
be justly imputed to me; for I never taught or professed to teach him
anything.”? By Athenian standards, without a traditional doctrine to
inculcate, he could hardly be called a teacher. Nevertheless, Socrates did,
by example, teach a method of critical thinking in which every value was
subject to questioning. He also taught that one must cultivate virtue in
the interest of perfecting the soul. If some individuals enjoy his company,
Socrates suggests, with obvious sarcasm, it is because they enjoy observ-
ing him deflate those who pretend to wisdom. If he has in fact corrupted
the young, he concludes, either the corrupted individuals or members of
their families would have testified against him. But no one did. Hence,
it is evident that “I am speaking the truth and that Meletus is a liar.”*
But many Athenians blamed Socrates for the destructive effects of
his philosophic method. It is one thing to encourage the young to think
critically, but, unless discredited traditional values are replaced by posi-
tive doctrine, immoral self-interest easily fills the vacuum. Those who
destroy must create anew. Although Socrates devoted his life to assisting
others to think more clearly about virtues, this abstract thinking would
not in itself have improved their ability to judge right from wrong in
concrete situations. As Hannah Arendt observed, Socrates’ associates,
Alcibiades and Critias, were aroused by the gadfly to “license and cyni-
cism. Not content with being taught how to think without being taught
a doctrine, they changed the non-results of the Socratic thinking exami-
nation into negative results: If we cannot define what piety is, let us be
impious—which is pretty much the opposite of what Socrates had hoped
to achieve by talking about piety.”* These associates of Socrates betrayed
their master by directing his critical techniques toward immoral ends.
Arendt argues that the cynical nihilism of men like Alcibiades and
Critias arose not out of “the Socratic conviction that an unexamined life
 The Trial Concludes 169

is not worth living but, on the contrary, out of the desire to find results
which would make further thinking unnecessary.”° Nevertheless, some
Athenians might have found Socrates culpable precisely because he
refused to become a teacher in the traditional sense. Given the ethical
collapse of Athenian society during the Peloponnesian War, the philoso-
pher might have rendered a valuable service by teaching positive doc-
trine, specifying the moral reform necessary to save the polis. History
demonstrates that the multitude, even when able and courageous
enough to think for themselves, clamor for guidance, especially during
periods of crisis.

REJECTING AN APPEAL FOR SYMPATHY

As Socrates’ speech nears conclusion, he surprises the court by depart-
ing from the conventional peroration. He will refuse to resort to the
device of now bringing his family and friends, including children, onto
the speaker’s rostrum to solicit the sympathy of the jury. Indeed, had
Socrates indulged in such a conventional argumentum ad misericordiam,
his speech would have become an “apology” in the modern sense of a
repentance instead of a bold justification. He prefaces his remarks by
conceding that some members of the jury, having also been tried, might
be offended, for even in cases involving less than a capital offense, they
had no compunction about presenting a pathetic spectacle of themselves
and their families pleading for mercy. According to tradition, the great
Pericles himself wept openly as he implored an Athenian jury to spare
the life of his mistress Aspasia, accused of impiety by his enemies.” Such
appeals for pity from jurors had become a standard in Athenian courts.’
By publicly admitting their powerlessness, defendants became suppli-
ants, renouncing their honor in the hopes of gaining an acquittal. In a
culture that prized honor inordinately, such public humiliations, while
common, must have devastated many defendants. But Socrates refuses
to plead for clemency. He does not want the court’s pity.
Some jurors might have concluded that Socrates, simply by men-
tioning his family had found a more subtle way to elicit their compas-
sion. Yet he could not completely ignore his family. Lest refusing to
include them in his defense be viewed as a sign of familial disaffection,
170 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

he reminds the jury that he too has relatives. In addition to his wife,
Xanthippe, Socrates had three sons, one almost grown, two still chil-
dren. But, as we have noted, devotion to his mission had led him not
only to reject Athenian public life but also to neglect his family. In doing
so, Socrates stood at odds with what the ancient Greeks saw as essential
to being human. Yet he affirms a familial connection, however tenuous.
Employing words from Homer, he declares that he is “a creature of flesh
and blood and not ‘of wood or stone.’”’ The phrase, “not of wood or
stone,” which had become proverbial in Socrates’ day, occurs twice in
Homer, first in relation to the theme of identity, then as a forecast of
death."° Penelope uses the phrase in requesting Odysseus, having finally
returned home in disguise, to give an account of his ancestry. As a
human, not “of wood or stone,” he must have relatives. The jury was
challenged to differentiate the true Socrates from his many masks, just
as Penelope had been challenged by Odysseus. Moreover, the phrase
appears in Hector’s final speech in the Iliad, as he contemplates his
imminent death at the hands of Achilles. Hector is named three times in
a few sentences in the Apology.'' As Socrates now stood before the
Athenian court, he too, like Hector, anticipated his ultimate fate.
Socrates believes that his departure from traditional practice war-
rants an explanation. A pathetic plea for his life involving his family, he
insists, would be dishonorable for someone of his age and reputation.
Whether true or false, he is nevertheless perceived as “in some way supe-
rior to other men.” It would, therefore, be shameful for anyone like him-
self, “superior in wisdom and courage, and any other virtue,” to engage
in degrading supplication to convince a jury to spare his life. Socrates
thus elevates himself, along with other “virtuous” men, beyond the mun-
dane concerns of the masses. With a remark that could not fail to further
anger many jurors, Socrates claims that the pathetic and unmanly act of
pleading for clemency would disgrace the entire city. Indeed, any foreign
visitor “would have said of them that the most eminent men of Athens,
to whom the Athenians themselves give honour and command, are no
better than women.”” Socrates thus alleges that many Athenian citizens,
who prided themselves on their “manly” behavior on the battlefield, had
behaved like cowards in the lawcourts. For the Greeks, andreia, or
courage, was considered a virtue exclusive to men and was usually trans-
 The Trial Concludes 171

lated as “manliness.” Any public display of grief, sorrow, or fear was

regarded as “natural” only for women. In fact, such sentiments were
institutionalized in the ritual mourning by women at funerals.”
Moreover, Socrates argues, pleading for mercy would be unjust; the jury
ought to be convinced not by sentiment but by argument and facts alone.
Their duty is “not to make a present of justice, but to give judgment.”
Finally, an emotional appeal would also be impious, for the jurors had
taken a sacred oath to render a just and lawful verdict. If Socrates
indulges in passionate entreaties to influence the jury, he would, ironi-
cally, convict himself of the contempt for religion and disbelief in the gods
alleged in the indictment. Then, in an astonishing reversal of the charges,
the man accused of impiety alleges that his piety exceeds that of those
who would condemn him: “I do believe that there are gods, and in a
sense higher than that in which any of my accusers believe in them.”"
With this claim, Socrates lets his defense rest. He declares, with noble res-
ignation, that he will commit his cause to the jury and to God, “to be
determined by you as is best for you and me.”' In essence, the jurors
must decide whether philosophy and Athenian politics can coexist.
The arguments completed, the herald of the court requested the
jurors to proceed with their decision. As in all Athenian trials, the jurors
did not discuss the case among themselves. Having tossed the gauntlet
before the court, Socrates awaited the verdict. Judging Socrates would
not be easy, for the Athenian legal system placed juries under an extraor-
dinary challenge. In fulfilling their responsibility, they had to interpret
the law, determine the standard of proof, and render a decision accord-
ing to the best interests of the polis. Their task was made more difficult
by the fact that Socrates was a complex and elusive personality. Indeed,
the jurors had been presented with a veritable kaleidoscope of often con-
flicting images of the philosopher throughout the daylong trial. To some,
Socrates must have appeared like the mythical Proteus, capable of
assuming many different forms.
The defense speech of Socrates presents modern readers with the
same rigorous challenge. There is the accused Socrates of the indictment,
the impious corrupter of the young, the teacher of Alcibiades and
Critias. There is Socrates of Aristophanes’ Clouds, the Sophist, the irre-
sponsible teacher of deceptive rhetoric, and Socrates as the follower of
iN SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

Anaxagoras, the natural scientist and atheist. There is Socrates the bad
citizen, the unpolitical man who, by shunning partisan public politics,
accentuates his difference from his fellow citizens, setting himself apart
from the community; Socrates the critic of conventional rhetoric, who
flouts accepted lawcourt discourse; Socrates the provocative iconoclast,
the threat to established beliefs and values; Socrates the arrogant self-
righteous accuser of Athens, a man without the traditional sense of
shame; Socrates, who wears the mask of ignorance, who ridicules the
pretense of those who profess wisdom; Socrates the reformer, who
claims a personal relation to God, bestowing a divine mission upon him-
self to sting the conscience of the Athenians; Socrates the sole recipient
of a cautionary divine voice. Moreover, there is the Socrates who
humbly acknowledges his ignorance before the great questions; Socrates
the obedient servant of Apollo; Socrates the hero, the new Achilles and
Heracles; Socrates the gadfly, the moral interrogator and intellectual
midwife; Socrates the man of conscience and the advocate of a new rhet-
oric of truth; Socrates the husband and father, the impoverished elderly
citizen, the patriotic defender of Athens in time of war, at once the
defender of the constitution and the defiant civil disobedient. From these
various images, the jury had to construct the identity of the defendant as
they reflected on how to cast their ballots.

PROPOSING A COUNTERPENALTY
After deliberating, the jury turned in a verdict condemning Socrates by
the modest margin of sixty votes. The judgment was recorded by the
clerk of the court. Assuming a jury of 500 members, 280 voted for con-
viction, 220 for acquittal.'* Each juror cast his vote into one of two urns,
one for conviction, the other acquittal. What surprised Socrates was not
his conviction, but the closeness of the vote. Given his provocative
speech and the prejudice against him, he knew that a vote to condemn
him could have been overwhelming. Were it not for the assistance of
Anytus and Lycon, he alleges, Meletus would have failed to obtain,
according to law, the minimum twenty percent of the total votes for con-
viction, and hence would have incurred a fine. The closeness of the ver-
dict may in part be explained by the fact that the jurors, challenged to
 The Trial Concludes

deal with a number of difficult issues, had been in deep conflict over
Socrates. They had to balance their professed value of freedom with the
best interests of the polis. Socrates undoubtedly had many supporters.
We should not attribute malevolence to everyone who condemned him.
Socrates was not the victim of an angry, irrational mob. Perhaps many
supporters were members of the jury, while others were spectators who
presumably reacted vociferously during the speeches of the prosecution.
Moreover, despite its defiant nature, Socrates’ speech must have per-
suaded many jurors who were not inclined at first to be sympathetic.
Perhaps they were ready to learn the lessons of the Peloponnesian War
and heed the philosopher’s warning to care for their souls. At the same
time, the verdict demonstrates that the majority of jurors, while proba-
bly reluctant to execute the philosopher, concluded that he was a danger
to the polis. They knew that a vote to acquit Socrates would provide
legal sanction for his philosophic mission. Having observed the defen-
dant convert his trial into a trial of Athens, in their view making a trav-
esty of the legal process, they realized that an acquittal would have
amounted to a condemnation of the city.
In cases such as that of Socrates, known as an agon timétos, where,
owing to degrees of culpability, the law provided no statutory punish-
ment, after a guilty verdict, the penalty rested with the litigants and the
jurors. The prosecution offered one penalty, while the convicted person
submitted a naturally more lenient alternative. The jury would then
choose between the two penalties. Unlike modern trials, not only the
verdict but also the penalty was determined by the jury, not by a pro-
fessional judge.” In these situations, since the penalty would be the
product of a compromise, the prosecution’s interest dictated proposing
the most severe penalty it could expect the jury to inflict. Accordingly,
the prosecution mounted the speakers’ platform and demanded the
death penalty. They probably hoped that, confronted with capital pun-
ishment, Socrates would propose exile, a penalty stringent enough to
satisfy the jury.
Socrates begins the final phase of his trial by asking the jury rhetor-
ically what penalty he really deserves. He reminds the court how much
his life has differed from that of others, how he did not care for wealth
or material comforts, high military or civil rank, political organizations
174 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

or factions. He thus reinforces his difference. Indeed, he appears to man-

ifest aspects of what Aristotle later termed megalopsychia, magnanimity
or greatness of soul, as one who has lived a life of exceptional virtue,
transcending the narrow and self-serving interests of the masses. As
Socrates announces to the court, invoking again his philosophic mission:
“I did not go where I could do no good to you or to myself; but where
I could do the greatest good privately to every one of you, thither I went,
and sought to persuade every man among you that he must look to him-
self, and seek virtue and wisdom before he looks to his private interests,
and look to the state before he looks to the interests of the state; and that
this should be the order which he observes in all his actions.”’* In other
words, the Athenians should be more concerned with the state’s moral
welfare than with its material possessions. In promoting this ideal,
Socrates was unique: a private man who is a public benefactor.” For
such service to the polis, Socrates declares, he deserves not punishment,
but a reward! Considering his poverty, he suggests that just treatment
would consist of providing him with the support necessary to continue
his moral mission: public maintenance at the city’s expense in the
Prytaneum! Was he merely taunting the jury?
In Athens, the Prytaneum, a sort of state house located in the agora,
contained the sacred hearth of Hestia that symbolized the life of the
polis.*° It also functioned as a public dining room, in which foreign
ambassadors were received and distinguished citizens, such as generals
and athletic victors in the Olympic contests, were provided with meals
at public expense. Maintenance at the Prytaneum was associated with
the traditional heroic ideal, in which virtue (areté) and goodness
(agathos) were honorific terms applied to those whose prowess, physi-
cal or mental, brought them fame. To invite someone to dine at the
Prytaneum was regarded as one of the highest honors Athens could
bestow.
To Socrates, the Prytaneum would be a fitting residence for the
philosopher-hero. In his view, as the city’s moral benefactor, devoting his
life to exposing ignorance and nurturing souls, the least the Athenians
should do in return is to provide him with physical sustenance. For,
according to his conception of virtue, good ought to be returned for
good. Even though Socrates knew that his request would be rebuffed, it
 The Trial Concludes

bears significance. He is announcing that philosophy deserves the high-

est place of honor in the city. He is also reasserting his identification
with the Greek heroic tradition. Having compared himself with Achilles
and Heracles, Socrates now sets himself above those whom the heroic
tradition chose to lionize for success in various contests, military and
athletic. Instead of punishing him as a malefactor, he believes that the
Athenians should honor and celebrate him as the philosopher-hero, the
moral benefactor of the city. In effect, Socrates told the jury, you must
either kill me or reward me! At this point in the trial, even those sym-
pathetic to the philosopher probably believed that he had made the
death sentence inescapable. Let us assume that Socrates’ outlandish
request had been granted. Hostile jurors might have envisioned the fol-
lowing scenario. In a festival for the gods—either the Great Dionysia or
the Panathenaea—Socrates, like celebrated athletic heroes, would
parade on stage to the accompaniment of music and fanfare. A decree of
honor would be proclaimed and a wreath would be placed upon his
head. Then this impious philosopher, who held his own private religious
views and probably corrupted the young, those who represent the future
of Athens, would be rewarded with a pension for life. With a statement
that must have infuriated the jury, Socrates contends that he deserves
this honor much more than the athletic victor at Olympia, for he “only
gives you the appearance of happiness and I give you the reality.””
After indicating that if he had more than the one day allotted to
address the court, as was apparently the practice of other cities in capi-
tal cases, he might have won an acquittal, Socrates proceeds to explain
why each of the possible alternative penalties is unacceptable.
Imprisonment is rejected, for this would mean enslavement to the legal
authorities, the board of Eleven magistrates, chosen annually by lot,
who supervised the prison and carried out sentences.” At the same time,
given his poverty, a fine with imprisonment until paid would be tanta-
mount to the same thing—slavery. For Socrates, imprisonment was
objectionable because it would not only end his philosophic mission but
also deprive him of the autonomy necessary for a moral being. Another
penalty found in Athenian law, which Socrates mentions but does not
offer as an alternative, was loss of civil rights.27 Most citizens would
have regarded this penalty almost as severe as death. Socrates would
176 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

have been stripped of the right to vote, hold public office, enter a tem-
ple, speak in the Assembly or in a lawcourt, become a member of the
Council, or serve on a jury.’ Had he given them the opportunity, many
jurors might have voted for this penalty. Yet because Socrates studiously
avoided these public forums, this punishment would have left him free
to continue his philosophic mission.
Finally, Socrates considers exile, the penalty, he suggests, most of his
enemies expected him to accept. As the enemy of the polis, the philoso-
pher would be expelled from the community. The Athenians would then
be rid of the gadfly, yet free from the responsibility of executing him. If
Socrates accepted exile, he could have assumed for many Athenians the
role of the scapegoat, or pharmakos. Each year, during a spring religious
festival of Apollo, known as the Thargelia, and especially during periods
of severe crisis such as war, famine, or plague, the Athenians garlanded
two ugly persons, the pharmakoi, with a string of figs and expelled them
from the city as an act of ritual purification.** As Jean-Pierre Vernant
observes: “In the person of the ostracized one the city expels whatever
it is in it that is too high and that embodies the evil that can fall on it
from above. In that of the pharmakos, it expels whatever is most vile
and embodies the evil that threatens it from below.”* For the Athenians,
Socrates could fulfill either role. As a superior person, he could, like the
great Themistocles, be ostracized; as the aged philosopher with a visage
of Silenus, he could be the scapegoat.
But for Socrates to submit to exile would legitimate the indictment
and be interpreted as an admission of guilt. Moreover, his commitment
to philosophy would, he says, engender, in city after city, the same
charge of corrupting the young, making him, at his advanced age, a per-
petual wanderer. There was yet another, unstated reason why Socrates
rejected exile. The ancient city was regarded not only as a dwelling place
but also as the vital matrix from which an individual sprung. As Fustel
de Coulanges observed: “Country holds man attached to it by a sacred
tie. He must love it as he loves his religion, obey it as he obeys a god. He
must give himself to it entirely. . . . Socrates, unjustly condemned by it,
must not love it the less. He must love it as Abraham loved his God, even
to sacrificing his son for it. Above all, one must know how to die for
it.””” If Socrates accepted exile, he would become apolis, without a city,
 The Trial Concludes 177

even more alien than he was as a philosopher in Athens. The most

pathetic figure, for the Greeks, is the stateless person.
Socrates anticipates, by means of a fifth fictitious “objector,” that
someone might inquire why he does not attempt to avoid exile or death
by agreeing to end his philosophic mission, and hence spend the rest of
his life in Athens minding his own affairs. As we have noted, the “objec-
tors” played an essential rhetorical role throughout Socrates’ speech,
enabling him to control, to a large extent, the issues and questions to be
considered by the jury. The first objector permitted him to explain the
origins of his philosophic mission with the Delphic oracle; the second
objector allowed him to assert that living a moral life is more important
than a long life and to associate himself with the Greek heroic ideal that
he was in the process of transforming; the third objector gave Socrates
the opportunity to reject a hypothetical plea bargain, demonstrating that
his loyalty to God is superior to his obligation to obey the state; the
fourth objector permitted him not only to explain his abstention from
Athenian politics but also to introduce his monitory divine voice; finally,
the fifth objector enabled him to express his profound commitment to a
life of philosophic examination, both of himself and others. The intro-
duction of these “objectors,” therefore, made it possible for Socrates to
raise questions that might not have been addressed in a more straight-
forward speech. Indeed, the “objectors” served as introductions to the
most significant and provocative aspects of his defense.
Conceding that the jury will think he is merely speaking ironically,
Socrates responds to the fifth “objector” by persisting in his claim that
to abstain from philosophy would violate the command of Apollo. If he
continues to live, it must be in Athens, as a philosopher. He must not
desert his mission. For Socrates, the “greatest good of man” is the prac-
tice of philosophy, discussing virtue daily, examining oneself and others.
The purpose of philosophy is to show humans how they ought to live.
With the most famous words from the Apology, Socrates proclaims:
“The unexamined life is not worth living for a human being.” He
would not choose to live any other way.
In compliance with the court’s legal demand, Socrates reluctantly
agreed to accept a fine of one mina of silver, the largest he could afford,
and hence would do him no harm. He did not interpret this penalty as
178 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

compromising his principles, since he did not regard it as an admission

of guilt. Yet the fine would have been substantial for Socrates. Indeed,
according to Xenophon, one mina would have been equivalent to a fifth
of Socrates’ entire property.” A skilled craftsman would earn a wage of
about a mina over one hundred days. Nevertheless, expecting the jury to
reject this fine as unsuitable for a capital offense, Socrates’ friends, Plato,
Crito, Critobolus, and Apollodorus, immediately increased it to thirty
minae, on their security. Socrates agreed. This larger fine had consider-
able purchasing power in 399 B.c. According to one estimate, it would
be equal to approximately eight-and-a-half years’ wages for a skilled
craftsman.” Yet the jury was aware that Socrates, as demonstrated by
his proposal of free maintenance in the Prytaneum, was unrepentant.
Moreover, since the largest part of the proposed fine would have been
paid by Socrates’ friends, the philosopher could hardly be regarded as
one severely punished. Most importantly, despite the size of the fine,
Socrates had made it clear that he would not cease his critical activity.
His refusal to accept exile placed the majority of the jurors in the diffi-
cult position of having to choose between imposing a fine, allowing
Socrates to remain in Athens to continue his philosophic mission, and
the death penalty.
The tragic conflict between Socrates and Athens, between philoso-
phy and politics, thus reached a climax. After deliberating, a majority of
the jurors voted for the execution of Socrates rather than continue to
expose themselves to his relentless scrutiny. This time, according to
Diogenes Laertius, a greater majority, eighty more than the vote for con-
viction, condemned the philosopher.*' Thus the final condemning vote
was 360 to 140. Needless to say, Socrates’ most fervent supporters had
voted for the fine. Probably most of those who had voted for his con-
viction now voted for the death sentence. The possibility of imposing a
fine, even if substantial for Socrates, did not deter the majority from
inflicting the most severe penalty. Having originally convicted the
philosopher, many could not countenance nullifying their condemning
vote by agreeing to a penalty they regarded as tantamount to an acquit-
tal. Some jurors, believing Socrates to be guilty but not wanting to take
responsibility for his death, conceivably voted for the fine. And perhaps
some who originally voted for acquittal, angered by Socrates’ suggestion
 The Trial Concludes 179

that he be rewarded with free maintenance in the Prytaneum as the city’s

greatest benefactor, voted for his execution. The philosopher would be
compelled by law to drink a cup of poison hemlock.

TRUTH FAILS TO PERSUADE

Socrates did with his defense speech what he had attempted to avoid
throughout his life—address a large body of Athenians on matters of state.
Although he had scored some penetrating blows, his speech must be
judged a failure according to the standards of forensic oratory later sys-
tematized by Aristotle in his Rhetoric. As George Grote observed: “No
one who reads the ‘Platonic Apology’ of Sokrates will ever wish that he
made any other defense. But it is the speech of one who deliberately fore-
goes the immediate purpose of a defense—persuasion of the judges.”*? We
have seen that Aristotle outlined three modes of persuasion applicable to
forensic rhetoric: reason or argument (Jogos), emotion (pathos), and char-
acter (éthos). These modes are interrelated, as a speaker can hardly engage
in one without at the same time employing, in varying degrees, the other
two. By classical standards, good rhetoric is successful rhetoric. A speech
may be eloquent and truthful, but unless persuasive, it must be judged
deficient. Many jurors undoubtedly gave Socrates mixed reviews for his
arguments. While they might have conceded some points, they also prob-
ably suspected that they were being manipulated by a crafty Sophist. Who
but a Sophist could manage to convert his own defense into a trial of the
Athenians? Indeed, Socrates’ speech contained a number of reversals. The
supposedly ignorant man claimed superior human wisdom, the unpoliti-
cal man purported to be most beneficial to the polis, the allegedly impious
man claimed to be the most pious, the accused corrupter of the youth pre-
sented himself as their only improver, and the man of apparently unheroic
stature elevated himself to a hero. The jurors would have also noted that
Socrates did not meet each count in the official indictment unequivocally.
Instead of directly answering the charge of not acknowledging the city’s
gods, he goaded Meletus to expand the accusation from heterodoxy to
atheism, thus contradicting the literal indictment. Instead of rebutting the
charge that he corrupted the youth, Socrates projected himself as the city’s
great moral benefactor.
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

While argument (logos) was undeniably an important element in

Socrates’ speech, the emotions (pathos) aroused in his audience and the
character (éthos) displayed by the speaker were equally important.
Arguments alone are insufficient to persuade, for human beings are
often induced to judge and act from emotion. Aristotle later contended
that eliciting a favorable emotional response from one’s audience is most
important in judicial speeches.*? The master rhetorician is a superb psy-
chologist. Yet Socrates refused to conciliate the jurors or solicit their
sympathy. He would have nothing to do with the typical forensic ploy
of “appealing to the gallery” with an argumentum ad populum. On the
contrary, as we have noted, his speech was an act of defiance. He
claimed to be God’s gift to the city and arrogated heroic stature for him-
self. The defendant presented himself as Athens’ critic, threatening to
undermine basic values of the community. Ethos is intimately related to
pathos, for a speaker who instills a sense of his good character in an
audience also elicits benevolent feelings. A defendant who angers his
judges is perceived as having poor character. Many jurors must have
resented Socrates’ claim that, prejudiced by the “old accusers,” ”
they
were incapable of giving him a fair trial. Moreover, his interrogation of
Meletus reminded many jurors of how vulnerable they also were to the
philosopher’s critical scrutiny. And Socrates’ pursuit of his own style of
private politics, deliberately avoiding conventional political forums,
induced many to regard him as a bad citizen. His gravest offense, per-
haps, was the bold insistence that his duty to philosophy was superior
to his duty to obey the state. Indeed, he would defy any government that
attempted to terminate his philosophic mission. In summary, the speech
of Socrates provoked, rather than persuaded.

PARTING WORDS TO ENEMIES

Having received the death sentence, Socrates avails himself of the oppor-
tunity to address the jurors while the court officials attended to neces-
sary business, recording the judgment and the death warrant, before
escorting him to prison. He devotes a few minutes to a valedictory, first
to those who voted for his death and then to those who voted for his
acquittal. This part of the Apology might be Plato’s invention; it is
 The Trial Concludes 181

uncertain whether Socrates had an opportunity to speak after his sen-

tencing, for it does not seem to have been standard practice in Athenian
courts. If Socrates did utter some parting words, his friends would have
listened, but it is less likely that the convicting jurors would have
remained in court to hear Socrates berate them. If he did not deliver such
an address, Plato could have composed the words in retrospect, reflect-
ing what he believed Socrates might have said if given the opportunity.
Similar addresses by Socrates to the jury after the trial are also found in
Xenophon’s Apology; however, this version is probably based upon that
of Plato.*
To those who voted for his death, Socrates wonders why they could
not, given his advanced age, simply have waited for nature to take its
course, instead of leaving Athens open to criticism from its enemies.
Those who wish to revile Athens in the future for executing him, he pre-
dicts, will say he was “wise” even if he was not—one more dose of
Socratic irony. Here he capitalizes on the importance that Athenians
placed upon avoiding shame. Indeed, as Kenneth Dover’s analysis of
Athenian speeches demonstrates, in addressing juries and the Assembly,
orators often appealed to the citizenry’s inordinate concern with reputa-
tion: “‘What will be said of you [by your fellow citizens]?’, ‘How will
you be regarded .. . ??” This naturally became: “‘What will the Greek
world think of Athens... 2’, ‘It will be shameful for Athens... .’”*
Although many might believe that he could have presented other argu-
ments or done certain things to secure acquittal, Socrates has no regrets
about his defense. His conviction stemmed not from lack of argument,
he proclaims—in a statement that must have stung with its irony—but
from his lacking “the boldness or impudence or inclination to address
you as you would have liked me to do.”** One imagines that the con-
victing jurors, if still present in the court, would have responded that it
was indeed the “boldness” and “impudence” of his defense that led to
his condemnation. Nevertheless, Socrates concludes, alluding to his refusal
to plead for mercy from the court: “I would rather die having spoken after
my manner,” he declares, “than speak in your manner and live.””
Drawing another implied connection between himself and the Greek
hero, Socrates, the new Achilles, then affirms: “For neither in war nor yet
at law ought I or any man to use every way of escaping death.” In bat-
182 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

tle, he alleges, one can avoid death by surrendering in dishonor to one’s

pursuers. If one is “willing to say and do anything,” one can escape a
b]

host of dangers. Socrates is reminding the jury once again that the
prospect of death did not deter him from upholding his principles. Most
difficult to escape, he argues, is not death, but unrighteousness. While he
will be overtaken by death, his accusers will be condemned by the truth,
overtaken by unrighteousness, which “runs faster than death.” He con-
cludes with a prophecy, “for I am about to die, and in the hour of death
men are gifted with prophetic power.” Invoking this prevalent ancient
belief in the prophetic ability granted to those on the brink of death,
Socrates’ vision reinforces the relationship he sees between himself and
the ancient Greek heroic ideal. The dying Patroclus predicts Hector’s
death at the hands of Achilles; and Hector, when slain by Achilles, fore-
tells Achilles’ death at the hands of Paris. Like an Athenian Jeremiah,
Socrates predicts that soon after his death, “punishment far heavier than
you have inflicted on me will surely await you.”* As the agent of Apollo,
the God of prophecy, Socrates had delivered a prediction. Whereas he
had admonished the jury earlier that they would suffer if they executed
him, for they would not easily find a successor to him, he now promises
Athens more critics, younger and more numerous. While not operating
under explicit divine command, these critics, associates of Socrates
whom, he says, he has up to now somehow restrained, will nevertheless
fulfill God’s wish, holding the Athenians accountable for their actions.
Thus, the city will continue to be examined and prodded by Socrates’
philosophic heirs. Having unjustly condemned its greatest moral bene-
factor, Athens would be convicted before the court of history.

PARTING WORDS TO FRIENDS

Socrates now turns his attention to those who voted to acquit him. We
have noted that throughout his defense, and in his remarks to those who
convicted him, Socrates addressed the members of the court as “jurors”
or simply as “men of Athens.” Only now, in an address to the acquitting
jurors, does he deliberately use the term “judges” (dikastai). Meletus, of
course, had been careful from the beginning to refer to the jurors as
“judges,” thus avoiding any suspicion that he regarded them as less than
 The Trial Concludes 183

completely upright.*? Although jurors functioned also as judges in the

Athenian legal system, Socrates obviously believed that a “Judge” must
merit the title by rendering just decisions. Throughout his trial, as we
have seen, Socrates refrained from the usual forensic practice of praising
the alleged competence, impartiality, and piety of the jury.” From the
outset, he insisted that his case must be decided solely upon the bases of
truth and justice. He had implored the jury, we recall, to reach their deci-
sion not according to his “manner, which may or may not be good; but
think only of the justice of my cause. .. . [L]et the judge decide justly
and the speaker speak truly.”*! Socrates reserved calling any of the
jurors “judges” until after they demonstrated whether they deserved
the honorific name. Now that the verdict has been rendered, Socrates
is in effect telling the jury that, while he had spoken truly, the convict-
ing jurors did not decide justly, hence forfeiting the title of judges. By
reserving the title for those who had voted for acquittal, he registered
his disagreement with the verdict and continued to assert himself as the
judge of Athens.
To those who voted to acquit, Socrates offers words to reconcile
them to his fate. Although condemned to death, he believes that some-
thing “wonderful” had nevertheless happened to him. We recall that
before Socrates began his defense, he had resigned his fate to God.” He
now informs his friends that neither when he left home for the court that
morning, nor when he mounted the rostrum to speak, nor at any point
in his speech, did his divine voice attempt to deter him. Socrates con-
cludes, therefore, that this is an intimation that his death will be a good
one. There are additional grounds, he maintains, to hope for a good
result for himself. Death is either complete annihilation or a migration
of the soul—his third and final mention of the soul in the Apology—to
some other place. If annihilation, the dead are without consciousness, as
in a dreamless sleep. The prospect of thus escaping the tribulations of
life, he alleges, would be viewed as a gift by the Great King of Persia
himself, proverbially regarded by the Greeks as enjoying the ultimate
earthly happiness. If, on the other hand, death is a migration to another
place, Socrates declares that the blessing would be even greater.’ Here
he reflects the human hope in some form of immortality or existence
after death. As Socrates declares in Plato’s Phaedo, swans sing before
184 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

death, not as a lamentation, but because, as Apollo’s sacred birds, they

anticipate the good life that is to come.”
The greater blessing that an afterlife offers, Socrates explains, will
stem from the people he would have the opportunity to meet. He then
situates himself within the Greek heroic tradition. In a journey to the
world of the dead, reminiscent of the Odyssey, he imagines that he
would meet people such as Minos, Rhadamanthys, Aeacus, and
Triptolemus, renowned for their just lives on earth and now appointed
judges in the underworld. In placing himself ironically in the honored
position of a philosopher in Hades, Socrates boldly appropriated a func-
tion of the polis; the Greeks inferred that those honored by the living on
earth received equivalent honor in the underworld.** In Hades, beyond
the reach of the “judges” of Athens, he will appear before the transcen-
dent tribunal of truth. Hence, Socrates expresses faith in an eternal jus-
tice beyond the fallible justice of this world. Interestingly, he does not
say that he would at last in the afterlife attain the wisdom that had been
his pursuit, for, as he said in his defense, true wisdom is the possession
of the gods alone. But he does envision meeting the great teachers of the
Greeks, Orpheus, Musaeus, Hesiod, and Homer, all revered for their
wisdom. Socrates confesses that if this account is indeed true, he would
be willing to “die again and again.”** He would also meet Palamedes
and Ajax, the son of Telemon, and other heroes who, like himself, were
condemned to death unjustly. Significantly, he omits any mention of a
possible encounter with Achilles, the Homeric warrior-hero whom he, as
philosopher-hero, superseded.
But the greatest pleasure, Socrates alleges, would come from the
opportunity to examine and search minds, “to find out who is wise, and
who pretends to be wise and is not.” He longs to interrogate such fig-
ures as Agamemnon, Odysseus, Sisyphus, and “numberless others, men
and women too.” Here, free from the confines of patriarchal Greek cul-
ture, Socrates would be able to include women within his philosophic
mission. Given the restrictive conventions of Greek society, in which
women were virtually confined to the home and relegated to an inferior
status, Socrates’ interrogations in this life were reserved to men. He
would thus be unrestrained in his practice of philosophy. Surely, he pre-
sumes, unable to resist one final barb against his accusers, philosophers
 The Trial Concludes 185

would not be executed for critical activity in the underworld. The silence
of the divine voice, in this climactic moment of Socrates’ life, had also
given him greater insight into death. For while earlier he had noted that
no one knows what death brings, he is now certain that “no evil can
happen to a good man, either in life or after death. He and his are not
neglected by the gods; nor has my approaching end happened by mere
chance.” Implying that Apollo had now released him from the burden
of his philosophic mission, Socrates proclaims that it is “better for me to
die and be released from trouble.”
Before closing, Socrates insists that he bears no ill will toward either
his three accusers or the jurors who condemned him, for in truth they
cannot hurt him. Nevertheless, he alleges, they still bear responsibility
for their actions and must live with the consequences. Socrates then
makes a surprising request of those who had condemned him. If his
sons, when they grow up, value material wealth rather than goodness,
the condemning jurors must reprove them as he had reproved the
Athenians. If the condemning jurors grant him this favor, he insists, they
will have done justice not only to his children but also to him.“* Thus,
with an ironic barb, Socrates implies that the Athenians will eventually
repent and devote themselves to morality and justice. In effect, he is
requesting the condemning jurors to take over his role as father, in loco
parentis, as he had served as a father to his city. If so, Socrates proclaims,
he will have received posthumous justice from Athens. He thus makes a
last attempt to transform the traditional Greek conception of the hero,
promoting himself as the ideal. Pericles had summed up the old heroic
ideal in his Funeral Speech, commemorating those who died defending
Athens as great benefactors of the city and offering their orphaned chil-
dren support at public expense until they came of age. Socrates requests
the same benefit, but as a hero in a new moral sense. Each year, during
the Great Dionysia, the dramatic festival of the city, orphans whose
fathers had been killed in battle, and who had therefore been educated
by the state and reached maturity, were paraded in full hoplite armor.”
The ceremony was designed to pay homage to those who had given their
life to the community. Now prepared to emulate the courage of their
heroic fathers, the sons and the entire community participated in a rit-
ual lesson in citizenship. As Socrates’ final request to the condemning
186 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

jurors on behalf of his sons makes clear, he believed that, as the great
benefactor of Athens, he deserved the same honor granted to those war-
rior heroes who had died for the city.
As the court officials approached to lead him off to jail, Socrates
suggested that the jurors contemplate an enduring philosophical issue:
“The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways—I to die, and
you to live. Which is better God only knows.”® The Apology offers the
response of Socrates the philosopher to this culminating rhetorical ques-
tion: It is better to die with integrity than live an unexamined life.
 Chapter 11

SOCRATES AND CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE:

THE CRITO

SOCRATES AND ANTIGONE

O ATHENIAN ANTICIPATED that the tragic conflict portrayed on
stage in Sophocles’ Antigone foreshadowed the drama of the
trial of Socrates. Life imitated art. The philosopher remained
steadfast in his devotion to his divine mission until the end. As we have
seen, he declared to the jury that, were they to grant him an acquittal on
condition that he obey an injunction to cease philosophizing, he would
defy the court, thus committing civil disobedience. The question was not
whether the court had the legal authority to issue such an injunction—
it probably did not—but whether any state institution could command
individuals to violate their conscience. Socrates held that whenever there
is a conflict of obligations, duty to God takes precedence over duty to
any secular authority. Indeed, he had demonstrated his commitment to
act on his moral principles when he risked his life by resisting the
Assembly in the trial of the generals and when he defied the command
of the Thirty to arrest Leon of Salamis. Socrates refused categorically to
violate his moral principles, or what he conceived to be the higher com-
mand of God; no human law, no Assembly, no court could compel him 187
188 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

to act otherwise. Could Athens continue to tolerate a person who held

that his conscience was superior to the state? Did not Socrates in effect
declare that he was above the law?
Socrates took a stand similar to that of Sophocles’ female protago-
nist. Produced in 441 B.c., when Athens’ power was at its zenith,
Antigone was performed throughout the Peloponnesian War and was
familiar to most citizens.! We have indicated the interrelationship
between the themes of tragic drama and Athenian politics. The conflict
between Socrates and Athens, like that between Antigone and Creon,
King of Thebes, was a conflict between principles. Inherent within the
dual system of Athenian law—the law of the gods and the law of the
polis—lay the possibility of conflict. Individuals might find themselves
in unavoidable circumstances in which obeying a divine law would
require disobeying a law or command of the polis. Antigone illustrates
that the question of an individual conscientiously violating a state law
was openly debated in the time of Socrates. Antigone rejects Creon’s
proclamation forbidding the ritual burial of her brother Polyneices, a
traitor to the city, basing her conscientious disobedience on the tradi-
tional family bond sanctioned by the higher law of the gods. “That
order,” she declares to Creon, “did not come from God. Justice, that
dwells with the gods below, knows no such law. I did not think your
edicts strong enough to overrule the unwritten unalterable laws of God
and heaven, you being only a man.”? Creon, protests Antigone, had
encroached upon the jurisdiction of the gods. Involved in a conflict of
orders, Antigone chose to obey the gods rather than the state. Similarly,
Socrates proclaimed to the Athenian court: “I shall obey God rather
than you.”* The notion of a higher moral law would later be formulated
by Aristotle, who, referring to Antigone, drew a distinction between par-
ticular or conventional law, relative to individual states, and universal or
natural law, binding on all humans, everywhere.‘ This view would be
fully developed in ancient Greek thought by the Stoics.
For Socrates, the higher law of God was the basis for resistance to
state commands that violate conscience. Civil disobedience, the deliber-
ate, conscientious breaking of a law of the state, has an ancient history.
It assumes a distinction between civil law and morality. The Hebrew
Bible records that Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were executed for
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience 189

refusing to worship a divine image of Nebuchadnezer. The conflict

between the duty to obey the law and the duty to obey God can also be
seen in the early history of Christianity. Christians defied the Roman
authorities and chose death rather than worship the Emperor. While
civil disobedients recognize the legitimacy of the state, they place con-
scientious limits on state power. The First Epistle of Peter admonishes
Christians to “submit yourselves to every ordinance of man for the
Lord’s sake.”* Nevertheless, in Acts, Peter recognizes a superior obliga-
tion: “We ought to obey God rather than men.”*
Over the centuries, several philosophers, from Socrates to Aquinas
to John Locke, have maintained that state laws contrary to the higher
law of God or natural moral law are invalid. John Milton refused to
obey the censorship laws of seventeenth-century England. Quakers in
colonial America refused to pay taxes for military purposes because they
were morally opposed to war. The American Founding Fathers brought
forth a new nation on the basis of the natural right to disobey unjust
authority. Thomas Jefferson acknowledged a higher law when he
endorsed the epigram: “Disobedience to tyrants is obedience to God.”
The nineteenth-century American abolitionists defied fugitive slave laws
on the grounds that slavery was opposed to the law of God. Henry
David Thoreau wrote a famous essay on civil disobedience, having prac-
ticed it to protest slavery. In the twentieth century, Mahatma Gandhi
achieved world renown for his nonviolent resistance to unjust laws, first
in South Africa, then in his native India. During the 1960s, Gandhi’s
legacy inspired many members of the civil rights movement in the United
States, especially Martin Luther King, Jr., in the battle against racist seg-
regation laws in the South. Like Socrates, King demonstrated a respect
for the rule of law and, at the same time, in his famous Letter from
Birmingham Jail, declared his readiness to defy unjust laws on the basis
of God and conscience.’ Nonviolent civil disobedience was also effective
in protesting the Vietnam War, apartheid in South Africa, and nuclear
proliferation. In defending his resistance to the state on the basis of a
superior obligation to obey God, Socrates, like Antigone, provided a
philosophical justification for civil disobedience.’
In Antigone, Sophocles created a drama in which two sides, the indi-
vidual and the state, come into tragic collision. Creon’s opposing
190 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

authoritarian position, establishing the conflict with Antigone, becomes

clear upon his entrance in the play. In defense of his edict forbidding
Polyneices’ burial, Creon declares: “No man who is his country’s enemy
shall call himself my friend. ... Our country is our life... . Such is my
policy for our commonweal.” Moreover: “Alive or dead, the faithful
servant of his country shall be rewarded.”’ These lines echo much fifth
century B.C. political rhetoric and would later be regarded by
Demosthenes, the Athenian statesman and orator, as epitomizing the
standard of democratic patriotism.’? After Antigone defies his order,
Creon continues to champion himself as the defender of the rule of law.
The leader of the state “must be obeyed to the smallest matter, be it
right—or wrong... . There is no more deadly peril than disobedience;
states are devoured by it, homes laid in ruins, armies defeated, victory
turned to rout... . Therefore, I hold to the law, and will never betray
it.”" Indeed, Creon’s sentiments are echoed in Thucydides, when
Pericles sets forth the ideal of the supremacy of the polis and when
Cleon, insisting that the state’s laws must be strictly enforced, asserts:
“A state in which the laws, though imperfect, are inviolable, is better off
than one in which the laws are good but inefficient.”’* Creon’s position,
although he took it to an uncompromising extreme, struck a responsive
chord in those concerned with social stability. Civilized life depends
upon the rule of law. The view of Creon, initially endorsed by the play’s
chorus, and virtually undisputed by the Greeks, reflected the ideology of
the polis, in which all private loyalties, including those to family and
friends, were subordinated to the community. Nevertheless, as Creon
and the chorus eventually realize, a state that elevates itself above the
higher law of the gods will wreak havoc upon itself.
Socrates’ threat in the Apology to disobey a court order to abstain
from philosophy and his defiance of the unjust command of the Thirty
Tyrants raise fundamental questions for a democracy. What are the
grounds and limits of political obligation? Are there any limits to the cit-
izen’s duty to obey the law? Must a citizen obey laws and commands
that violate conscience? These questions were posed in Athens over two
thousand years ago. The conflicting claims of the individual and the
state pervade Plato’s Apology and the Crito, the former presenting the
case for the individual dissident confronting the state, the latter offering
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience 191

a rhetorical authoritarian argument for absolute obedience to the state.

But this rhetorical argument, which constitutes the second half of the
Crito, should not be interpreted as the view of the historical Socrates.
Indeed, to accept literally the argument for absolute obedience presented
by Plato’s Socrates is to destroy the integrity of the historical Socrates.
As we shall argue, the Socrates who rejected Crito’s plea that he defy the
court’s verdict is the same Socrates who upheld the Athenian constitu-
tion in the trial of the generals and who defied the order of the Thirty to
arrest Leon of Salamis. Socrates, consistent in his principles, refused to
commit any act that he believed to be unjust.
The dramatic setting of the Crito is Socrates’ room in the city’s jail,
shortly before dawn.'* Almost a month has elapsed since his trial and
condemnation. His execution has been delayed, for no criminal could be
put to death, without polluting the city, until the return of the sacred
ship from its annual voyage to Delos. An offering had to be made at the
shrine of Apollo, commemorating the victory of Theseus, the Athenian
hero and king, over the Cretan Minotaur. The returning ship has just
been sighted off Sunium, indicating that Socrates would soon be exe-
cuted. In the time remaining, Crito attempts to convince his friend
Socrates to defy the court’s verdict by escaping with his family to
Thessaly, a province in northern Greece, or some other foreign haven.
All arrangements had been made. Socrates’ supporters would provide
the money, apparently to bribe the guards, and safe passage was assured.
Crito, who is mentioned twice in the Apology, gives voice to those
Athenians who believed that the death penalty had been unrighteously
imposed upon the philosopher. Although Socrates agreed that he had
been unjustly condemned, he nevertheless argues in the Crito against his
escape from prison in favor of accepting the death sentence. If the
Apology is Socrates’ apologia pro vita sua, the Crito may be read as his
apologia pro morte sua."
Scholars generally agree that the Crito, like the Apology, belongs to
the earliest group of Plato’s works; hence, it was probably written within
a decade after the death of Socrates. As for its historicity, we are on more
tenuous grounds than with the Apology. While Plato attended the trial
of Socrates, he did not visit the philosopher in jail, nor did he witness his
death by hemlock, dramatically re-created in the Phaedo. Plato, there-
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

fore, had to rely on Crito’s testimony of his private conversation with

Socrates to reconstruct the philosopher’s reasoning. As Leo Strauss
observes, while the Apology represents the public dialogue between
Socrates and Athens, the Crito represents a conversation that occurred
in the strictest privacy.'’ Plato’s task was complicated because Crito, as
his conversation in the dialogue demonstrates, was not gifted with a sub-
tle mind, making it unlikely that he would have remembered, or even
grasped fully, all of the philosopher’s arguments. And if, as we shall see,
the case Socrates would make for the Laws of Athens is as spellbinding
as Crito concedes, it is unlikely that he was able to convey its intricacies
to Plato. Hence, the Crito is probably more a product of Plato’s creative
genius than it is historical. Nevertheless, the dialogue does shed light on
the historical Socrates. Xenophon joined Plato in testifying that Socrates
rejected an opportunity to flee Athens.'° In the Crito, Plato probably
constructed arguments from views that he heard the philosopher express
on earlier occasions. As Socrates said to Crito, unless he found better
arguments, he could not abandon those he lived by in the past simply
because he now faced the death penalty. The past arguments could, of
course, have been supplemented by Plato, in the manner of Thucydides,
with Socrates made to say what seemed “proper to the occasion.”!” As
with the Apology, we assume that Plato was careful not to misrepresent
his master’s views at the end of his life.
Scholars have attempted to reconcile an apparent contradiction
between the Crito and the Apology on the issue of civil disobedience. We
affirm that if the Crito advocates absolute, unconditional obedience to
the laws, regardless of their justness, Socrates must be fundamentally at
odds with himself. The Socrates of the Apology is defiant and individu-
alistic, in conflict with values that Athenians deemed essential to the
community, while the Socrates at the conclusion of the Crito appears to
be subservient, compromising, and conformist. Indeed, the credibility of
Socrates is at stake. Having devoted his philosophic mission to exposing
inconsistencies in the positions of a host of interlocutors, for Socrates to
have been guilty of intellectual and moral inconsistency, especially at the
end of his life, would be a pathetic irony. “I would rather that my lyre
should be inharmonious,” he tells Callicles in Plato’s Gorgias, “and that
there should be no music in the chorus which I provided; or that the
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience 193

whole world should be at odds with me, and oppose me, rather than
that I myself should be at odds with myself, and contradict myself.”'
The position Socrates takes in the Apology, declaring that his obli-
gation to obey God supersedes his obligation to obey the laws of the
state, was more difficult for the average Athenian to accept than the
claim made by the mythical Antigone. The fundamental difference
between Socrates and Antigone is that whereas she bases her stand
against the state on the superior duties to the family and immutable
divine law, traditional duties recognized by all Athenians, Socrates bases
his stand on a unique personal relationship to the divine that most
Athenians could not fathom. Creon suffers at the end of Antigone
because, while his advocacy of the rule of law is consistent with Greek
values, he extends the claim of the polis to an extreme, interfering with
the divinely sanctioned rites of burial. Yet, while many Athenians would
have sided with Antigone, who defended her civil disobedience by
appealing to divine law, they would reject Socrates’ more radical con-
tention that he would disobey a state command to desist from a philo-
sophic mission that he believed had been mandated by Apollo.

SOCRATES DISMISSES THE SHAME CULTURE

The Socrates of the opening pages of the Crito is the same radical
philosopher of the Apology and early Platonic dialogues. He is commit-
ted to reason and to conscience. Crito begins with the self-serving argu-
ment: If Socrates dies, Crito will not only lose an irreplaceable friend but
will also suffer the public “disgrace” of being thought by “the many” to
value money more than the life of a friend. Socrates responds by dis-
missing the view of “the many,” or public opinion. For good men, “the
only persons who are worth considering,” will know what truly hap-
pened.” To base one’s actions upon “what people will say” is to confuse
social conformity with personal integrity. Firm in his convictions,
Socrates refused to allow society to dictate his conscience. But this was
a dissident position in ancient Athens. As Arthur Adkins observes:
“Until Socrates, no one takes a firm stand and says ‘let them mock.’””
When Crito replies that, on the contrary, the opinion of the “many”
must not be ignored, for they can inflict grave evil upon those who resist
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

them, Socrates demurs, claiming that they can do neither good nor evil,
“for they cannot make a man either wise or foolish.”*' Contrary to the
values of the prevailing shame culture, in which self-esteem is dependent
upon the approval of society, Socrates adheres to his principles, regard-
less of how he is viewed by others. Indeed, throughout the Apology,
Socrates demonstrated his scorn for public opinion. If Socrates refuses
to escape, Crito argues, he will not only treat himself unjustly, bringing
about the death his enemies wanted, but will also abandon his obliga-
tion to educate his sons, a shameful dereliction of paternal duty.
Ironically, Crito alleges that in declining to flee Athens, Socrates, having
professed virtue in all his actions, would be choosing the “easier” rather
than the “better and manlier” way.” Crito obviously subscribed to a dif-
ferent conception of virtue than Socrates did. Moreover, Crito claims,
Socrates will endanger the good reputations of his friends, who will be
perceived as lacking the courage and initiative to assist him. The ancient
Greek conception of philia, or friendship, obligated the sharing of
friends as well as enemies.”? The defeat of Socrates was a defeat for his
friends; the humiliation of Socrates was a humiliation for his friends.
Thus the condemnation of Socrates must be met with retaliation.
His friends, therefore, had no qualms about assisting him to defy
Athenian law by escaping the death penalty. As Arthur Adkins explains,
the good citizen (agathos polités) is “able to defend both himself and his
friends, and harm his enemies; . . . able to protect his children, his prop-
erty, and his wife; and when the city is threatened by an external enemy,
able to defend his city.” Nevertheless, while the city’s preservation
remained the dominant interest for Athenians, “there is nothing in these
standards to prevent the agathos polités from attempting to thwart the
laws of the city on behalf of family and friends.”** As long as the sur-
vival of the polis was not at risk, Socrates’ friends believed that aiding
him was the courageous and honorable thing to do.
Crito laments that Socrates could have avoided his fate, and the
ensuing disgrace, had he acted differently from the beginning. Instead of
going into exile, he appeared at court to offer a defense. In cases where
conviction seemed inevitable, it was not unusual for those indicted to
flee instead of enduring a trial. As was already noted, the majority of the
jurors probably hoped that Socrates would save them the trouble of con-
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience

victing him. But the philosopher’s integrity and respect for Athenian law
compelled him to appear in court, whatever the personal consequences.
Having submitted to a trial, Crito alleges, Socrates might have con-
ducted himself in a manner that could have secured an acquittal. But he
refused either to compromise his principles or to speak in the manner
that might have ingratiated himself with the jury. He could not have
conducted himself in any other way. As he declared in the Apology: “I
would rather die having spoken after my manner, than speak in your
manner and live.”** Nevertheless, Crito and the friends of Socrates
remained attached to traditional values. In a culture that placed a pre-
mium upon success, to be convicted of a crime, especially one resulting
in the death penalty, was a humiliating failure. As R. E. Allen has
observed, “if to fail is to be disgraced, then of all failures execution as a
common criminal is most disgraceful.”*° Now, Crito avows, if Socrates
is executed, he will bring about the “last act, or crowning folly” of the
disgraceful affair.”

JUSTICE AND THE SOUL

While Socrates appreciates Crito’s concern for his welfare, he insists that,
in order to bring about good rather than evil, such devotion must be
directed to the proper end. Crito seems strangely oblivious to ethical
principles that had guided Socrates throughout his life. Although Socrates
welcomes a discussion of the best course of action, he insists that he
“must be guided by reason, whatever the reason may be which upon
reflection appears to me to be the best,” and not give in to the public
sentiment, or what “the many” think.” As he explains to Crito, he must
not abandon past principles merely because he faces death, unless, of
course, he finds better principles. Rather than blindly follow public opin-
ion, deferring to the praise and blame of the multitude, Socrates pro-
claims, echoing the Apology, one’s first concern should be for the health
of the soul. Just as the body is improved by healthy actions and ruined
by unhealthy ones, similarly there is “a principle in us”—an implicit allu-
sion to the soul—“improved by justice and deteriorated by injustice.””
In the first part of the Crito, Socrates offers conscience-based
morality, stressing the improvement of the soul in this present life, in
196 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

contrast to the conventional morality of the Greeks, dependent upon

peer approval and material success. In matters of both the body and the
soul, he argues, one should follow the advice not of the multitude but of
the expert, “the one man who has understanding of just and unjust will
say, and what the truth will say.” If we ignore the advice of the expert
concerning our physical health, Socrates contends, the body will be
ruined and our life will not be worth living. Similarly, life is not worth
living if that “higher part of man,” the soul, is ruined by unjust actions.
Caring for the health of the soul or true self, one must always act virtu-
ously. Having spent many years in the philosophic examination of his
life and the perfection of his soul, Socrates would be acting inconsis-
tently if he committed an injustice. Whether or not he escapes jail must
be determined not on the basis of expediency, the criterion for the many,
but on the basis of justice. What is most important is “not life, but a
good life.”**? And the good life is a life of virtue. As Socrates argued in
the Apology, one’s paramount consideration should not be whether one
lives or dies, but whether one acts righteously. And, although he does
not expressly identify the moral “expert” whom one must follow instead
of public opinion, it is clear that Socrates is referring to himself, the
advocate of reasoned, philosophical argument.
Socrates was aware that his views, especially his conception of the
soul, constituted a radical challenge to Greek culture. There can be no
“common ground,” he tells Crito, between those few who hold his eth-
ical creed, rejecting retaliation, and the many who do not.*! As Gregory
Vlastos observed: “What Socrates says here he never asserts about any
other view he ever voices in Plato.” Thus, instead of endorsing funda-
mental Athenian values, Socrates chose again to accentuate his unique-
ness. As we have noted, he threatened to bring about a revaluation of
Athenian values, based upon a reflective or self-conscious view of virtue.
Socrates not only redirected philosophy from the heavens to the moral
concerns of humans living in the city but also turned morals from a pre-
occupation with material results and external behavior to an internal
focus on intentions and the soul.
Having established a moral basis for their discussion, Socrates
draws some corollary arguments for the benefit of Crito. First, one
ought not commit harm or injustice. Second, one ought not retaliate
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience 197

against injustice.*’ On the basis of these propositions, if the law com-

manded Socrates to commit an injustice, he would be duty-bound to dis-
obey. According to Socrates, unless he and Crito are prepared to discard
their former convictions, unjust actions can never be good and honor-
able. The conclusion is inevitable. For Socrates to defy the law and
escape, even though the verdict was unjust, would be to harm his soul
by committing a retaliatory injustice. By this time, Crito, not being
among the “few” who can accept Socrates’ rejection of the law of retal-
iation, must have perceived the deep chasm between Socrates and tradi-
tional moral values. Most Greeks believed that wrongs should be
returned for wrongs. According to the traditional honor code, a war to
avenge wrongs is a just war. Failure to retaliate for injuries, either to
one’s city or to oneself, is to invite dishonor. For Greeks, the highest
praise was given to those who did great good to friends and great harm
to enemies. “Zeus grant,” prayed the lyric poet Theognis, “that I may
repay my friends who love me, and overpower my enemies.” The orator
Isocrates admonished: “Consider it equally shameful to be surpassed by
your enemies in doing harm and your friends in doing good.”™ In the
early sixth century B.c., Solon prayed that he may be “sweet to friends,
bitter to enemies.” Socrates’ young interlocutor in Plato’s Meno defined
“manly” virtue as knowing “how to administer the State, and in the
administration of it to benefit his friends and harm his enemies; and he
must also be careful not to suffer harm himself.”** Aristotle taught men
how to respond when wronged: “To take vengeance on one’s enemies is
nobler than to come to terms with them; for to retaliate is just, and that
which is just is noble; and further, a courageous man ought not to allow
himself to be beaten. Victory and honour also are noble; for both are
desirable even when they are fruitless, and are manifestations of supe-
rior virtue.”*°
Such reasoning served to justify the genocide almost inflicted upon
Mytilene in 427 8.c., arguments from Athenian self-interest ultimately
prevailing, and actually inflicted upon Scione in 421 B.c. and Melos in
416 B.c. During the Peloponnesian War, genocide, what the Greeks called
andrapodismos—the execution of all adult males and the enslavement of
the women and children—became an instrument of policy.” Other Greek
cities shared the Athenian passion for vengeance. After Plataea surren-
198 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

dered in 427 B.c., the city was utterly destroyed by the Spartans and
Thebans. In 417 B.c., the Spartans captured the town of Hysiae, killing
all the free men. Then, in 405 B.c., the Spartans, commanded by admiral
Lysander, inflicted a devastating defeat upon the Athenian fleet at
Aegospotami, the last battle of the Peloponnesian War, slaughtering three
thousand Athenian prisoners. Soon, Lysander and the Spartans sailed
into the Saronic Gulf and blockaded the Athenian port of Piraeus. After
a six-month siege, Athens, stripped of her ships, money, and allies, had
no choice but unconditional surrender in April 404 B.c. Many Athenians
would never forget the sight of the victorious Lysander sailing into the
port of Piraeus, and the subsequent demolition of the city’s defensive
Long Walls while flute-girls played.** Xenophon captures the terror that
swept through Athens after the final loss to Sparta. As news of the disas-
ter arrived, the sound of wailing could be heard first in the port of
Piraeus, then along four-mile distance from the Long Walls and into the
city. “That night no one slept. They mourned for the lost, but more still
for their own fate. They thought that they themselves would now be dealt
with as they had dealt with others—with the Melians, colonists of Sparta,
after they had besieged and conquered Melos, with the people of
Histiaea, of Scione, of Torone, of Aegina and many other states.”*’ If the
Spartans had followed the advice of their allies in Corinth and Thebes,
the surviving adult males of Athens would have been exterminated.
While Greek justice may have given Athens’ enemies an excuse to treat
her most brutally, Sparta calculated that the destruction of Athens would
enable Corinth and Thebes to become too powerful.
Having secured Crito’s assent to his proposition that one must never
inflict injustice or injury, Socrates offers another consideration, which
Crito likewise grants: One ought to do what one agrees to do, with the
condition that it is just. This essential proviso would rule out blind
obedience to the law. At the same time, the duty to fulfill just agreements
obligated Socrates to abide by the court’s verdict. He must accept con-
viction and the death penalty, even though unjust, because they resulted
from a legitimate legal process and because he had made a just agree-
ment to respect the principle of the rule of law. The only recourse he
would have had, he says, was to persuade the state to permit him to
leave. Not having done this, he must submit to authority and obey the
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience 199

legal verdict. The Socrates of the Crito has already failed in his attempt
at his trial to persuade the jury of his innocence and is submitting to the
court’s verdict and the penalty imposed. Having been found guilty in
accord with due process, he could not in conscience flee Athens.
At this point, the Crito could have concluded. Socrates had
explained his position to his friend, remaining consistent with the moral
principles that had guided his life as a philosopher. He would do noth-
ing that violated his sense of justice. To consent to Crito’s plan, Socrates
would not be committing civil disobedience, but engaging in a cowardly
evasion and subversion of the principle of the rule of law. Nevertheless,
having assented to the initial propositions of Socrates, Crito, facing the
prospect of his friend’s imminent death, allowed his sentiments to over-
whelm his reason. He could not bring himself to draw the obvious con-
clusion, even though based upon premises he and Socrates had agreed
upon in the past. Crito was in conflict. The arguments he had submitted
to Socrates at the dialogue’s opening were typical of the traditional val-
ues of the “many,” and stemmed mostly from emotion. On the other
hand, the arguments from reason that Socrates had induced him to con-
sent to were those of the “few.” Asked by Socrates whether he would be
committing an injustice and violating a just agreement if, without first
persuading the state, he decides to flee Athens, Crito effectively bows
out of the discussion: “I cannot tell Socrates; for I do not know.”*! It was
as if the rational premises he had just agreed to had been wiped from his
consciousness. He could not bear the conclusion to which Socrates had
been leading him. Throughout the remainder of the dialogue, Crito will
offer three mere nugatory replies.

SOCRATES ARGUES FOR THE LAWS

Finding his friend thus intellectually incapacitated, Socrates embarks
upon a rhetorical argument on behalf of the Laws of Athens against his
escape. But the arguments for the Laws, offered for Crito’s benefit,
should not be confused with the philosophical arguments Socrates had
advocated up to this point. In fact, as Leo Strauss noted, the Crito con-
tains “two different Jogoi leading to the same conclusion.”* The second
part of the dialogue features the famous prosopopoeia or personification
200 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

of the Laws of Athens, in which Socrates assumes their voice as they

make an argument against his escape. This literary device enables the
Laws, who represent the communal interest of Athens, to present their
case, thus highlighting the conflict of principles between Socrates and the
polis. The device also introduces a subtext, a covert meaning, which
underscores the consistency of Socrates. The philosopher once again dons
the mask of irony, arguing in support of the Laws under which he had
been condemned and would be executed. Finally, the device presents
Socrates in a dual role, involving an implied dialogue between himself as
philosopher, who refused escape for purely ethical reasons, and a rhetor-
ical Socrates, who offers a caricature of Athenian patriotic rhetoric, the
same rhetoric that filled the Assembly throughout the Peloponnesian
War. Indeed, the argument Socrates will present for the personified Laws
resembles that of Sophocles’ Creon and contradicts the argument by
Socrates the philosopher for principled civil disobedience in the Apology.
The apparent contradiction between the Crito and the Apology on
the question of disobedience to law, which has long vexed readers, can
be reconciled by understanding Socrates’ view of conventional Athenian
rhetoric and disassociating the Socrates of the Crito’s first part from the
argument presented by Socrates for the Athenian Laws in the latter
part.* Historian George Grote was among the first to allege that such a
separation was possible. He held that Plato composed the Crito as a cor-
rective to the damage done to Socrates’ reputation by the more histori-
cally accurate Apology. Socrates’ defense speech had displayed a
singular lack of respect for Athenian law and institutions, declaring that
he acted from the higher authority of God. Indeed, the Socrates of the
Apology seemed to confirm that he was a corrupter of the young as
charged. Socrates, argues Grote, is “presented as an isolated and eccen-
tric individual, a dissenter, not only departing altogether from the char-
acter and purposes general among his fellow-citizens, but also certain to
incur dangerous antipathy in so far as he publicly proclaimed what he
was.”** Hence, Plato sought to defend Socrates by presenting him in the
Crito as an exemplar of democratic patriotism, making peace with
Athens. Nevertheless, Grote contends, the speech that Socrates presents
for the Laws in the Crito is not a corollary of the arguments of the
philosopher in the first part of the dialogue, but reflects instead the sen-
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience 201

timents common to patriotic Athenian citizens.*’ Socrates’ speech is

characterized by Grote as “a rhetorical harangue forcible and impres-
sive” on behalf of Athenian law: “His doctrine is one which every
Athenian audience would warmly applaud—whether heard from speak-
ers in the Assembly, from litigants in the Dikastery, or from dramatists
in the theatre. It is a doctrine which orators of all varieties (Perikles,
Nikias, Kleon, Lysias, Isokrates, Demosthenes, Aeschines, Lykurgus)
would be alike emphatic in upholding: upon which probably Sophists
habitually displayed their own eloquence, and tested the talents of their
pupils. It may be considered as almost an Athenian commonplace.”
Although we must differentiate between the Socrates who argues for
the personified Laws in the Crito and the Socrates of the Apology,
restoring Socrates’ tarnished reputation was not the principal intention
of Plato’s Crito. In truth, what Socrates says in the first part of the dia-
logue, especially his disparagement of the opinions of the “many,” is
such a blatant contradiction to fundamental Athenian values that if rec-
onciling the philosopher to the city had been Plato’s intention, one must
concede that he failed miserably. Instead, as we have noted, the speech
attributed to the reified Laws is intended to mock typical Athenian patri-
otic political rhetoric. As Aristotle would expound, basing his theory
upon Athenian models, the purpose of political rhetoric, the speech of
the Assembly, is to argue the advantage or disadvantage of a particular
proposal for the polis. Just as in Plato’s Menexenus, where Socrates par-
odies the Funeral Oration of Pericles by reciting a similar, but hyper-
bolic, speech allegedly composed by Aspasia, Socrates in the Crito gives
a speech for the Laws that the vast majority of Athenians would have
found acceptable. The Socrates of the Crito delivers a set speech in the
style of the Sophists, much like those in the Phaedrus, where, before con-
demning conventional rhetoric, he delivers two successive speeches, one
against, the other in praise of, love. Such set speeches, replete with
rhetorical commonplaces, contrasted starkly with the rhetoric of truth
that Socrates advocated. As with all irony, the key to interpreting cor-
rectly Socrates’ speech for the Laws lies in perceiving the meaning
beneath the literal statement.
The clue that reveals the ironic nature of Socrates’ speech for the
Laws is found in the Crito itself, when Socrates tells his distraught friend
202 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

that much could be said “by any one, and especially a rhetorician,” to
protest his defying the court’s verdict and fleeing to Thessaly.” Given the
unbridgeable chasm between the conventional thinking of Crito and the
philosophical thinking of Socrates, the rhetorical speech the philosopher
delivers for the Laws is the only kind of logos Crito can understand. But
Socrates the philosopher never says that the speech he gives for the Laws
represents his own views. Since Crito proves incapable of accepting a
philosophical argument, aiming at justice and the perfection of the soul,
Socrates will substitute a conventional rhetorical argument reflecting the
traditional values of the many.** He will provide a rationale for acceding
to the court’s verdict that Crito as an Athenian citizen would accept, if
he were not overcome by emotion. Socrates is represented as saying in
the Gorgias: “The rhetorician does not instruct the courts of law or
other assemblies about things just and unjust, but he creates belief about
them.” A master ironist, Socrates in the Crito will pose as a student of
the Laws, ready to believe what wisdom they impart.
Thus, the speech of the personified Laws, a veritable tour de force,
is a caricature of the deceitful rhetoric of Athenian democracy, persua-
sive but not necessarily true, that Socrates condemned in the opening of
the Apology. Moreover, Plato’s Socrates condemns such rhetoric not
only in the Menexenus but also in the Gorgias and the Phaedrus. We are
reminded of Gorgias’ revelations of the “magical” effects of rhetoric
upon the minds of an unsuspecting audience. Interestingly, the Socrates
depicted in the latter part of the Crito would be more sympathetic to the
authoritarian views of Plato found in the Republic, and especially in The
Laws. The brilliant speech of the Laws in the Crito, a pastiche replete
with pious patriotic truisms, will persuade Crito to concur with
Socrates’ decision to accept the death penalty, not for the philosophical
ethical reasons Socrates presented earlier in the dialogue, but for the
patriotic and expedient reasons more consistent with Athenian values.
To identify the historical Socrates with the argument of the Athenian
Laws in the Crito would make him fundamentally inconsistent. First of
all, the Crito itself would be contradictory, for the Socrates of the initial
part of the dialogue, alleging to live by consistent principles, holds that
one must never commit an injustice, while, in the last part, the Laws
argue that one must obey them absolutely, without exception. Secondly,
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience 203

equating the historical Socrates with the Laws’ argument would make
the Apology and the Crito contradictory, the former allowing for prin-
cipled disobedience to unjust commands, the latter categorically con-
demning disobedience under any circumstances. In effect, a Socrates
who adopted fully the argument of the Laws would be compelled to
retract his bold claim that he would, in obedience to God, disobey any
court order to cease philosophy. If Socrates the rhetorician of the last
part of the Crito, therefore, is a true portrayal, he would present the
pathetic and unheroic spectacle of one who chose to betray his mission
as a philosopher in his final days. One doubts that Socrates the philoso-
pher—depicted in the opening of the Crito as enjoying a peaceful slum-
ber, his conscience at rest—would have been able to bear his fate with
equanimity if he had undermined the principles that had guided his life.
In the skillful hands of the rhetorical Socrates, the Laws present
their case to the befuddled Crito. Socrates recognizes that, in order for
his speech to be persuasive, at least some of the arguments must ring
true. His speech will contain just enough truth to conceal its sophisms
from the majority. In rhetoric, plausibility lends verisimilitude. At the
same time, while Socrates the philosopher does not agree with all the
arguments he makes for the Laws, he does accept their conclusion that
it would be unjust for him to escape. Moreover, consistent with the dia-
logical view of truth in Plato’s early works, which offer more than one
side of an issue, the Socrates who speaks for the Laws presents a cogent
argument for the sovereignty of the state that most Athenians would
have applauded. Throughout their harangue, the Laws assume that if
Socrates were to escape, he would present a moral threat to them by vio-
lating the covenant that exists between the state and its citizens. Since
the citizen owes the state his life, in addition to everything else that is
valuable, the least he can do is respect its laws.
With an argument from expediency that could have come from
Sophocles’ Creon, or any Athenian patriot, the Laws ask Socrates: “Are
you not going by an act of yours to overturn us—the laws, and the
whole State, as far as in you lies? Do you imagine that a State can sub-
sist and not be overthrown, in which the decisions of law have no power,
but are set aside and trampled upon by individuals?” Here the Laws
assume that if citizens disobey them with impunity, the state cannot
204 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

endure. To permit individuals to defy verdicts determined by due process

would undermine the rule of law. A viable legal system demands the
enforcement of the judgments of the courts. Socrates then entertains the
claim, which his friends would have made, that the Laws ought to be
disobeyed in his case because he had been the victim of an unjust judg-
ment. Like an expert rhetorician, the personified Laws must anticipate
certain plausible objections. While conceding that errors in legal judg-
ment are possible, they retort that the issue is not whether Socrates had
been judged fairly, but whether the judgments of the courts are binding.
Socrates had agreed to abide by their verdicts, regardless of their just-
ness. The Laws then proceed to present a vision of the polis consistent
with the Athenian ideal from the Funeral Oration of Pericles to
Protagoras’ myth of human progress to Plato’s Republic and, !ater,
Aristotle’s Politics. According to this vision, the polis, including its laws
and institutions, is the nurturer of each citizen. As Aristotle proclaimed
in the Politics, “man is a political animal,” by which he meant that only
in the polis can human beings attain their natural perfection.*' Aristotle
held that the state is by nature prior to the family and to the individual,
just as the whole is of necessity prior to the part. The Athenians con-
ceived of the state not merely as a means to protect life and property, but
also as a sacred association that defined every aspect of their lives. As
we have seen, they did not conceive of the individual in opposition to
society. Individuals were comprehensible only through their interper-
sonal relationships within the all-embracing community.
Accordingly, the Laws expand their case. They claim, first of all, to
be the source of Socrates’ life itself. They have established the institu-
tions of marriage and the family that gave birth to him and to every
other Athenian. Moreover, they have educated and socialized him. Like
a skilled rhetorician, the Laws then slip in an authoritarian claim: The
Athenian citizen is not only their “child” but also their “slave.” In
ancient Greece, slaves were mere property. Assuming that Socrates owes
his existence and development to the Laws, they ask rhetorically: “And
because we think right to destroy you, do you think that you have any
right to destroy us in return, and your country as far as in you lies? . . .
Has a philosopher like you failed to discover that our country is more
to be valued and higher and holier far than mother or father or any
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience 205

ancestor, and more to be regarded in the eyes of the gods and of men of
understanding?” More patriotic words could not have been spoken by
Pericles himself. Like Sophocles’ Creon, who expressed disdain for any-
one who placed the good of a philos, a friend or relative, above the good
of the polis, the Laws claim a superiority over the family.» One’s duty to
the state must transcend all other allegiances. “Never was natural place
more outrageously usurped by convention,” concludes Joseph Cropsey,
“than in this astonishing civic assertion of parenthood.”
Having claimed absolute supremacy, the Laws argue that Socrates
must either “persuade” the polis that its orders are unjust or obey them.
“And when we are punished by her [the polis] whether with imprison-
ment or stripes, the punishment is to be endured in silence.”** We assume
that such “persuasion” would occur in the conventional forums of either
the Assembly or the lawcourts. At his trial, Socrates attempted to con-
vince the court of the justness of his philosophic cause. Having failed to
persuade the jury, he submitted to the legal penalty. As the Crito makes
clear, he believed this to be his obligation. As long as the law did not
order him to commit an injustice, he would accede to its judgment.
Although Socrates agreed that he had a prima facie obligation to obey the
laws of the state and legitimate orders from government officials, he also
believed that this obligation may be overridden in cases when obedience
would involve committing an injustice. As Ronald Dworkin argues, the
general duty to obey the law “cannot be an absolute duty, because even
a society that is in principle just may produce unjust laws and policies,
and a man has duties other than his duties to the State.”** Nevertheless,
the personified Laws of Athens make the extreme claim that citizens have
an absolute duty to obey them, which no circumstance may override.” As
they declare: “And if she [the polis] leads us to wounds or death in bat-
tle, thither we follow as is right; neither may any one yield or retreat or
leave his rank, but whether in battle or in a court of law, or in any other
place, he must do what his city and his country order him; or he must
change their view of what is just: and if he may do no violence to his
father or mother, much less may he do violence to his country.”** This
sweeping statement, reflecting the legal positivist view that equates law
with justice, demands universal and unqualified obedience and would
obligate the citizen to submit to any tyrannical regime.
206 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

The Laws also offer for their benefit an interesting reversal to

Socrates’ former reasoning. While Socrates in the Apology argued that
he disobeyed the Thirty rather than commit an “unholy” act, Socrates
in the Crito has the Laws argue that disobedience to them would be an
act of “violence” more impious than an offense against his parents.
Hence, if Socrates escapes, he would merely confirm the indictment’s
charge of impiety. According to the argument presented by Socrates
for the Athenian Laws, the four men who obeyed the order of the
Thirty to arrest Leon of Salamis for summary execution acted justly
and piously, while Socrates, in refusing to arrest him, acted unjustly
and impiously. The only justice that the Laws are willing to submit to
is not the transcendent justice of Socrates, but the expedient justice of
Athens.
At this point in their argument, the Laws have extended the plausi-
ble claims of the first part of their speech. They had held that, for the
polis to survive, the verdicts of the courts must be honored. Socrates
himself, in refusing to escape prison, acceded to the court’s verdict, even
though he was convinced that it was unjust. We have noted that if indi-
viduals were permitted to defy legal verdicts, the principle of the rule of
law, and hence the stability of the state, would be undermined. Yet the
Laws have now broadened their prohibition to encompass disobedience
not only to verdicts but also to any command or law whatsoever.
Scholars who have attempted to reconcile the apparent conflict between
the Apology and the Crito by searching for loopholes in the Laws’
speech ignore the blanket nature of this prohibition. Like an adept
Sophist, the Laws stretch a plausible claim for the rule of law into a cat-
egorical assertion of their authority that would make the Socrates of the
Apology and of the early part of the Crito blameworthy for refusing to
carry out any command, regardless of its justness.
Moreover, the Laws argue, since any citizen, on attaining maturity,
has the opportunity to leave the city if dissatisfied, choosing to remain
constitutes an implied agreement to abide by the city’s laws. A citizen
who remains is obligated to “do as we command him.” Socrates, they
contend, had entered into agreement with them without compulsion or
misunderstanding. Moreover, his long devotion to Athens is evident. He
had spent his entire life in Athens, leaving the city only to serve in the
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience 207

military during war, and perhaps to attend the Isthmian games at

Corinth. At his trial, he refused exile as an alternative to the death
penalty. And he chose to live in Athens instead of moving to either
Sparta or Crete—“often praised by you for their good government”—or
any other Greek or foreign state.*® This preference for Athens, the Laws
allege, demonstrates Socrates’ preference for them, since a city and its
laws are inseparable. By implication, the Laws are confirming Socrates’
preference for the democratic constitution of Athens.
Socrates permits the Laws to continue to pour arguments upon him,
now of a more expedient nature. If Socrates were to flee, they claim, his
friends will incur the risk of banishment and confiscation of their prop-
erty. Furthermore, if he escapes to well-governed neighboring states,
such as Thebes or Megara, good citizens will regard him as an enemy of
the constitution and a destroyer of their laws. He would thereby confirm
the judgment of the Athenian court, for as a corrupter of the laws he
would be a corrupter of the young. And if he chooses to flee instead to
disorderly Thessaly, living there under the protection of Crito’s friends,
he will suffer humiliating public commentary, for he will be viewed as
an old man, clinging greedily to life, disrespecting his city’s sacred laws.
What good, moreover, will living in Thessaly, an alien city, do his chil-
dren? Indeed, the friends of Socrates who pledged to care for his chil-
dren’s education would not neglect this responsibility if he accepted the
death sentence.
Seeking to clinch their argument by enlisting a supernatural sanc-
tion that would strike fear into most Athenians, the Laws warn that if
Socrates escapes, he will not only return an injustice for an injustice
and violate his covenant with them, thus facing their anger while he
lived, but “our brethren, the laws in the world below, will receive you
as an enemy; for they will know that you have done your best to
destroy us.” If Socrates, therefore, accepts the verdict of the court and
the death penalty, he will bolster his case before the ultimate tribunal.
When he dies, he will do so “in innocence, a sufferer and not a doer
of evil; a victim, not of the laws but of men.” With great rhetorical
skill, the Laws conclude by conceding that Socrates was unjustly con-
demned, but they exonerate themselves by shifting blame to those who
administer the state.
208 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

THE SKILLFUL IRONIST

In his speech for the personified Laws, therefore, Socrates displays a
considerable mastery of rhetoric, utilizing many symbols and pious plat-
itudes that would warm the hearts of ardent Athenian patriots. The
Laws present themselves as the supreme nurturers, giving life and form-
ing all citizens like parents and educators. This view of the supreme
importance of the polis, and the laws that form its basis, was shared by
most Athenians. Respect for tradition and covenants has been enjoined,
and the city has even been singled out for honor among the gods. Finally,
Hades, the world below, is enlisted as a support, prepared to punish any
person who defies the city’s sacred laws and institutions. Like all patri-
otic speeches, that of the Laws would probably only convince those
already well-disposed toward the city, willing to overlook the hyperbole
and flaws in the argument. As Socrates is represented as declaring in
Plato’s Menexenus, it is not difficult to praise Athenians among
Athenians.”
Unlike opponents in other Platonic dialogues, the Laws would not
be subjected to cross-examination by Socrates. For his imitation of
patriotic eloquence to succeed, the ironic Socrates of the Crito appears
to accept arguments that the historical Socrates would have rejected.
Had the philosopher applied his powerful elenchus to the the Laws, he
would have questioned the validity of the allegation that their relation
to citizens is equivalent to that between a parent and a child. While
Socrates would agree that obedience and affection are owed to one’s
parents, this obligation is not unconditional, especially after children
reach the age of reason and become responsible for their own decisions.
The philosopher would have also challenged the Laws’ characterization
of the citizen as their slave. The slave is stripped of moral autonomy.
Although the historical Socrates would agree that legal verdicts must be
enforced, he would reject the Laws’ specious attempt to enlarge their
rightful sphere by obligating citizens to obey them absolutely and
blindly, regardless of the moral consequences. One can imagine
Socrates asking the Laws: “Do you mean that if the state commands a
citizen to commit an injustice, the citizen must obey?” While one may
have a contractual obligation to obey the government, the Laws do not
consider that some state actions, such as commanding a citizen to com-
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience 209

mit an unjust act, render the contract void. To equate the legal with the
moral or just might entail one’s participation in atrocities, including
genocide. While, in his earlier discussion with Crito, Socrates stressed
the importance of adhering to agreements, provided that they are just,
the Laws conveniently omit this crucial proviso, as if to claim that in
agreeing to obey them, one thereby surrenders one’s conscience. The
Laws dodge the question of what the good citizen must do if ordered
to commit an unjust act.
Nor would Socrates have accepted the Laws’ argument that Athens
would be fatally undermined by disobedience. At least six times, the
Laws allege that if Socrates disobeys them, he would destroy them and
the polis as well. Indeed, such an allegation constitutes their final plea
for obedience. But this erroneously assumes that Socrates’ disobedience
would be universalized, that if one person violates the law, others will fol-
low suit. This argument against civil disobedience is still offered today by
states that wish their laws to be obeyed without question. And protesters
continue to respond that a state that provokes so much disobedience is in
obvious need of reform. Socrates distinguishes between obeying legal ver-
dicts and disobeying unjust laws or commands. While he concedes that
escaping the death penalty would inflict a retaliatory moral harm upon
Athens, civil disobedience on the basis of justice would not cause moral
harm. Indeed, such civil disobedience might morally improve the state.
Modern democracies are willing to tolerate civil disobedience from indi-
viduals, provided that they commit it openly and accept the appropriate
legal penalties. Since, by definition, civil disobedience cannot be legal,
those who disobey the law must expect to be prosecuted. While Socrates
agreed that just laws must be obeyed and legal verdicts and penalties
accepted, the Apology shows that he would disobey court orders and
government decrees directing him to commit any unjust or unholy act,
such as suspending his divinely ordained philosophic mission or partici-
pating in the unjust arrest and execution of an innocent individual like
Leon of Salamis. Socrates refused to allow the state to overstep its proper
bounds and order him to violate his conscience. When the Laws defend
their claim to absolute obedience by adverting to their kinship with the
laws of Hades, they are merely attempting to make divine laws comply
with them, whether just or unjust.
210 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

Had Socrates, therefore, wanted the speech of the personified Laws

to represent entirely his own views, instead of views merely acceptable
to Crito, he would not have left himself vulnerable to such easy refuta-
tion. Notwithstanding his rhetorical argument for the Laws, Socrates
had his own philosophic reasons for refusing to flee Athens. When indi-
viduals submit to a trial, they must be willing to accept the verdict, just
or unjust. To do otherwise in a fallible world would be to subvert the
social order. If Socrates, convicted through due process, chose to flee
Athens on the grounds that he had been the recipient of an injustice, he
would have contradicted himself by returning harm for harm, breaking
his prior agreement to obey just legal judgments and evading rather than
openly disobeying the law. To contradict himself in this way would harm
his soul and make a sham of his philosophic mission. Hence, even
though Socrates believed that the court’s verdict and the death sentence
were unjust, he had no choice but to reject Crito’s plea to escape.

FULFILLING THE WILL OF A BENEVOLENT GOD

The Crito indicates that Socrates, in refusing to flee jail and accepting
the death sentence, believed that he was fulfilling God’s will. As he
expressed in his moving valedictory to the acquitting jurors in the
Apology, the silence of his divine voice throughout his trial meant that
what had happened to him was “a good, and that those of us who think
that death is evil are in error.”® Early in his trial, he told the jury that he
would make a defense, leaving the result not only to them but also to
God, whose will is supreme. Hence, Socrates interpreted the court’s ver-
dict as a sign of divine providence. When, at the opening of the Crito,
Socrates’ friend informed him that he would soon be executed, the
philosopher replied: “If such is the will of God, I am willing.” He went
on to tell Crito that a dream—traditionally a means by which the gods
speak to humanity—revealed that he would die not later that day, as
Crito had expected, but the next day. Socrates had dreamt of a beauti-
ful lady dressed in white, a color often associated with the supernatural,
announcing his death with the following words, adapted from the Iliad:
“Socrates, the third day hence to fertile Phthia shalt thou go.” Thus,
death seemed to augur well for Socrates, returning him to his true home.
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience

With the line from the Iliad, Socrates is linked anew with the Greek
hero Achilles. The line underscores, once again, that Socrates was a rad-
ically different kind of hero. At this point in the epic, Achilles, dishon-
ored and shamed by Agamemnon, threatened to return home to peaceful
Phthia in Thessaly, which he could reach in three days, leaving his fel-
low Greeks vulnerable to the Trojans. But, as James Redfield makes
clear, Achilles could not go back. Trapped in the Homeric honor code,
he had no real choice but to fulfill his warrior role, which he eventually
did. For both Achilles and Socrates, death was compensated by honor
and fame. But whereas Achilles, the product of a shame culture,
achieved renown by conforming to the vengeful warrior code, Socrates
would be immortalized through the work of Plato for having remained
true to his moral convictions, pursuing virtue and the perfection of his
soul.
The Crito concludes with Socrates declaring, in words that echo the
irony of Plato’s Menexenus, that he was completely overwhelmed by his
own argument for the Laws. In the Menexenus, we will recall, Socrates
claims that he was so ennobled by the patriotism of Athenian funeral
orations that each time he listened to one, he imagined himself a
“greater, and nobler and finer man than I was before.” He confesses that
“the sound of their words keep ringing in my ears,” and not for several
days “do I come to my senses and know where I am.”® Similarly, the
Crito concludes with Socrates alleging that he is utterly incapable of
responding to the Laws’ powerful oration. “Like the sound of the flute
in the ears of the mystic,” the voice of the Laws rings so loudly that he
cannot hear any other.” We recall that Socrates opens the Apology with
an ironic allusion to the prosecution’s rhetoric, so overwhelming that it
almost made him forget who he was. The Crito ends with Socrates in the
guise of a helpless victim, seized by the magical effect of rhetoric, deaf
to any other voice but that of the Laws.
To convince his friend Crito to accept the consequences of a legal
verdict, Plato’s Socrates successfully employed sophistic rhetorical
strategies that he had often denounced. But was Socrates a mere Sophist,
manipulating his convention-bound friend? Although Socrates engaged
in persuasive rhetoric, his speech was directed to a purpose consistent
with the moral principles that had guided his life. Having failed to con-
212 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

vince Crito by philosophical discussion to do what was morally right

and concur with his decision to abide by the law, Socrates resorted to a
characteristic political speech that his friend was capable of accepting.
For the benefit of his friend, Socrates had set aside his philosophic
speech and donned the mantle of the patriotic rhetorician. Only in this
way could Socrates assist his distraught friend to agree to what was
rational and moral. Had Socrates escaped prison with Crito’s assistance,
not only would the philosopher have contradicted principles that had
long guided his life, but he and Crito would also have inflicted grave
damage upon their souls. Distinct from the political rhetoric of politi-
cians like Cleon, who advocated genocide, Socrates’ speech did not
encourage immoral action. Nor did his speech resemble that of
Alcibiades, who persuaded the Athenians to launch the fateful Sicilian
expedition. Unlike Crito, readers amenable to Socrates’ philosophical
arguments do not need conventional patriotic arguments to agree that,
in refusing to escape, Socrates did what was right.®
Prodded by Socrates, Crito, who fails to grasp the irony of the
speech of the Laws he has just witnessed, confesses that he has nothing
more to say. He has no choice but to conclude that Socrates must reject
his plea to escape. Two distinct arguments oppose Crito: the philosoph-
ical argument of Socrates, based upon a strict view of justice, which
Crito is loath to accept, and the rhetorical argument that Socrates gives
for the Laws in support of the communal interest of Athens, which the
conventional Crito cannot deny. According to the Laws, Socrates must
die because defying a legal verdict would threaten the stability of the
state; according to Socrates, he must die because, having been legally
convicted, evading punishment would be unjust. Crito accepts the right
conclusion, but for the wrong reason. He was persuaded not by the just
reasons of the philosopher, but by patriotic rhetorical arguments that
reflected his own identification of justice with expediency.
Nevertheless, Socrates’ refusal to flee is not an endorsement of
Athenian values. While most citizens would have agreed with the patri-
otic rhetoric of the Laws, with its demand of absolute obedience, if
placed in Socrates’ situation, many would have acted in self-interest and
fled Athens, defying the death sentence imposed by their enemies. In
light of this, Socrates’ refusal to escape directly conflicted with the pre-
 Socrates and Civil Disobedience

vailing view of the good and noble person. Accepting the death penalty
was not an act of conciliation, but Socrates’ final act of defiance.”
Without his rhetorical “persuasive” mask, the Socrates of the Crito
remains the same radical Socrates of the Apology.” Having argued
forcefully for philosophy in the Apology, he was able to switch sides, as
it were, in the Crito, presenting apparently equally compelling commu-
nity-based arguments for Athens. That Plato could so effectively depict
Socrates in the guise of the Laws highlights the tragic conflict between
the philosopher and the state, between philosophy and politics, between
the duty-based morality of the soul and the materialistic morality of the
city. Although his sympathies unquestionably lay with Socrates, Plato
allows the philosopher to speak dialogically, dramatically illustrating
cogent arguments for both sides.
Plato’s Crito thus features three different voices in dialogue: first,
the view of Crito, representing the traditional view of justice as expedi-
ency; second, the moral philosophical view of justice by Socrates; and
third, the view of the Laws, which, while appearing to speak the lan-
guage of justice, is, like Crito’s, the language of expediency. In submit-
ting to death, Socrates is convinced that he is fulfilling God’s will, the
same God who had instituted his philosophic mission. Dying in the serv-
ice of Apollo, Socrates will become a religious martyr. Crito is induced
to follow the course dictated by the Laws, leaving Socrates “to fulfil the
will of God, and to follow whither he leads.””! The Crito thus ends with
an affirmation, echoing the Apology, of Socrates’ belief in a benevolent
divinity.
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 Chapter 12

CONCLUSION:
A CONFLICT UNRESOLVED

“Socrates himself fell victim to the popular prejudice against

philosophy.”
—Leo Strauss!

HE TRIAL OF SOCRATES WAS A TRIAL OF PHILOSOPHY. He died as

a result of a tragic conflict between himself and Athens, each
committed to antithetical principles. While the Athenians per-
mitted him to conduct his philosophic life for years, in 399 B.c. Socrates
compelled them to choose between philosophy, with its radical ques-
tioning and uncompromising ethical principles, and the prevailing poli-
tics of the city. Essentially, the conflict was between the good man and
the good citizen. As Aristotle reminds us in the Nicomachean Ethics, “it
would seem that to be a good man is not in every case the same thing as
to be a good citizen.”’ For Socrates to be a “good citizen,” he would
have had to surrender his moral autonomy to popular notions of justice
and goodness. Both the philosopher and the many Athenians who
opposed him had defensible positions, but each side lacked the more
comprehensive vision that would have enabled them to coexist with
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

their differences. The struggle was over priorities. Socrates valued free-
dom and the community, but when they conflicted, his principles made
him choose freedom. The Athenians valued the community and free-
dom, but when compelled to make a choice, most decided to uphold the
primacy of the community.
Like the protagonists of Sophoclean drama, Socrates demonstrated
what Bernard Knox has called “the heroic temper”—an unwavering
adherence to his principles, even in the face of death.* We recall the
uncompromising single-mindedness of characters such as Oedipus,
Antigone, Philoctetus, Electra, and Ajax. The Sophoclean hero, Knox
observes, was characterized by “uniqueness,” a “sharply differentiated
individuality.”’ According to Aristotle, Socrates was similar to other
Greek heroes, such as Achilles, Ajax, even Alcibiades, in that he exhib-
ited megalopsychia, or high-mindedness. The megalopsychos was given
to carrying heroic self-assertion to destructive extremes. While high-
mindedness, and the absolute refusal to accept dishonor, drove Achilles
to wrath, Ajax to suicide, and Alcibiades to battle, Socrates was driven
into fatal conflict with his city. Throughout his trial, Socrates displayed
a singular moral gravitas, accentuating his position as an outsider in
Athens.
Confronted with the supreme moral crisis of his life, Socrates, like a
Sophoclean hero, defiantly refused to compromise. He held firmly to his
views, even when many perceived them as incompatible with the welfare
of the community. Committed to a morality of absolute goodness,
Socrates insisted that, like himself, the state must always be good.
Indeed, the same conscientious moral principles must be applied to both
private and public behavior. For Socrates, the good person took prece-
dence over the good citizen. He was unwilling to accept the necessity of
ethical compromise in politics. He held absolutely to his sense of moral
autonomy, even if it challenged the state’s legitimate claim to authority.
Hence, the good Socrates became the bad citizen. As Hannah Arendt
wrote: “Throughout history, the truth-seekers and truthtellers have been
aware of the risks of their business; as long as they did not interfere with
the course of the world, they were covered with ridicule, but he who
forced his fellow-citizens to take him seriously by trying to set them free
from falsehood and illusion was in danger of his life.”” As we have seen,
 Conclusion

the Athenians found their aspiring moral liberator to be unrelenting. His

position assailed by the multitude, Socrates believed that to compromise
would betray the principles that guided his life. He could not compro-
mise a mission imposed by God. Like the Greek hero, Socrates seemed
to take on superhuman greatness. “In his deliberate choice of death
rather than surrender,” Knox argues, “he [Socrates] enters the ranks of
the heroes himself.”*
But Socrates was the hero of the inner life, a life based upon spiri-
tual values, conscience, and the soul. In essence, he offered the Greeks a
new and greater Achilles, a new and greater Heracles. On the day of his
trial, Socrates had, enshrined in myth, two other examples from the
heroic tradition before him, either that of Odysseus or Ajax. As related
by Homer and dramatized by Sophocles, Odysseus and Ajax quarreled
over which of them should receive the dead Achilles’ armor as a sign of
personal prowess. When Agamemnon and Menelaus, the two com-
manders of the Greek army, awarded the armor to Odysseus, the dis-
honored Ajax—after Achilles, the bravest Greek warrior at
Troy—became enraged. The crafty and diplomatic Odysseus had con-
vinced the Greeks that he, not Ajax, had served them best. As Sophocles
has Odysseus proudly proclaim, “words and not deeds give mastery
over men.”* When Ajax resolves to avenge himself by murdering
Agamemnon and Menelaus, the goddess Athena afflicts him with mad-
ness, leading him to slaughter a herd of sheep in the mistaken belief that
they are his enemies. Recovering his sanity, Ajax decides that suicide is
his only escape from dishonor. In the ancient world, taking one’s life on
a matter of principle was regarded as an admirable action. Unwilling to
continue to live in contradiction to his principles, Ajax falls upon his
sword. As he had declared: “Let a man nobly live or nobly die.””
Socrates rejected Odysseus’ way of eloquent, but deceptive speech,
directed to an unjust end. Like Ajax, the philosopher chose to commit
suicide once it became clear that the Athenians would no longer permit
him to live according to his principles. But his death would make him a
martyr for the cause of philosophy. Like Ajax, Socrates was rebuffed by
a tribunal of his peers: Ajax by his fellow warriors, Socrates by his fel-
low Athenian citizens. At the conclusion of the Apology, as we have
seen, Socrates linked himself to Ajax, also a victim of an unjust judg-
218 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

ment. Yet, while Ajax’s madness contributed to his suicide, Socrates

remained rational throughout. Moreover, while Socrates shared with
Achilles and Ajax a commitment to live an honorable life, the philoso-
pher died for a new conception of honor, determined not by society but
by adherence to conscience. He refused to be controlled by the values of
a shame culture with its primary emphasis upon property, wealth, and
worldly fame. While Achilles died with public honor, having achieved
great fame as a military warrior devoted to conquest, Socrates died with
public dishonor, a moral warrior devoted to instructing others to care
first and foremost for their souls.
Confronting death is the defining element in the heroes of all cul-
tures. As the warrior Sarpedon explains to Glaucus in the Iliad, heroism
is intimately related to mortality. The immortal gods, never facing the
prospect of death, could not be heroes. Faced with a bleak life in the
underworld, Greek heroes had to overcome the fear of death. But
Socrates professed no such fear. Indeed, we find no Aristotelian catas-
trophe, no lamentation, in the works of Plato—the Apology, the Crito,
and the Phaedo—which recount the last words of Socrates. Moreover,
Socrates the philosopher-hero, as if to anticipate Aristotle’s analysis of
tragedy, disassociated himself in the Apology from the tragic emotions
of pity and fear. Declining to solicit the jury’s pity, he proclaimed that,
for a good person, death could not be harmful. This departs radically
from the traditional belief, reflected in the Homeric epics and the Greek
tragedies, that no person, bad or good, was exempt from great harm and
suffering.'' Socrates viewed his death not as a suffering or defeat, but as
a triumph. As Kierkegaard concluded: “To be sure, his was a tragic fate,
and yet the death of Socrates is not essentially tragic . . . since death had
no reality for Socrates.”"* Unlike the Greek tragic heroes, he was not the
victim of fate, or the jealousy of the gods, but of his own uncompro-
mising choice as a free and responsible agent."? Yet, even if Socrates
refused to see his death as lamentable, many nonetheless perceive the
events of his trial and execution as tragic. The essence of tragedy, as
Hegel understood, lies not in the ending, good or bad, but in the tragic
collision between two positions, each with a claim to legitimacy.'* For
Socrates, obedience to his divinely sanctioned philosophic mission and
conscience made necessary his transgression of fundamental Athenian
 Conclusion

beliefs and values; Athenians, on the other hand, had to defend what
they regarded as the best interests of the community from the radical
challenge of philosophy.
The relentless Socrates brought his philosophic mission into the
courtroom like a dialectical warrior. Compelled to choose between his
personal integrity and his city, he conducted his trial as he had conducted
his whole life. What Cedric Whitman says of the wrath of Achilles applies
to Socrates: “Personal integrity in Achilles achieves the form and author-
ity of immanent divinity, with its inviolable, lonely singleness, half repel-
lent because of its almost inhuman austerity, but irresistible in its passion
and perfected selfhood.”'’ Rejecting the prevailing forensic practices,
Socrates adopted an arrogant confrontational tone. As George Grote
observed, Socrates brought condemnation upon himself by his “offensive
self-exaltation” at his trial.'° Many jurors undoubtedly resented a defen-
dant who claimed that his beliefs and conduct were beyond reproach.
Hence, the person who invoked God as the source of his philosophic mis-
sion was condemned for impiety, the person who stimulated his fellow
citizens to care for their souls was condemned for corrupting the young.
Having alienated himself from Athens, taking an uncompromisingly
individualistic stance at odds with the values of the community, Socrates
destroyed himself. The good man became the renegade.
Socrates answered the charge of impiety with the fantastic claim of
a privileged relationship to the divine, instead of affirming explicitly his
belief in the gods of the polis. He answered the charge of corrupting the
youth with the argument that his philosophic mission made him the
city’s greatest benefactor. And yet this self-professed savior of Athens
denied that he was a teacher. His opponents could charge that his criti-
cal questioning merely destroyed the accepted convictions upon which
social stability depends, without offering new doctrines sufficient to
replace the old. Moreover, in a city that valued active participation by
citizens in the democratic process, Socrates reminded the jury that if he
had not deliberately avoided politics, the corrupt Athenians would have
executed him years before. As Socrates’ limited direct involvement in
Athenian politics had made clear, he was prepared to resist any regime,
democratic or oligarchic, whenever it commanded him to commit an
injustice. During an age when the community was regarded as the
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

arbiter of morals, his claim of a personal unmediated mission from God

and his sense of conscience were unique.
Socrates, moreover, had the audacity to inform the jury that if acquit-
ted on condition that he obey an order to cease philosophizing, he would
defy them. To many Athenians, this threat of civil disobedience was tan-
tamount to a declaration of war upon the city and its laws. Even though
democrats would have applauded Socrates’ disobedience to the Thirty
Tyrants, most would have probably regarded a similar defiance of a dem-
ocratic government or court as treasonous. In the eyes of many jurors,
therefore, Socrates was a defiant, inflexible, self-righteous criminal,
utterly without remorse, whose philosophic activity endangered the polis.
Once convicted, he presented the Athenians with a dilemma, placing
them between the proverbial Scylla and Charybdis. To kill Socrates
meant that the Athenians, who prided themselves on their value of free
speech, could not bear criticism. They could not tolerate the idea that all
beliefs should be open to question. To acquit Socrates would bestow legal
sanction upon his mission, permitting the gadfly to persist in his critical
activity. To convict and simply fine Socrates would have also given him
the opportunity to resume his mission. While most opponents of Socrates
probably did not wish to kill him, he seemed to leave them no choice.
According to Nietzsche, “Socrates wanted to die; not Athens, but he
himself chose the hemlock; he forced Athens to sentence him.”!” As
Nietzsche argues in The Birth of Tragedy, Socrates and Athens were fun-
damentally incompatible; indeed, a harshly critical Nietzsche held that
the inordinately rational Socrates was a veritable “monstrosity,” exert-
ing a corrosive influence upon the instincts that were the essence of
Greek heroic life. Nietzsche concludes: “In this irresolvable conflict,
when he was brought before the forum of the Greek state, only one pun-
ishment was possible: exile. If they had sent this puzzling, uncategoriz-
able, inexplicable phenomenon across the border, posterity could not
have accused the Athenians of a disgraceful act. But Socrates himself
seems to have insisted upon the pronouncement of a sentence of death
rather than exile, with complete clarity of mind and without any natu-
ral awe of death. He went to his death as peacefully as, in Plato’s
description, he left the Symposium at daybreak, the last of the revellers,
to begin a new day.”"
 Conclusion

But Socrates could have avoided the death penalty by taking a more
flexible stand, demonstrating sensitivity toward the city’s values and
beliefs. While most would agree that his position was morally superior—
for we are drawn to individuals who hold tenaciously to their principles,
especially in the face of death—Socrates was flawed by his overbearing
intransigent manner and blindness to the merits of the Athenian side. As
one who alleged to have the best interests of Athens at heart, Socrates had
a responsibility to attempt to make the jury understand his views with-
out deliberately offending them. The closeness of the original vote to con-
vict him indicates that the death sentence was not inevitable. Indeed, had
Socrates been less provocative and more conciliatory in his defense
speech, he might have gained an acquittal, while still adhering to his prin-
ciples. He could have dealt more forthrightly with the charges against
him, instead of turning his trial into a trial of Athens. As a citizen, he had
an obligation to heed Athenian fears in a time of grave civil crisis. But he
lacked empathy. Even his supporters might charge that, by provoking the
jurors to condemn him, he did a disservice to Apollo by sabotaging his
philosophic mission. Since the Athenians could not become philosophi-
cal, Socrates, in an effort to bridge the chasm between philosophy and
politics, might have become political, in the sense of prudent. Without
violating his conscience, therefore, Socrates might have tempered his tone
and demonstrated respect for traditional values, even as he criticized and
strove to improve morally his city.
Instead, Socrates’ unyielding stand blinded him to what Athenians
regarded as essential for the survival of the city. He might have consid-
ered that for Athenian youths to lose faith in traditional values was to
lose faith in the polis. Instead of merely attacking inconsistencies in the
thinking of others, he might have devoted more attention to enunciating
positive doctrines that might have provided more secure guidance than
the vague injunction to perfect one’s soul. He failed to show adequately
the difference between himself and the Sophists. The Sophists criticized
values and traditions on the grounds that truth is an illusion and every-
thing is relative. Socrates failed to appreciate that his philosophic
method, while designed to pursue truth by clear and consistent thinking,
merely engendered fear and confusion in many Athenians. Instead of
presenting at his trial an argument designed more for philosophers, he
SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

might have presented an argument more accessible to citizens.” Instead

of mocking the jurors, he might have sought to guide them, like he
guided Crito, toward a better understanding of his position. In sum,
Socrates failed in his obligation to convince the majority of jurors that
his philosophic mission was compatible with the welfare of the commu-
nity. Indeed, at his trial, he gloried in his role as a subverter, calling him-
self an annoying gadfly, when he might have employed his more
benevolent trope—that of an intellectual midwife. Moreover, he con-
fused the jurors by subverting while seeming to affirm fundamental val-
ues. He spoke of justice, but in the sense of never doing harm, even to
one’s enemies; he spoke of piety, but in the sense of serving God by serv-
ing others; he spoke of the good citizen, but as one who avoided poli-
tics; he spoke of the hero, but the hero of knowledge and moral
autonomy rather than of violence and unquestioning acceptance of tra-
dition. In essence, Socrates attempted to redefine the long-standing val-
ues and beliefs integral to the Athenian polis.
For years, the recalcitrant Socrates had deliberately avoided the
political forums of Athens, the Assembly and the lawcourts, that fre-
quently made moral compromise necessary. Three times, the paths of the
philosopher and the politicians collided. First, during the trial of the
Athenian generals in 406 B.c., Socrates firmly held his conscientious
principles, refusing to put to a vote a measure that would allow the
democratic Assembly to commit an illegal and unjust act, violating the
Athenian constitution. But this proved unavailing, as the Assembly
rebuffed his gallant effort, voting to execute the generals without a trial.
Socrates reminded the jury that he had barely escaped arrest himself, so
infuriated was the Assembly by his resistance. In 404 B.c., he confronted
the state again when he committed civil disobedience by refusing to
comply with an unjust command of the Thirty Tyrants to arrest Leon of
Salamis for summary execution. Unwilling to commit an act of injustice,
Socrates was saved only by the overthrow of the Thirty shortly after.
Finally, in 399 B.c., the collision between philosophy and politics came
to a dramatic climax with Socrates’ trial. Drawn involuntarily by his
indictment into a political forum that he had sedulously avoided, an
Athenian court, Socrates acted according to the same moral principles
that had guided his private life.
 Conclusion 223

The ancient Greeks believed that certain excellent individuals, such

as the mythic heroes, were endowed by the gods with noble qualitites
that surpassed those of ordinary humans.” These persons were called
theios, like the gods. To some Athenians, Socrates might have been
regarded as attempting to appropriate such a superior status for himself.
That he would profess a divine mission, based upon an unverifiable pri-
vate revelation from Apollo, and that he would claim to act under the
guidance of an equally unverifiable intuitive divine voice, must have
been regarded as the essence of hubris, the sin of an individual elevating
himself above the community’s legitimate authority. The philosopher’s
critics might argue that if individuals were permitted to disobey govern-
ment commands or civil laws on the basis of their personal understand-
ing of a higher law from God, the state would be undermined.! Indeed,
to many, Socrates appeared to claim that he was a law unto himself.
Aristotle later wrote of the individual so superior in virtue to the rest of
the citizenry that he could no longer be considered part of the state. The
rule of law could not justly apply to a person of such excellence, who
“may truly be deemed a God among men.” For persons of superior
virtue, “there is no law—they are themselves a law.” The proper method
for dealing with these individuals, Aristotle argues, is not expulsion
from the community. Instead, the citizens should happily appoint them
kings for life.” This would be one way of reconciling philosophy and
politics, for the virtuous person, like Plato’s philosopher-ruler, would
govern the city. But most Athenians would have rejected Aristotle’s
counsel, choosing instead to condemn their most virtuous citizen to
death. At the opening of his trial, Socrates pleaded that he was a
stranger to the court; at the end of his trial, many concluded that he was
a stranger to the city, devoid of civic virtue. In Renaissance Florence,
Niccolé Machiavelli, steeped in politics, declared that he loved his native
city more than his soul. He would advise politicians to ignore Christian
ethics, if necessary, to promote the interest of the state. In 399 B.c.,
many Athenians concluded that Socrates, the unpolitical man, was
guilty of loving his soul more than his city.
The condemnation of Socrates was in accord with the law. While the
philosopher claimed what amounted to a moral right to challenge the
traditional values of the polis, the jury concluded that he did not have a
224 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

legal right to do so. By the standards of the day, the majority of jurors
believed that he was legally guilty of impiety and of corrupting the
minds of the young. Having expounded beliefs and values regarded as
antithetical to the interest of the polis, Socrates provoked many to con-
clude that acquitting him would jeopardize community life. No society
can survive if individuals can flout its laws and sacred traditions with
impunity. To some, Socrates must have been as grave a challenge as the
Peloponnesian War. The words of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, whose Social
Contract reflects a conception of society derived from classical antiquity,
articulate the view of the average Athenian in 399 B.c.: “Since every
wrongdoer attacks the society’s law, he becomes by his deed a rebel and
a traitor to the nation; by violating its law, he ceases to be a member of
it; indeed, he makes war against it. And in this case, the preservation of
the state is incompatible with his preservation; one or the other must
perish; and when the guilty man is put to death, it is less as a citizen than
as an enemy.”” At the same time, the Athenians must bear their share of
responsibility for the death of Socrates. They had essentially three
choices before them.* They could fundamentally reform their lives in
response to Socrates’ mission, pursuing virtue and the perfection of their
souls. They could remain morally as they were, yet tolerating a gadfly in
their midst. Considering Socrates’ advanced age, he could not have long
persisted in his mission. Or they could silence him, thus enabling them-
selves to continue their ethical slumber, living lives that, according to
Socrates, were “not worth living.” The majority chose to silence the
philosopher. Like Socrates, most jurors, representing a cross-section of
the Athenian citizenry, refused to compromise. At a time when the
Athenians wanted their values and traditions validated and the primacy
of the polis affirmed, there stood the dissenter Socrates. The polis con-
trolled all aspects of Athenian culture—politics, religion, morality,
drama, and athletics—all except philosophy. Now the city would assert
its authority over philosophy.
In executing Socrates, the Athenians not only violated the demo-
cratic value of free speech but also established themselves in history as
symbols of the tyrannical suppression of the autonomous individual.
While the virtues of democracy are obvious, those who ignore its poten-
tial vices do so at the peril of a free society. Essentially, Socrates offered
 Conclusion 225

the Athenians what they were unwilling to accept. To those preoccupied

with power and material wealth, he offered a life dedicated to improv-
ing the soul by thinking clearly and acting rightly. To those with blind
attachment to tradition, he offered an example of one willing to subject
every received value to critical examination. To those who submitted to
state authority without question, he offered the example of one who, on
the grounds of autonomous conscience, would disobey state commands
rather than commit an injustice. Did the preservation of Athens depend
upon the silencing of Socrates? Was compromise beyond the capability
of most Athenians? Because every society, especially a democratic soci-
ety, contains a multitude of viewpoints, often in conflict, compromise is
necessary for the perpetuation of order. Indeed, as citizens of a direct
democracy, the Athenians had to make concessions each time they met
in the Assembly. Ironically, the inventors of politics seemed to forget that
politics is the art of compromise. To this extent, at least, they were more
culpable than Socrates, the unpolitical man. If Athens was legally right
in condemning Socrates, Socrates was morally right in condemning
Athens. If guilty by law, convicted by due process of being a dangerous
citizen, he was nevertheless innocent in equity.
We may now revisit David’s masterpiece, The Death of Socrates, but
with a deeper appreciation of the philosopher’s significance. In essence,
the painting reflects both the Crito and the Apology. While Socrates the
citizen does submit to the death sentence imposed by the state, signified
by his reaching for the cup of hemlock, at the same time, Socrates the
individualist, his finger pointing upward toward the higher realm of the
gods, would never subordinate his conscience to the state. By his death,
Socrates simultaneously fulfilled the two principles that served as the
bases of his life. In refusing to abandon his philosophic mission, he
remained faithful to God and his conscience; in submitting to the verdict
of the court, he remained faithful to Athens and the principle of the rule
of law. From the viewpoint of the friends of Socrates and those
Athenians who voted to acquit him, his condemnation must have been
considered tragic, the result of a conflict between antithetical principles;
yet, from Socrates’ viewpoint, his death was a triumph for philosophy.
The trial of Socrates, as we have emphasized, reflected a fundamental
antagonism between philosophy and politics in Athens. Socrates the
226 SOCRATES AGAINST ATHENS

philosopher was devoted to the cultivation of virtue and the nonpartisan

pursuit of truth, what Plato termed real knowledge. In contrast, the
politicians, deeply embroiled in what Plato described as the mere opin-
ion-based, corrupt shadow-world of the cave, competed among them-
selves for worldly goods, honor, and power. The condemnation of
Socrates signified the condemnation of philosophy. The Athenians reaf-
firmed their belief that no person should be permitted to threaten the
preeminence of the polis. The supreme irony is that the attempt to crush
philosophy not only resulted in one of the greatest trials in history but
also inspired generations to pursue a more examined life, pondering the
enduring questions that Socrates raised.
According to one apocryphal tradition, preserved by Diogenes
Laertius, not long after the execution of Socrates, the Athenians
repented, banishing Meletus and Lycon and putting Anytus to death.
Socrates, the victim of the city’s folly, was honored with a bronze statue
of his likeness.** The justice of these civic actions is merely poetic, not
historical. Nevertheless, Socrates left a lasting impression upon his asso-
ciates. Xenophon found it beyond his power “to forget him or, in
remembering him, to refrain from praising him.”** According to Plato,
“of all those whom we knew in our lifetime,” Socrates was the best, the
wisest, and the most just.”’
Responding to the failure of Socrates to make philosophy relevant
to the state, Plato would refuse to make any accommodation to the
world of political action. He rejected politics altogether, turning his
attention instead to the task of making the world safe for philosophy by
creating a state founded upon eternal, absolute truth.* In the Republic—
free from conflict and change, revolution and factional strife—the colli-
sion between the philosopher and politics would not be possible. Yet,
while Plato found a means to resurrect philosophy, he did so at the price
of betraying the spirit of his master. For Socrates’ mission, the ongoing
pursuit of wisdom and virtue in an atmosphere of freedom, in which all
questions remain open questions, would be supplanted by the authori-
tarian imposition of absolute truth by Plato’s philosopher-rulers.
Perhaps Aristotle, who inherited the mantle of philosophy from
Socrates through Plato, best expressed what Socrates signifies for those
who cherish the life of the mind:
 Conclusion 2217,

“There is a life higher than the human level: not in virtue of his
humanity will a man achieve it, but in virtue of something within him
that is divine. . . . If then the intellect is something divine in comparison
with man, so is the life of the intellect divine in comparison with human
life. Nor ought we to obey those who enjoin that a man should have
man’s thoughts and a mortal the thoughts of mortality, but we ought so
far as possible to achieve immortality, and do all that man may to live
in accordance with the highest thing in him; for though this be small in
bulk, in power and value it far surpasses all the rest.””’
By bringing the philosophic mission into the court, Socrates con-
verted his trial into a moral examination of Athens, sealing his fate. The
trial demonstrated for many Athenians the incompatibility between phi-
losophy and politics. As representatives of the city, most jurors refused
to subordinate politics to the morality that philosophy demanded.
Socrates conducted his defense as he had his philosophic life, caring for
his soul as well as the soul of Athens. As he proclaimed to the jury, a life
worth living is guided not by the prospects of life or death, or by public
opinion, but by whether one is doing right or wrong, acting justly or
unjustly. If Socrates committed crimes that demanded capital punish-
ment, Athens crushed the one person whose spirit of rational inquiry
might have led the polis to a more enlightened future. Condemned by
the city he loved, Socrates, the philosopher-hero, willingly went to his
death, confident that he had abided by his moral principles to the very
end. Having nourished his soul by cultivating virtue all his life, the
philosopher knew how to die.*®
 Notes

Chapter 1 tion of Plato was published in 1578.

Introduction: A Tragic Confrontation . Apology, 29. Although nowhere named
in the Apology, the context here indicates
le Hannah Arendt to Karl Jaspers, July 1, that the “God” is Apollo. Jowett usually,
1956, in Hannah Arendt-Karl Jaspers but not always, translates “God” in the
Correspondence, ed. Lotte Kohler and upper case. The polytheistic Greeks often
Hans Saner, trans. from the German by spoke of “God” in the singular, as if each
Robert and Rita Kimber (Harcourt Brace of the gods were aspects of one God, or
Jovanovich, New York: 1992), 288-9. On the divine. Throughout our study, the use
the theme of the relation between philoso- of “God” in the upper case, which con-
phy and politics, see also Leo Strauss, forms to several English translations of
Persecution and the Art of Writing the Apology, is not meant to imply that
(Chicago, 1988), 5, 18, and What Is Socrates was necessarily a monotheist,
Political Philosophy? And Other Studies but to emphasize the essential role of the
(Chicago, 1988), 32, 92-3, 221-2. divine in his philosophic mission. While
. The Greek word polis, is usually trans- the context usually reveals that the
lated as “city,” » “state,” or “city-state.” “God” Socrates is referring to is Apollo,
. The most popular book justifying the
ies) the referent is sometimes ambiguous.
execution of Socrates by Athens for See Robin Waterfield, Introduction to
political reasons is I. E Stone, The Trial Xenophon: Conversations of Socrates
of Socrates (New York, 1988). (Harmondsworth, England, 1990),
- . Unless otherwise noted, all translations of 44, n.1.
Plato’s dialogues in this book are by 6. John Stuart Mill, On Liberty, ed.
Benjamin Jowett. See Jowett, The Gertrude Himmelfarb (Harmondsworth,
Dialogues of Plato, 2 vols. (New York, England, Penguin Books, 1974), 85.
1937). Note that there are slight varia- . A. C. Bradley, “Hegel’s Theory of
tions in the wording of the many editions Tragedy,” in Oxford Lectures on Poetry
of Jowett’s translations. In conformity (London, 1941), 72.
with Jowett, we cite only the standard . H.D.E Kitto, The Greeks
Stephanus pages, omitting the sections (Harmondsworth, England, 1957), 153-4.
(a-e). Stephanus refers to Henricus . Romano Guardini, The Death of
Stephanus, a Latinization of Henri Socrates (New York, 1948), 44.
Estienne (1528-1598), the French scholar 10. J. B. Bury, A History of Greece
228 and printer, whose Greek and Latin edi- (London, 1929), 581; see also Jean
 Notes 229

Hatzfeld, History of Ancient Greece Tragedy: Rhetoric and Communication,”

(New York, 1968), 147. in Greek Tragedy, 132.
pit J. Peter Euben, “Introduction” in Greek 23% Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent
Tragedy and Political Theory, ed. Euben Philosophers (Cambridge, MA, 1925),
(Berkeley, CA, 1986), 23. vol.1, Il.5-6.
12: R. E. Allen, “The Trial of Socrates: A 24. On the effect of Plato’s dialogues on
Study in the Morality of the Criminal readers, see Jill Gordon, Turning
Process,” in Socrates: Critical Toward Philosophy: Literary Device and
Assessments, vol. II, ed. William J. Prior Dramatic Structure in Plato’s Dialogues
(London: Routledge, 1996), 4. (University Park, PA, 1999).
sex Oddone Longo, “The Theater of the pPsy. On the importance of understanding the
Polis,” in John W. Winkler and Froma literary and historical context of the
Zeitlin, eds., Nothing to Do with works of Plato, see Gerald A. Press,
Dionysos? (Princeton, 1990), 12-19. “Introduction—The Dialogical Mode in
According to Simon Goldhill, to be part Modern Plato Studies,” in Richard Hart
of an audience in Athens, whether in the and Victorino Tejera, eds., Plato’s
theater, the Assembly, or the law courts Dialogues—The Dialogical Approach,
was “a fundamental and defining politi- vol. 46. (Lewiston, NY, 1997), 1-28.
cal act. Within the ideology of the 26. Friedrich Schleiermacher, “General
shared duties of participatory citizen- Introduction,” in Introductions to the
ship, to be in an audience is to play the Dialogues of Plato (Cambridge, 1836), 14.
role of the democratic citizen.” See
Goldhill, “Greek Drama and Political
Theory,” in The Cambridge History of Chapter 2
Greek and Roman Political Thought, Setting the Stage for the Trial
eds. Christopher Rowe and Malcolm
Schofield (Cambridge: Cambridge ds C. Hignett, A History of the Athenian
University Press, 2000), 62. Goldhill’s Constitution: To the End of the Fifth
italics. Century B.C. (Oxford, 1952), 216-21;
14. William Arrowsmith, “A Greek Theater and J. W. Roberts, City of Sokrates
of Ideas,” in Ideas in the Drama: (London, 1998), 58-9; on the Heliaia
Selected Papers from the English (Eliaia), see Coleman Phillipson, The Trial
Institute, ed. John Gassner (New York, of Socrates (London, 1928), 227-46; and
1964), 1-41, at 2. Douglas M. MacDowell, The Law in
uy. Christian Meier, The Political Art of Classical Athens (London, 1978), 29-35.
Greek Tragedy (Cambridge, England, Although often referred to as the Heliaia,
1993), 5; see also Euben, Greek Tragedy inscriptions show that the correct spelling
and Political Theory. is Eliaia. See Martin Ostwald, From
16. Jean-Pierre Vernant and Pierre Vidal- Popular Sovereignty to the Sovereignty of
Naquet, Myth and Tragedy in Ancient Law (Berkeley, 1986), 10, n.27; 68.
Greece (New York, 1990), 24-5; see . Steven Johnstone, Disputes and
also Helen North, Sophrosyne (Ithaca, Democracy: The Consequences of
1966),12, 32-84, 150. Litigation in Ancient Athens (Austin,
17. Edith Hall, “Lawcourt Dramas: The XS 99 9S 19:
Power of Performance in Greek Forensic . Socrates refers to the trial’s public
Oratory,” Bulletin of the Institute of “audience” in Apology, 24e.
Classical Studies 40 (1995): 39-58. . MacDowell, Law in Classical Athens, 248;
18. Paul Cartledge, “‘Deep Plays’: Theatre and Phillipson, Trial of Socrates, 251.
as Process in Greek Civic Life,” in The . Diogenes Laertius, Lives, vol.1, 1.40. The
Cambridge Companion to Greek reader will note that at Apology, 24,
Tragedy, ed. P. E. Easterling Socrates reverses the formal charges, plac-
(Cambridge, England, 1997), 3. ing the corruption charge first. His remark
(Hereafter cited as Greek Tragedy.) that the prosecution’s affidavit “contains
19. Simon Goldhill, “The Audience of something of this kind” indicates that he
Athenian Tragedy,” in Greek Tragedy, did not intend to be precise. He apparently
54; and Rush Rehm, “The Performance regarded corruption as the root charge.
Culture of Athens,” chap. 1 in Greek We retain the charges in the order stated
Tragic Theatre (London, 1992), 3-11. by Diogenes Laertius, corroborated by
. Rehm, Greek Tragic Theatre, 3. Xenophon, in Memorabilia (Cambridge,
. Cartledge, “‘Deep Plays,’”15. MA, 1923), I.1.1; unless otherwise noted,
. Simon Goldhill, “The Language of all citations are to this edition.
230 Notes

6. MacDowell, Law in Classical Athens, Socrates,” in The Philosophy of

237-42; see also “Procedure Before and Socrates: A Collection of Critical Essays,
at Trial,” in Phillipson, Trial of Socrates, ed. Vlastos (Notre Dame, IN, 1980), 3.
247-72. pin. W. K. C. Guthrie, Socrates (Cambridge,
. Leo Strauss calls the Apology of Socrates England, 1971), 157-8.
“the dialogue of Socrates with the city of 26. Charles H. Kahn, Plato and the Socratic
Athens.” See “On Plato’s Apology of Dialogue (Cambridge, England, 1996),
Socrates and Crito,” in Strauss, Studies in 88-9, 97. On the historicity of the
Platonic Political Philosophy (Chicago, Apology, see also Thomas C. Brickhouse
1983), 38. Strauss’ italics. and Nicholas D. Smith, Socrates on Trial
. Only in a few cases have speeches for both (Princeton, 1989), 2-10; R. E. Allen,
the prosecution and the accused survived. Socrates and Legal Obligation
See Michael Gagarin, “Series Introduc- (Minneapolis, 1980), 33-6; George
tion,” in The Oratory of Classical Greece, Grote, Plato and the Other Companions
vol. 2, Lysias, trans. $.C. Todd (Austin: of Sokrates (London, 1865), Vol. I,
University of Texas Press, 2000), xxii. 281-2; and C. L. Kitchel, Plato’s Apology
. Mogens H. Hansen, The Trial of of Socrates (New York, 1898),10, 34-5.
Socrates—From the Athenian Point of
View (Copenhagen, 1995), 187.
Ibid 7199: Chapter 3
1h; Xenophon, Apology [Socrates’ Defence Socrates and Rhetoric
to the Jury] (Cambridge, MA, 1923), 1.
Unless otherwise noted, all citations are 1 George Kennedy, The Art of Persuasion
to this edition. in Greece (London, 1963), 3-4.
127 Diogenes Laertius, Lives, vol.1, II.40. as Jean-Pierre Vernant, The Origins of
“Logography,” the practice of writing Greek Thought (Ithaca, 1982), 49-50.
speeches for others to be memorized and . Roland Barthes, The Semiotic Challenge,
delivered at court, began with the trans. Richard Howard (Berkeley:
Sophist Antiphon around 430 B.c. See University of California Press,
Gagarin, “Series Introduction,” xii—xiii. 1988),13-14.
3: Soren Kierkegaard, For Self- . Quoted in W. K. C. Guthrie, The Sophists
Examination, Judge for Yourself!, ed. (Cambridge, England, 1971), 50.
and trans. Howard V. Hong and Edna n. Iliad, 9:443.
H. Hong (Princeton: Princeton . Odyssey, 8:171-3.
University Press, 1990), 225. . On the Sophists, see: Harold Barrett, The
14. Xenophon, Memorabilia, IV.viii.4; Sophists (Novato, CA, 1987); Guthrie,
Xenophon, Apology, 3-4. The Sophists; G. B. Kerferd, The Sophistic
15: St. George Stock, The Apology of Plato Movement (Cambridge, England, 1981);
(Oxford, 1890; reprint 1953), 26. and Jacqueline de Romilly, The Great
16. Soren Kierkegaard, The Concept of Sophists (Oxford, 1992).
Irony (Bloomington, IN, 1965), 54. . Protagoras, 312, 317-8.
17. Plato is named twice in Socrates’ speech. . Apology, 17.
Apology, 34, 38. . Ibid.
18. C. M. Bowra, Ancient Greek Literature . As E. de Strycker points out, Socrates
(New York: Oxford University Press, uses the word “truth” four times in the
1960), 173. first fourteen lines of the Apology. See
19: Thucydides, 1.22. Unless otherwise noted, de Strycker, Plato’s Apology of Socrates
all translations of Thucydides are from (Leiden, The Netherlands, 1994), 39.
Benjamin Jowett, Thucydides Translated 123 Paul Friedlander, Plato: The Dialogues
into English, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1900). First Period (New York, 1964), 160.
20. Gregory Vlastos, Socrates: Ironist and ete Gorgias, Helen, in Readings from
Moral Philosopher (Ithaca, 1991), 253. Classical Rhetoric, ed. Patricia P.
21. A. E. Taylor, Socrates (New York, Matsen, Phillip Rollinson, and Marion
1953), 156-7. Sousa (Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois
22h John Burnet, “Apology: Introductory University Press, 1990), 33-6.
Note,” in Plato’s Euthyphro, Apology of 14. Crito, 45.
Socrates, and Crito (Oxford, 1924), BY See Barry S. Strauss, Athens after the
143-4. Peloponnesian War (London, 1986), 1 >
25. Werner Jaeger, Paideia: The Ideals of 3, 27-8, 89-90, 113-4, 171-2.
Greek Culture (New York, 1939), II, 37. 16. Richard A. Lanham, The Motives of
24. Gregory Vlastos, “The Paradox of Eloquence: Literary Rhetoric in the
 Notes 231

Renaissance (New Haven: Yale (Berkelely: University of California

University Press, 1976), 4-5. Press, 1988), 74.
17; Barrett, The Sophists, 27; Guthrie, The 4. Apology, 19.
Sophists, 38; and John Poulakis, 5.George Anastaplo, “Human Being and
Sophistical Rhetoric in Classical Greece Citizen: A Beginning to the Study of
(Columbia, SC, 1995), 16-24. Plato’s ‘Apology of Socrates,’” in Human
18. On opposition to the Sophists, see Being and Citizen (Chicago, 1975), 9.
Barrett, The Sophists, 27-33; de 6.On Aristophanes’ Clouds, see: Kenneth J.
Romilly, Great Sophists, 134-61; and Dover, “Socrates in the Clouds,” in
Christopher Rowe, An Introduction to Philosophy of Socrates, ed. Vlastos,
Greek Ethics (New York, 1977), 23-4. 50-77; and Dover, Aristophanic
19% J. V. Muir, “Religion and the New Comedy (Berkeley, 1972), 101-120.
Education: the Challenge of the Disappointed that the play did not win a
Sophists,” in Greek Religion and Society, prize, Aristophanes rewrote the Clouds,
ed. P. E. Easterling and J. V. Muir but the new version, the one that sur-
(Cambridge, England, 1985), 191-3. vives, was not presented on stage.
. Apology, 17; see Burnet, Plato’s 7. See Aristophanes, Clouds, abridged edi-
Euthyphro, Apology of Socrates, and tion, edited with introduction and com-
Crito,152. mentary by K. J. Dover (Oxford:
. Apology, 17-8. Oxford University Press, 1970), com-
. Kennedy, Art of Persuasion, 152. mentary on line 830.
. Burnet, Plato’s Euthyphro, Apology of oo- Quoted in Pierre Hadot, “The Figure of

Socrates, and Crito, 147. Socrates,” in Philosophy as a Way of

. Douglas D. Feaver and John E. Hare, Life (Oxford, 1995), 148.
“The Apology as an Inverted Parody of 9. Symposium, 216-7.
Rhetoric,” Arethusa 14 (1981): 205-16. 10. Apology, 19.
. Gorgias, 486. 11. Aristophanes, The Clouds, in Three
- Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, IX.2.46, Comedies by Aristophanes, trans.
quoted in Paul Friedlander, Plato: An William Arrowsmith (Ann Arbor:
Introduction (New York, 1958), 138. University of Michigan Press, 1969), 66.
. Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism: 12. Ibid., pp.112-3.
Four Essays (Princeton: Princeton 13. W. K. C. Guthrie, The Greek
University Press, 1971), 46. Philosophers (New York, 1960), 67.
. Phaedrus, 260. 14. Werner Jaeger, Paideia, vol. Il, 28.
. Gorgias, 455, 503-4. 15. Phaedrus, 275-6.
. Ibid., 517-9. 16. George Grote, A History of Greece
. Ibid., 521. (London, 1869), vol. VIII, 155.
. Republic, 489. 17. Claude Mossé, Athens in Decline:
. Gorgias, 521. 404-86 B.C. (London, 1973), 1-20.
. Ibid., 480. 18. A. de Lamartine, Homer and Socrates,
. According to Plutarch, Socrates opposed trans. Eliza Winchell Smith (Philadelphia:
the invasion of Sicily. Plutarch, J.B. Lippincott and Co., 1872), 64.
“Alcibiades,” 17, in The Rise and Fall 19. Apology, 19.
of Athens: Nine Greek Lives, translated 20. Diogenes Laertius, Lives, vol.1, II.16.
with an introduction by Ian Scott- 21. Phaedo, 96, 99.
Kilvert (Harmondsworth, England: 22. Aristotle, Metaphysics, A6:987b1-4; On
Penguin Books, 1960), 260. the Parts of Animals, 1.1:642a27-30, in
. Aristotle, The Art of Rhetoric Basic Works of Aristotle, ed. Richard
(Cambridge, MA, 1926), III.xvii.18. McKeon (New York: Random House,
. Ibid., L.ii.2 1941).
. Ibid., 1.1.14. 23. Cicero, Tusculan Disputations
. Ibid., 1.3. (Cambridge, MA, 1989), V.iv.10-11,
. Ibid., If.1-26. 435.
24. Quoted in John Sallis, Nietzsche and the
Space of Tragedy (Chicago: University
Chapter 4 of Chicago Press, 1991), 123. Nietzsche
Socrates Confronts His Old Accusers was haunted by Socrates. “Socrates, to
confess it frankly, is so close to me that
Ue Apology, 18. almost always I fight a fight against
2: Ibid., 19. him.” Quoted in Walter Kaufmann,
at Barthes, The Semiotic Challenge, Nietzsche: Philosopher, Psychologist,
a2 Notes

Antichrist, 4th edition (Princeton: Reeve, Socrates in the Apology,

Princeton University Press, 1974), 398. (Indianapolis, 1989), 21.
25. Apology, 19. See Gary Alan Scott, . Parke and Wormell, Delphic Oracle, I,
Plato’s Socrates as Educator (Albany, 30-41. For a contrary view of the proce-
NY, 2000), 13-27. dure at Delphi, see Joseph Fontenrose,
. Xenophon, Memorabilia, I.vi.13. Delphic Oracle (Berkeley, 1978), 6-7,
. de Romilly, Great Sophists, 33-4. 196-228.
. Apology, 19-20. . Apology, 21.
. Protagoras, 316. . Ibid.
. Simon Goldhill, Reading Greek Tragedy 10. Fontenrose, Delphic Oracle, 34.
(Cambridge, England, 1986), 226-7, ual Apology, 21.
239; Eric A. Havelock, “Why Was . Quoted in G. S. Kirk, J. E. Raven, and
Socrates Tried?” in Studies in Honour of M. Schofield, eds., The Presocratic
Gilbert Norwood, Mary E. White, ed. Philosophers: A Critical History with a
(Toronto, 1952), 95-109; and Richard Selection of Texts, 2nd ed. (Cambridge:
D. McKirahan, Jr., Philosophy Before Cambridge University Press, 1983), 209.
Socrates (Indianapolis,1994), 373. ite Charles H. Kahn, The Art and Thought
. Vlastos, Socrates, 32. of Heraclitus (Cambridge: Cambridge
. Meno, 96d; Protagoras, 341a. University Press, 1979), 123.
. Apology, 20. 14. On the role of human intelligence in
. Grote, History, VII, 173. interpreting oracles, see Simon Price,
. Guthrie, The Sophists, 182. “Delphi and Divination,” in Easterling
. de Romilly, Great Sophists, 76. and Muir, Greek Religion and Society,
. Grote, History, VIII, 174-S. 128-54, at 146-50.
. Renato Barilli, Rhetoric (Minneapolis, BY, Rollo May, The Courage to Create
1989), viii-ix. (New York: W.W. Norton, 1975),
. For the nomos-physis antithesis, see: 107-8.
Guthrie, The Sophists (1971), chap. 4; 16. Although Socrates’ narration makes it
Kerferd, Sophistic Movement (1981), appear that he examined these groups in
chap.10, and Richard D. McKirahan, strict order, this was, of course, merely a
Philosophy Before Socrates, chap. 19. literary device, enabling him to divide
See also Goldhill, Reading Greek the Athenian population into convenient
Tragedy, 239-40. categories of people reputed to be wise.
. Sophocles, Antigone, 332 ff. Socrates obviously interrogated individ-
. de Romilly, Great Sophists, 151. uals as he encountered them, in no par-
. Gorgias, 482. ticular order. See de Strycker, Plato’s
. Republic, 338. Apology, 68-9.
. Thucydides, 11.36. . Apology, 21.
. Ibid., II1.37, IV.21. . Ibid.
. Ibid., I1L.36, 40. . Gorgias, 515, 518-9.
. Ibid., V.105. . Meno, 92-5.
. Apology, 21-2.
sd bidie 22
Chapter 5 . Ion, 533-4.
Socrates’ Radical Philosophic Mission . Apology, 22.
. Robert J. Bonner, Aspects of Athenian
is Apology, 20. Democracy (Berkeley,1933), 102-3.
ls Victor Bers, “Dikastic Thorubus,” in . See Richard Robinson, “Elenchus,” in
Crux: Essays in Greek History, P. A. Vlastos, Philosophy of Socrates, 78-93.
Cartledge and F. D. Harvey, eds. . Meno, 80.
(London, 1985), 1-15; Edith Hall, . Symposium, 215, 216, 221.
“Lawcourt Dramas,” 40; and Josiah . Republic, 337.
Ober, The Athenian Revolution . J. A. K. Thomson, Irony: An Historical
(Princeton, 1996), 23-6. Introduction (Cambridge, MA,1927),
. Thucydides, 1.118. 10. Thomson’s italics.
. Thucydides, 11.54, 64; H. W. Parke and . Alexander Nehamas, The Art of Living
D. E. W. Wormell, The Delphic Oracle, (Berkeley, 1998), 49-52, 57, 60, 62-3.
vol. I (Oxford, 1956), 189. . Laches, 191e, 201b; Charmides, 176a;
. Robert Parker, Athenian Religion Lysis, 223; Euthyphro, 15.
(Oxford, 1996), 29. . Republic, 394d.
. Guthrie, Socrates, 85-6; and C. D. C. 34. Theaetetus, 150.
 Notes

39. Republic, 518. Chapter 6

36. Plato, The Seventh Letter, 341, in Plato, The Athenian Polis Ideal
Phaedrus and The Seventh and Eighth
Letters, trans. Walter Hamilton 1 . Nicole Loraux, The Invention of Athens
(Harmondsworth, England: Penguin (Cambridge, MA, 1986), 1.
Books, 1973), 136. The authenticity of 2: See, for example, Gary Wills, Lincoln at
the Seventh Letter, a source of valuable Gettysburg: The Words that Remade
information on the life of Plato, remains America (New York, Simon and
a subject of controversy. Nevertheless, Schuster, 1992), 41-62.
the majority of Plato scholars regard the 3 C.M. Bowra, Periclean Athens (London,
Seventh Letter as genuine. Ibid., 105. 1971)) 274.
Sf. Theaetetus, 189. 4, Alasdair MacIntyre, Whose Justice?
38. Robert Grudin, On Dialogue: An Essay Which Rationality? (Notre Dame, IN,
on Free Thought (New York: Houghton 1988), 48.
Mifflin, 1996), 5. Ds Donald Kagan, Pericles of Athens (New
. Mikhail Bakhtin, Problems of York, 1991), 143.
Dostoevsky’s Poetics, ed. and trans. 6. Thucydides, 11.34.
Caryl Emerson (Minneapolis: University We Plutarch, “Pericles,” 28, in The Rise and
of Minnesota Press, 1984), 110. Fall of Athens: Nine Greek Lives, trans.
Bakhtin’s italics. Ian Scott-Kilvert (Harmondsworth,
. Grudin, On Dialogue, 33-55. England: Penguin Books, 1960), 194.
. Vlastos, “The Paradox of Socrates,” 10. 8 . Thucydides, 11.37.
Hannah Arendt, Life of the Mind, vol. =). Ibid.
1: Thinking (New York, 1978), 174-5. 10 . Victor Ehrenberg, Sophocles and Pericles
. Ibid., 88. (Oxford, 1954), 22-50, 167-72; and
. Arendt, “Philosophy and Politics,” Social Guthrie, The Sophists, 121.
Research 57 (1990): 73-103, at 90-1. . Thucydides, 11.39.
. Grote, History, VII, 269. . Ibid., I. 40.
. Apology, 23. . Ibid., II. 41.
. On the notion of “gaps” or indetermina- . Paul A. Rahe, Republics Ancient and
cies in a text, calling for interpretation Modern (Chapel Hill, NC, 1992), 246,
by the reader, see Wolfgang Iser, The Act #953
of Reading: A Theory of Aesthetic . Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian
Response (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins War, trans. Rex Warner (Harmondsworth,
University Press, 1978). England, 1954), 11.41, 148.
48. Brickhouse and Smith, Socrates on Trial, . Thucydides, II.41.
95-100; Mark McPherran, The Religion . Ibid., 11.42.
of Socrates (University Park: PA, 1996), . Simon Goldhill, “The Great Dionysia
223-9; Reeve, Socrates in the Apology, and Civic Ideology,” in Nothing to Do
24-8; and Vlastos, Socrates, 175-7. with Dionysos?, 110.
49, For parallels between Socrates and the . Thucydides, 11.42.
Hebrew prophets, see Arthur Penrhyn . According to Plutarch, the teaching of
Stanley, Lectures on the History of the Anaxagoras enabled Pericles “to rise
Jewish Church, vol. III, new ed. (New above that superstitious terror that springs
York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1906), from an ignorant wonder at the common
“Socrates,” 173-205. phenomena of the heavens. . . . A knowl-
. Vlastos, Socrates, 175-6. edge of natural causes, on the other hand,
. Reeve, Socrates in the Apology, 25-6. banishes these fears and replaces morbid
. Apology, 23. superstition with a piety which rests on a
. Ibid. sure foundation supported by rational
. Ibid., 18. hopes.” Plutarch, “Pericles,” in Rise and
. Meno, 91. Fall of Athens, 6, 170.
. Xenophon, Apology, 29-31. 2A: Leo Strauss, The City and Man
. Apology, 29. (Chicago, 1978), 152.
. Burnet, note on Euthyphro, 2b9, 89-91. Ze Loraux, Invention of Athens, 277; and
See also de Strycker, Plato’s Apology, Clifford Orwin, The Humanity of
94-S. Thucydides (Princeton, 1994), 19.
. Euthyphro, 2. WSs, Charles N. Cochrane, Thucydides and
. Brickhouse and Smith, Socrates on Trial, the Science of History (New York,
29-30. 1965), 55; and Rahe, Republics Ancient
and Modern, 186.
Notes

24. On this theme, see Michael Palmer, 53. Barry Strauss, Fathers and Sons in
“Love of Glory and the Common Athens, (Princeton, 1993), 179.
Good,” American Political Science 54. Friedrich Nietzsche, “Homer on Competi-
Review 76 (1982): 825-36. tion,” in On the Genealogy of Morality,
Py, Thucydides, 11.43. ed. Keith Ansell-Pearson, trans. Carol
26. Bernard Knox, Oedipus at Thebes (New Diethe (Cambridge, England, 1994), 194.
York, 1971), 74. S. Sara Monoson . Thucydides, VII.87.
argues that, according to Athenian val- . A.W.H. Adkins, Merit and
ues, Pericles’ erastés metaphor connoted Responsibility (Oxford, 1960), 36.
more than simple affection for the city, . Bruno Snell, Discovery of the Mind
but was highly erotic and actively sex- (Cambridge, MA, 1953), 158.
ual, implying that the ideal citizen was . Robert J. O’Connell, S.J., Plato on the
an “active, energetic participant in the Human Paradox (New York, 1997), 5-6.
construction” of the city’s greatness. See . Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue (Notre
Monoson, Plato’s Democratic Dame, IN, 1984), 122.
Entanglements (Princeton, 2000), . Homer, The Iliad, 12.318-28.
64-87, at 87. . Alvin Gouldner, Enter Plato (New York,
. Ehrenberg, Solon to Socrates, 263. 1965), 42. :
. Thucydides, 11.43. . Friedrich Nietzsche, “Homer’s Contest,”
. Ibid., 11.45. in Portable Nietzsche, 35-7.
. For a discussion of the Athenian view of . Terence Irwin, Classical Thought
women during the classical period, see (Oxford, 1989), 8-11.
Roger Just, Women in Athenian Law . Moses Hadas, Humanism (London:
and Life (London, 1989). George Allen and Unwin, 1961), 21.
31, Nicole Loraux, Tragic Ways of Killing a . Homer, The Iliad, trans. Robert Fagles
Woman, trans. Anthony Forster (New York: Viking Penguin, 1990),
(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 11.784.
kA 2 . Jaeger, Paideia, 1,10.
. Loraux, Invention of Athens, 263-327. . Adkins, Merit and Responsibility;
. Menexenus, 234-5. Dodds, Greeks and the Irrational; and
. Loraux, Invention of Athens, 267. Snell, Discovery of the Mind.
. Francis M. Cornford, Thucydides . Dodds, Greeks and the Irrational,
Mythistoricus (Philadelphia, 1971), 206. 17-18, 28, 43; see also “Honour and
. Plato, The Republic, 1X.573. Shame,” in K.J. Dover, Greek Popular
. Thucydides, V1.18.3, Richard Crawley Morality (Indianapolis, 1994), 226-42.
translation, newly revised, in The . Dodds, Greeks and the Irrational, 17.
Landmark Thucydides: A Comprehensive . Gouldner, Enter Plato, 82.
Guide to the Peloponnesian War, ed. . Ibid., 83. Gouldner’s italics.
Robert B. Strassler (New York: Free . Ibid., 84.
Press, 1996), 372. . Hadas, Humanism, 26. See also Jean-
. Thucydides, V1.24. Pierre Vernant, “Introduction,” in The
. Ibid., VI.31. Greeks, J. P. Vernant, ed. (Chicago,
. Ibid., 11.63. 1995), 18.
. Knox, Oedipus at Thebes, 67. . Philip B. Manville, The Origins of
. Ibid., 102. Citizenship (Princeton, 1990), 148.
. Strauss, City and Man, 139. . Ibid., 156.
. Thucydides, 1.1. . Jaeger, Paideia, 1, 108-9.
. Ibid., IL65. . Jean-Pierre Vernant, Myth and Society
. Robert W. Connor, The New Politicians (New York, 1990), 29.
of Fifth-Century Athens (Princeton, . Eli Sagan, Honey and the Hemlock
1971), 194-5, (New York, 1991), 228.
. Ibid., 100. . Michael B. Poliakoff, Combat Sports in
. Aristotle, The Constitution of Athens the Ancient World (New Haven, CT,
XXVIII.3-4, in Aristotle and Xenophon 1987), 113-14.
on Democracy and Oligarchy, trans. J. . Joseph M. Bryant, Moral Codes and
M. Moore (Berkeley: University of Social Structure (Albany, NY, 1996), 92.
California Press, 1975), 171. . Gouldner, Enter Plato, 46.
. Thucydides, 11.52. . Jacob Burckhardt, Greeks and Greek
. Ibid., TL.82. Civilization (New York, 1998), 56.
. Ibid. . Jean-Pierre Vernant, ed., The Greeks
. Ibid., If. 83-4. (Chicago, 1995), 18.
 Notes 235

R. K. Sinclair, Democracy and 2. Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition

Participation (Cambridge, England), 191. (Chicago, 1958), 38.
85. Quoted in G. Glotz, The Greek City . Aristotle, Constitution of Athens, VIIL.S.
(New York, 1965), 143. . S. H. Butcher, Some Aspects of the
86. Citizens who spoke frankly did incur Greek Genius (Port Washington, NY,
risk. Athenian law prohibited slander, Kennikat Press, reissue, 1969), 52.
and citizens could, by means of a graphé . Aristotle, Politics, 1.2.1253a.
paranomon, be prosecuted and fined for . Adkins, Merit and Responsibility, 260,
deceiving the Assembly or for offering 278 n.1.
advice that proved to be not for the 107. Aristotle, The Politics, IIl.4; see also W.
good of the polis. Monoson, Plato’s L. Newman, The Politics of Aristotle,
Democratic Entanglements, 52, 55, 59. vol. I, (Oxford, 1887), 234-40.
. Gorgias, 461. 108. Aristotle, Politics, III.4.1276b-1277a.
. On the prosecution of intellectuals for 109. Gorgias, 517.
impiety, see Dodds, Greeks and the
Irrational, 189-93.
. M.I. Finley, “Socrates and After,” in Chapter 7
Democracy: Ancient and Modern (New Socrates Confronts His Present Accusers:
Brunswick, NJ, 1985), 116. Finley’s The Interrogation of Meletus
italics.
90. M. I. Finley, “The Freedom of the i Andrea Nye, Words of Power: A Feminist
Citizen in the Greek World,” in Reading of the History of Logic (New
Economy and Society in Ancient Greece York: Routledge, 1990), 42-3.
(New York, 1982), 77-94, at 92-3; . Friedrich Nietzsche, “Twilight of the
Richard Kraut, Socrates and the State Idols,” in Portable Nietzsche, 477.
(Princeton, 1984), 227; and Max . MacDowell, Law in Classical Athens,
Pohlenz, Freedom in Greek Life and 241.
Thought(New York, 1966), 28. . Apology, 24.
Te Hansen, Athenian Democracy in the . de Strycker, Plato’s Apology, 89-90.
Age of Demosthenes (Oxford, 1991), . Strauss, Fathers and Sons, 199-209.
61-2, 80; and Martin Ostwald, “Shares . On Socrates’ alleged undermining of
NNN
and Rights,” in Démokratia: A paternal authority, see Georg Hegel,
Conversation on Democracies, edited by Lectures on the History of Philosophy
Josiah Ober and Charles Hedrick (New York, 1974), vol. I: 435-40; and
(Princeton, 1996), 5S. Soren Kierkegaard, Concept of Irony,
92% Victor Ehrenberg, Man, State, and 209-10.
Deity (London, 1974), 34. Ehrenberg’s . Apology, 24.
italics. . On the amnesty, see Aristotle,
co
\O

. Lord Acton, The History of Freedom and Constitution of Athens, trans. Jonathan
Other Essays (London: Macmillan and Barnes (Cambridge, England, 1996),
Co., 1907), 11-12. 39.6; and Xenophon, Hellenica, trans.
94. Thucydides, 1.65. Henry G. Dakyns, in The Greek
. Ostwald, “Shares and Rights,” 49. Historians, ed. Francis R. B. Godolphin
96. Oswyn Murray, “Liberty and the Ancient (New York, 1922), vol. 2; for commen-
Greeks,” in The Good Idea: Democracy tary, see Alfred Dorjahn, Political
and Ancient Greece: Essays in Celebration Forgiveness in Old Athens (Evanston, IL,
of the 2500th Anniversary of Its Birth in 1946); Peter Krentz, The Thirty at Athens
Athens, edited by John A. Koumoulides (Ithaca,1982), 102-4, 115-8; Thomas C.
(New Rochelle, NY, 1995), 44. Loening, The Reconciliation Agreement
OT, Aristotle, Politics, 1.2.1253a; of 403/402 B.C. in Athens (Stuttgart,
VIll.1.1237a. 1987); and P. J. Rhodes, A Commentary
98. Benjamin Constant, “The Liberty of the on the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia
Ancients Compared with That of the (Oxford, 1993), 468-72.
Moderns [1819],” in Political Writings, . Aristotle, Constitution of Athens, XL.2.
trans. Biancamaria Fontana (Cambridge: . Xenophon, Hellenica, 1.4.43, p. 55.
Cambridge University Press, 1988), 316, . Gregory Nagy, “Foreword,” in Mothers
311. in Mourning, by Nicole Loraux (Ithaca:
Es Pohlenz, Freedom in Greek Life and Cornell University Press, 1998), xii.
Thought, 28-9. . Burnet, Plato’s Euthyphro, Apology of
100. Ehrenberg, The Greek State, 91. Socrates, and Crito, 105, 180-1; and
101. Bryant, Moral Codes, 157-8. Taylor, Socrates, 103.
236 Notes

14. Stone, Trial of Socrates, 3. . Guthrie, Socrates, 130-42.

15. James Beckman, Religious Dimension of . St. Paul, Epistle to the Romans 7:19.
Socrates’ Thought (Waterloo, Ontario, . Protagoras, 322.
1979), 55-63; see also M. F, Burnyeat, . Ibid., 322-3.
“The Impiety of Socrates,” Ancient . Cynthia Farrar, Origins of Democratic
Philosophy 17 (1997): 1-12; A. B. Thinking (Cambridge, England, 1988),
Drachmann, Atheism in Pagan TF,
Antiquity, reprint of 1922 ed. (Chicago, . Protagoras, 327.
1977), 7, 59; and McPherran, Religion . Meno, 92.
of Socrates, 120-1. . Ehrenberg, Solon to Socrates, 330.
. Thucydides, History, V1.27. . Republic, 492.
. Ehrenberg, Solon to Socrates, 344. . Laszlo Versenyi, Holiness and Justice
. On the role of the amnesty in the indict- (Lanham, MD, 1982), 1.
ment of Socrates, see Guthrie, Socrates, . Lysias, “Against Andocides: For
61-3. Impiety,” 18, in Lysias, trans. W. R. M.
. Rhodes, Commentary on Aristotelian Lamb (Cambridge: Harvard University
Athenaion Politeia, 472. Press, 1976), 125.
. Brickhouse and Smith, Socrates on Trial, 44, On Athenian religion, see Walter
74; Dorjahn, Political Forgiveness, Burkert, Greek Religion (Cambridge,
30-33. MA, 1985); Robert Garland, Introducing
. Alfonso Gomez-Lobo, Foundations of New Gods (Ithaca, NY, 1992); J. D.
Socratic Ethics (Indianapolis, IN, 1994), Mikalson, Athenian Popular Religion
16. (Chapel Hill, NC, 1983); Martin P.
225 For an example of the erroneous view Nilsson, Greek Piety (Oxford, 1948);
that the charge of irreligion was a mere Martin P. Nilsson, A History of Greek
pretext, see Burnet, Greek Philosophy Religion (New York, 1964); Robert
(London, 1914), 182-91; and Stone, Trial Parker, Athenian Religion (Oxford,
of Socrates. Stone underestimates the reli- 1996); Harvey Yunis, A New Creed:
gious charges, arguing that Socrates was Polis and Euripidean Drama (Gottingen,
indicted principally for his political views. 1988); and Louise B. Zaidman and
23% Brickhouse and Smith argue that reli- Pauline S. Pantel, Religion in the Ancient
gion, not politics, was the real issue in Greek City (Cambridge, England, 1992).
Socrates’ trial. See Plato’s Socrates 45. Charles Freeman, The Greek
(Oxford, 1994), 173-5. See also W. R. Achievement (New York,1999), 132.
Connor, “The Other 399: Religion and 46. David Cohen, Law, Sexuality, and
the Trial of Socrates,” Georgica: Greek Society: The Enforcement of Morals in
Studies in Honour of George Cawkwell Classical Athens (Cambridge, England,
58 (1991): 49-56; Finley, Aspects of 1991), 204, 206, 210-7; and Simon
Antiquity (London, 1968), 64-5; and Price, Religions of the Ancient Greeks
Terence Irwin, “Socrates and Athenian (Cambridge, England, 1999), 82, 85.
Democracy, Philosophy and Public 47. Yunis, New Creed, chap. 3.
Affairs 18 (1989):184-205. Irwin . Allen, Socrates and Legal Obligation,18;
asserts, at 191: “There is no reason to and Mogens H. Hansen, Trial of
suppose that the religious charge was a Socrates, 19.
mere ‘front’ for political hostility.” 49. Herodotus, Histories, 3.38, in McKirahan,
24. Eduard Zeller argues that Socrates was Philosophy Before Socrates, 391.
condemned from a combination of reli- . Grote, Plato, I, 248-58.
gious, political, moral, and personal . Edward Caird, Evolution of Theology
motives. See Zeller, Socrates and the (Glasgow, 1904), vol. I, 76.
Socratic Schools (London, 1868), 169-86. . Euthyphro, 14.
. Reeve, Socrates in the Apology, 99. . Hansen, Athenian Democracy, 121.
. Seventh Letter, 325b-c. . Nilsson, History of Greek Religion, 232,
27. Apology, 24-5. 242.
. Ibid., 25. . Euthyphro, 10.
. Ibid. . Plutarch, Life of Pericles, 32.1
. Xenophon, Memorabilia, IIl.ix.5. . According to Eric Csapo and William J.
. David P. Gontar, “The Problem of the Slater, the outspokenness of the comic
Formal Charges in Plato’s Apology,” poets was a “liberty not granted but
Tulane Studies in Philosophy 27 (1978): assumed at a calculated risk when the
96. political climate seemed to offer a chance
B2h Kierkegaard, Concept of Irony, 209. of impunity, not a creation of conscious
 Notes 237

policy or sacred tradition but a by-prod- 8 — . In the middle of the fifth century B.c., a
uct of the factional struggle between the book trade (papyrus or parchment rolls)
democrats and oligarchs at Athens.” See developed in Athens. Apparently, the
Eric Csapo and William J. Slater, The writings of Anaxagoras could be pur-
Context of Ancient Drama (Ann Arbor, chased in the agora. See Lesley Adkins
University of Michigan Press, 1995), 165. and Roy A. Adkins, Handbook to Life
. Finley, “Socrates and After,” 136. in Ancient Greece (New York: Oxford
. GS. Kirk, J. E. Raven, and M. University Press, 1997), 246.
Schofield, The Presocratic Philosophers, . Apology, 26-7.
2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge . Ibid., 20e4, 21a5, 27b1.
University Press, 1983), 353-4. . James Redfield, “A Lecture on Plato’s
. Guthrie, The Sophists, 234. Apology,” Journal of General Education
. Diogenes Laertius, Lives, vol. II, IX.56. 15 (1963): 99,
. Finley, “Socrates and After,” 123. . A. E. Taylor, “The Impiety of Socrates,”
. Dodds, Greeks and the Irrational, 189; in Varia Socratica. First Series (Oxford,
for a view that casts doubt on the his- OUT) 393
toricity of the heresy trials, see Kenneth J. . de Strycker, Plato’s Apology, 121.
Dover, “Freedom of the Intellectual in . Apology, 24e, 25c, 26e.
Greek Society,” Talanta 7 (1975): 24-54. . Euthyphro, 6a.
64. On the relationship between law and . Gregory Vlastos, “Brickhouse and
religion in ancient Athens, see Smith’s Socrates on Trial,” in Studies in
MacDowell, Law in Classical Athens, Greek Philosophy, vol. Il: Socrates,
192-202. Plato, and Their Tradition (Princeton,
6S. Xenophon, Memorabilia, 1.1.2. NJ, 1995), 27.
. Joint Association of Classical Teachers, . Apology, 28.
The World of Athens: An Introduction . Bonner, Lawyers and Litigants, 80.
to Classical Athenian Culture . Apology, 28.
(Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1984), 118.
. McPherran, Religion of Socrates, 122. Chapter 8
. Waterfield, “Introduction” in Xenophon: Socrates Brings the Philosophic Mission into
Conversations of Socrates, 34. the’Court
. Snell, Discovery of the Mind, 26-7; see
also Cohen, Law, Sexuality, and Society, i On February 15, 1984, shortly before
213. his death, Foucault lectured on Plato’s
. Glotz, The Greek City, 252-3. Apology, Crito, and Phaedo at the
. David Cohen, Law, Violence and Collége de France. For an account of
Community in Classical Athens Foucault’s lecture, see Thomas Flynn,
(Cambridge, England, 1995), 189. “Foucault as Parrhesiast: His Last
72: Cohen, “The Prosecution of Impiety in Course at the Collége de France,” in
Athenian Law,” chap. 8 in Law, The Final Foucault, ed. James Bernauer
Sexuality, and Society, 203-17. and David Rasmussen (Cambridge, MA:
73. MacDowell, Law in Classical Athens, MIT Press, 1994), 102-18. See also
252; see also Robert J. Bonner, “The Nehamas, Art of Living, 163-8.
Character of Athenian Courts,” chap. v. . Apology, 28.
in Lawyers and Litigants in Ancient .
ies) Homer, The Iliad, trans. Richard
Athens (Chicago, 1927), 72-95. Lattimore (Chicago: University of Chicago
. Hansen, Athenian Democracy , 182. Press, Phoenix Books, 1961), 1.2434.
. Garland, Introducing New Gods, 145. . Apology, 28.
. Cohen, Law, Violence and Community, . On Socrates as “The New Achilles,” see
190. Thomas G. West, Plato’s Apology of
. Apology, 26. Socrates (Ithaca, NY, 1979), 151-66.
. Reeve, Socrates in the Apology, 85. . Loraux, Invention of Athens, 41.
. Apology, 26. . Vlastos, Socrates, 233-4.
. Indeed, early history reveals that most . Kenneth J. Dover, Greek Popular
thinkers regarded as “atheists” were, in Morality, 293-4.
fact, not absolute atheists, but propo- . Apology, 28.
nents of views about the gods that con- + Ibid., 29.
tradicted popular belief. See James . George Kateb, “Socratic Integrity,” in
Thrower, Western Atheism: A Short Integrity and Conscience (New York,
History (Amherst, NY, 2000), 17. 1998), 77-112, at 78.
238 Notes

124 Allan Bloom, The Republic of Plato, 34 . G. W. E. Hegel, Lectures on the

translated with Notes and an Philosophy of Religion, ed. Peter C.
Interpretive Essay (New York, 1968), Hodgson, trans. R. E. Brown, P. C.
354. Hodgson, and J. M. Stewart with the
SY, E. M. Cornford, Before and After assistance of H. S. Harris (Berkeley,
Socrates (Cambridge, England, 1932), 1985), vol. Ill, 321, n.196.
37, 50-1. . Apology, 29-30.
14. Snell, “Homer’s View of Man,” chap. 1 . Ibid., 29.
in The Discovery of the Mind; see also . Vlastos, “The Paradox of Socrates,” 6.
A. W. H. Adkins, From the Many to the . Apology, 29-30.
One (Ithaca, NY, 1970), 14-5; 34. . Ibid., 30.
US: Bryant, Moral Codes, 191-2. . Karl Popper, The Open Society and Its
16. Giovanni Reale, A History of Ancient Enemies (Princeton, 1966), vol. I, 189.
Philosophy, vol.1, Socrates (1987), . Ibid., 130
202-3; see also Pohlenz, Freedom in . Martha Nussbaum, “Socratic Self-
Greek Life and Thought, 65-6. Examination,” chap. 1 in Cultivating
17. Alcibiades I, 130. The authenticity of Humanity: A Classical Defense of Reform
Alcibiades I has been questioned; never- in Liberal Education (Cambridge:
theless, W. K. C. Guthrie believes the Harvard University Press, 1997).
dialogue to be a “reliable source for 43. Plato, Seventh Letter, 325b-c. See also
Socratic teaching.” See Guthrie, A R. Hackforth, The Composition of
History of Greek Philosophy, vol. IV, Plato’s Apology (Cambridge, England,
Plato: The Man and His Dialogues: 1933), 73-4.
Earlier Period (Cambridge, Cambridge 44, Crito, 52-3.
University Press, 1975), 169, n.2. 45, Gregory Vlastos, “The Historical
18. Cicero, Tusculan Disputations, 1.xxii.52, Socrates and Athenian Democracy, in
p. 63. Vlastos, Socratic Studies (Cambridge,
We Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality, England, 1994), 87-108.
vol. 3, The Care of the Self, trans. Robert 46. Xenophon, Memorabilia L.ii.9.
Hurley (New York: Random House, 47. Aristotle, The Art of Rhetoric, V1.8.1,
Vintage Books, 1988), 44. referring to Plato, Menexenus 235d.
20. Albin Lesky, A History of Greek 48. Eva Brann, “The Offense of Socrates: A
Literature, 2nd edition (New York, Re-Reading of Plato’s Apology,”
1966), 501. Interpretation 7 (1978): 1-21.
PAN Jaeger, Paideia, Il, 40. Jaeger’s italics; see 49. Xenophon, Apology 1.
also Brickhouse and Smith, Plato’s 50. Cicero, Tusculan Disputations, Ixxix,71.
Socrates, 101-2. Se Ibid.
22. Snell, Discovery of the Mind, 179-80. 52% Ibid., 30-1.
23. Taylor, Socrates, 132. DEE Johnstone, Disputes and Democracy,
24. Cornford, Before and After Socrates, 27-8. 100-8.
25: Matthew 16:25-6. 54. Apology, 31.
26. John Burnet, “The Socratic Doctrine of SPE Adkins, Moral Values and Political
the Soul,” in Essays and Addresses Behavior (London, 1972), 63.
(Freeport, NY 1968), 157. Cornford,
Before and After Socrates, 50; N. J.
Richardson, “Early Greek Views about Chapter 9
Life after Death,” in Easterling and The Politics of An Unpolitical Man
Muir, Greek Religion and Society, 63.
Lis Apology, 29. 1 . Apology, 31.
28. Cartledge, “Deep Plays,” in Easterling, 2. Gorgias, 473.
Greek Tragedy, 18-9. 3 . L.B. Carter, The Quiet Athenian
2: Eric Voegelin, Order and History, vol.3: (Oxford, 1986). On the absence of legal
Plato and Aristotle (Baton Rouge, penalties for abstaining from participa-
1985), 11. tion in politics, see Hansen, Athenian
30. Soren Kierkegaard, Concept of Irony, Democracy (1991), 99; and Sinclair,
240, 203. Democracy and Participation, 67.
31. Ibid, 206. . Robert J. Bonner, Aspects of Athenian
32: G. W. F. Hegel, Lectures on the History Democracy, 14.
of Philosophy, vol. I, 409. . Richard G. Mulgan, “Aristotle and the
33% Hegel, The Philosophy of History (New Value of Political Participation,”
York, 1956), 269-70. Hegel’s italics. Political Theory 18 (1990): 196.
 Notes 239

. Adkins, Merit and Responsibility, One, Early Greek Philosophy, ed.

198-205. Deborah A. Wesley (Toronto, Canada:
. Hansen, Athenian Democracy, Glossary, Inner City Books, 1999), 54-5.
359; and Kraut, Socrates and the State, . Burkert, Greek Religion, 109.
115-16. . Gorgias, 481.
. C. C. W. Taylor, “Politics,” in The . Erich Neumann, Depth Psychology and
Cambridge Companion to Aristotle, ed. a New Ethic, trans. Eugene Rolfe
Jonathan Barnes (Cambridge: Cambridge (Boston: Shambhala Publications, 1990),
University Press, 1995), 241-2. 39N67-
\o- Mogens Hansen, The Athenian 38. Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke
Assembly (Oxford, 1987), 8. Zarathustra: First Part, in Portable
10. M.I. Finley, Politics in the Ancient Nietzsche, 135-6.
World (Cambridge, England, 1983), 73; 39. Quoted in Tracy B. Strong, Friedrich
and Sinclair, Democracy and Nietzsche and the Politics of
Participation, 67, 114-119. Transfiguration (Berkeley, CA: University
. Harvey Yunis, Taming Democracy of California Press, 1975), 112.
(Ithaca, NY, 1996), 154. 40. Quoted in Walter Kaufmann, Nietzsche:
. Finley, Politics in the Ancient World, 73. Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist,
. Hansen, Athenian Democracy, 366. 4th ed. (Princeton: Princeton University
. Burnet, note on Apology, 32b1, at 210-1. Press, 1974), 398.
. Apology, 35. 41. Apology, 31-2.
. Ober, The Athenian Revolution, 24-5. 42. Gregory Vlastos, “The Historical
. Yunis, Taming Democracy, 12. Socrates and Athenian Democracy,” 93.
. John R. Wallach, “Socratic Citizenship,” 43. Brickhouse and Smith argue that
History of Political Thought IX (1988): Socrates was neither a partisan democ-
394-413. rat nor a partisan oligarth. See Plato’s
. Stone, Trial of Socrates, 104. Socrates, 157-66.
. Bloom, The Republic, 307-11; see also 44, J. Erwin Rohde, Psyche: The Cult of
“The Philosopher versus the Citizen: Souls and Belief in Immortality among
Arendt, Strauss, and Socrates,” chap. 7, the Ancient Greeks, trans. W. B. Hillis,
and “Arendt and Socrates,” chap. 9, in 8th ed. (Chicago: Ares Publishers Inc.,
Dana R. Villa, Politics, Philosophy, 1980), 162-3.
Terror: Essays on the Thought of 45. On the trial of the generals, see
Hannah Arendt (Princeton: Princeton Macdowell, Law in Classical Athens,
University Press, 1999); also “Prelude to 186-9.
the Philosophic Trial: The Apology,” 46. Bonner, Aspects of Athenian
chap. 1 in Jacob Howland, The Paradox Democracy, 12.
of Philosophy: Socrates’ Philosophic 47. Xenophon records that Socrates had
Trial (Lanham, MD, 1998), 23-38. been chosen by lot to serve for a day as
. Republic, 607b. the epistates, or “president,”of the pry-
. Leo Strauss, Socrates and Aristophanes taneis. Memorabilia 1.1.18; IV.4.2. If
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, Socrates was indeed president, he would
1966), 311-4. have presided over any meeting of the
. Bloom, The Republic, “Interpretative Council or the Assembly that day, mak-
Essay,” 307. ing him, in effect, president of the polis.
. Apology, 31. . Xenophon, History of My Times, trans.
a Ibid 31d. Rex Warner (Harmondsworth, England,
. Euthyphro, 3. 1979), 1.7.12-13, p.88.
. Xenophon, Memorabilia, 1.i.2-4; and . Xenophon, Memorabilia, 1.1.18.
Apology, 12; see also Ehrenberg, Solon . Apology, 32.
to Socrates, 369. . Donald Kagan, Fall of the Athenian
. Guthrie, Socrates, 84. Empire (Ithaca, NY, 1987), 374.
. James Adam, The Religious Teachers of . According to Brickhouse and Smith, “all
Greece (Edinburgh, 1908), 321. the ancient sources agree that a clear
. Republic, 496. majority of Athenians had later changed
. Reale, History of Ancient Philosophy, 233. their minds about what had been done.”
. Apology, 33. Socrates on Trial, 177.
. Xenophon, Apology, 12-13; jo: Xenophon, History, I1.4.21-22, p. 129.
Memorabilia, 1.i.1-9; IV.viii.1-2. 54. John V. A. Fine, The Ancient Greeks: A
. See, for example, Jungian analyst Edward Critical History (Cambridge, MA,
Edinger, The Psyche in Antiquity, Book 1983), 521.
240 Notes

55. Diodorus Siculus, The Library of . Apology, 34.

History, XIV.5.1-3. . Odyssey, XTX.163; Iliad, XXII.126.
56. Lysias, Against Eratosthenes, XII.5, in . Apology, 28.
Lysias, 229, . Ibid. 34-S.
57. Guthrie, Socrates, 60. . Just, Women in Athenian Law and Life,
58. Xenophon, Memorabilia, 1.ii.31. 156-7.
59. Roslyn Weiss, Socrates Dissatisfied: An . Apology, 35.
Analysis of Plato’s Crito (Oxford, . Ibid.
1998), 14-5. In disobeying the com- . Burnet, Plato: Euthyphro, Apology of
mand of the Thirty, Socrates did not Socrates, Crito, 230-1; Reeve, Socrates
actually violate a law, or nomos, of in the Apology, 106 n.47.
Athens, as the Assembly had done in the . MacDowell, Law in Classical Athens, 253.
trial of the generals; instead, like . Apology, 36.
Sophocles’ Antigone, he disobeyed what . Carter, Quiet Athenian, 185.
might more accurately be termed a . On the Prytaneum, see Stephen G.
pséphisma, a command or decree. While Miller, The Prytaneion: Its Function and
the distinction was not rigid, a law was Architectural Form (Berkeley: University
regarded as more fundamental and uni- of California Press, 1978).
versal than a decree, which was adapted . Apology, 36.
to a particular situation. According to . In ancient Athens, while individuals might
Macdowell: “A law made a general rule be detained pending a trial or awaiting
about some activity, a decree specified execution, imprisonment was not usually
action to be taken in a particular case.” used as a penalty. MacDowell, Law in
See Law in Classical Athens, 45. Classical Athens, 256-7.
60. Apology, 32. See also Reeve, Socrates in . Apology, 30.
the Apology, 110. 24. A. R. W. Harrison, The Law of Athens,
61. Apology, 32. vol. II (Indianapolis,1998), 171;
62. Ibid., 32-3. MacDowell, Law in Classical Athens,
63. Yunis, Taming Democracy, 153-61. 74-5, 256.
64. Thoreau, “Civil Disobedience,” in Civil as Walter Burkert, Structure and History in
Disobedience and Other Essays (New Greek Mythology and Ritual (Berkeley:
York: Dover Publications), 3. Thoreau’s University of California Press, 1979),
italics. 64-5; on the pharmakos, see also
65. Reeve observes that Socrates was “politi- Jacques Derrida, Dissemination, trans.
cal in private.” See Socrates in the Barbara Johnson (Chicago: University of
Apology, 155-60. See also, Terry Penner, Chicago Press, 1981), 128-34.
“Socrates,” in The Cambridge History of . Vernant and Vidal-Naquet, Myth and
Greek and Roman Political Thought, eds. Tragedy, 135.
Christopher Rowe and Malcolm Schofield . N. D. Fustel de Coulanges, The Ancient
(Cambridge, 2000), 183. City (Baltimore, 1980), 199.
66. Arendt, Life of the Mind, vol. 1: . Apology, 38.
Thinking, 192. . Xenophon, Oeconomicus, II.3.
. Brickhouse and Smith, Socrates on Trial,
227; Reeve, Socrates in the Apology,
Chapter 10 173-4.
The Trial Concludes: Socrates Condemned . Diogenes Laertius, Lives, vol. I. II. 42.
. Grote, History, VIII, 286.
1. Apology, 23. . Aristotle, Rhetoric, 2.1.4.
2, Ibid..83; . Xenophon, Apology, 24-6.
3. Ibid. . Dover, Greek Popular Morality, 227.
4. Ibid., 34. . Apology, 38.
5. Arendt, Life of the Mind, vol. 1: . Ibid.
Thinking, 176. . Ibid., 39.
6. Hannah Arendt, “Thinking and Moral . Ibid., 24e, 26d.
Considerations: A Lecture,” Social . de Strycker, Plato’s Apology, 34.
Research 38 (1971): 26. . Apology, 18.
7. A. R. Burn, Pelican History of Greece Allosrems whey
(Harmondsworth, England, 1974), 257; . Ibid., 40.
Kitchel, Plato’s Apology, 142. . Phaedo, 84-S.
8. Johnstone, Disputes and Democracy, . Parker, Athenian Religion, 135.
122-5. . Apology, 41.
 Notes 241

47. Ibid. . Ibid., 45.

48. Ibid. . Mary Whitlock Blundell, Helping Friends
49. Simon Goldhill, “The City of Words,” in and Harming Enemies: A Study of
Goldhill, Reading Greek Tragedy, 76-7. Sophocles and Greek Ethics (Cambridge,
50. Apology, 42. England, 1989), 26-59, at 47.
. Adkins, Merit and Responsibility, 231.
. Apology, 38.
Chapter 11 . Allen, Socrates and Legal Obligation, 69.
Socrates and Civil Disobedience: The Crito . Crito, 45-6.
. Ibid., 46.
1. On the parallel between Socrates and . Ibid., 47.
Antigone, see Grote, Plato, I, 301-2, . Ibid., 48.
note m;. See Terry Penner, “Socrates,” . Ibid., 49.
184; also Allen, Socrates and Legal . Vlastos, Socrates, 195.
Obligation, 102-3,105—6. According to . Crito, 49.
Allen (at 106): “The Apology is very . Blundell, Helping Friends and Harming
like the philosopher’s Antigone.” Enemies, 29.
. Sophocles, Antigone, trans. E. E. . Meno, 71.
Watling, in The Theban Plays . Aristotle, The Art of Rhetoric,
(Harmondsworth, England: Penguin (Cambridge, MA. 1926), trans. J. H.
Books, 1947), 138. Freese, [.ix.24—5.
Apology, 29. . N.G.L. Hammond, History of Greece
. Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1.13.1373b; see also (Oxford, 1986), 418, 506; and Eli
Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, Sagan, Honey and the Hemlock, 235-6.
V.vii.1-3. . Xenophon, History of My Times, trans.
i Peter 2:43. Rex Warner, II.2.23.
Acts 5:29. . Ibid., 11.2.3.
For a discussion of King, civil disobedi-
Aaa . Crito, 49. Italics added.
ence based on an appeal to a higher law, . Ibid., 50.
and the “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” . Strauss, “Plato’s Apology of Socrates
see James A. Colaiaco, Martin Luther and Crito,” 66.
King, Jr.: Apostle of Militant Nonviolence . For a cogent argument that Socrates sup-
(New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1988; ported and committed civil disobedience,
paperback edition, 1993), 77-95. disassociating him from the rhetorical
. See Kraut, Socrates and the State, argument he presents on behalf of the
13-17; Penner, “Socrates,” 184; and Laws in the Crito, see Francis Olsen,
Reeve, Socrates in the Apology, 115-17. “Socrates on Legal Obligation: Legitima-
. Sophocles, Antigone, 131-2. tion Theory and Civil Disobedience,”
. Demosthenes, De Falsa Legatione, Georgia Law Review 18 (1984): 929-66.
246-7; see also Bernard Knox, Word See also Mitchell Miller, ““‘The Arguments
and Action: Essays on the Ancient I Seem to Hear’: Argument and Irony in
Theater (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins the Crito,” Phronesis 41 (1996):121-37;
University Press, 1979), 167. and Weiss, “Especially an Orator,” chap. 5
ie Sophocles, Antigone, 144. in Socrates Dissatisfied, 84-95.
. Thucydides, 1.37. . Grote, Plato, I, 303.
13. On the Crito, see Allen, Socrates and . Ibid., 304.
Legal Obligation; Kraut, Socrates and . Ibid., 302.
the State; Weiss, Socrates Dissatisfied; . Crito, 50.
and A. D. Woozley, Law and . Allen, Socrates and Legal Obligation, 11.
Obedience: The Arguments of Plato’s . Gorgias, 455.
Crito (Chapel Hill, NC, 1979). . Crito, 50.
. J. Adam, ed. Plato, Crito (London: . Aristotle, Politics, 1.2.1253a
Bristol Classical Press, 1988), xii. . Crito, 50-1.
. Strauss, “Plato’s Apology of Socrates . Antigone, 182-3.
and Crito,” 54. . Joseph Cropsey, Plato’s World (Chicago,
. Xenophon, Apology, 23. 1995), 171.
. Thucydides, 1.22. . Crito, 51.
. Gorgias, 482. . Ronald Dworkin, Taking Rights
. Crito, 44. Seriously (Cambridge, Harvard
. Adkins, Merit and Responsibity, 155. University Press, 1978), 186.
. Crito, 44. . On the distinction between a prima facie
Notes

and an absolute duty to obey the law, The Self in Dialogue (Oxford:
see Richard A. Wasserstrom, “The Clarendon Press, 1998), 316-18.
Obligation to Obey the Law,” in The N . Hannah Arendt, Between Past and Future
Duty to Obey the Law: Selected (Harmondsworth, England, 1968), 229.
Philosophical Readings, ed. William A. . Knox, Heroic Temper, 58.
Edmundson (Lanham, MD: Rowman . Sophocles, Philoctetes, line 99.
and Littlefield, 1999), 17-47, at 19-21. . Sophocles, Ajax, |. 479.
. Crito, 51. Italics added. a
RP
CO
\O
© . Martha C. Nussbaum, “Tragedy and
. Ibid., 51-2. Self-Sufficiency: Plato and Aristotle on
. Ibid., 54. Fear and Pity,” in Essays on Aristotle’s
. Menexenus, 236a. Poetics, ed. Amelie Oksenberg Rorty
. Crito, 50b, 50d, 51a, 52d, 53b, 54c. (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
. Apology, 40. 19925263;
. Crito, 43-4. 12; Soren Kierkegaard, Concept of Irony, 288.
. James M. Redfield, Nature and Culture . Helmut Kuhn, “The True Tragedy: On
in the Iliad: The Tragedy of Hector, the Relationship between Greek Tragedy
expanded ed., (Durham, NC: Duke and Plato, II, in Harvard Studies in
University Press, 1994), 105. Classical Philology LIM (1942): 52-3.
. Menexenus, 235. 14. See Louis A. Ruprecht, Jr., Tragic
. Crito, 54. Posture and Tragic Vision (New York,
. Weiss, “A Fool Satisfied,” chap. 8 in 1994), ch. 2: “Hegel’s Tragic Vision,”
Socrates Dissatisfied, 146-60. 71-127; and 213.
69. Olsen, “Socrates on Legal Obligation,” 15. Whitman, Homer and the Heroic
946-7, 950. Tradition (Cambridge, Mass., 1958), 182.
>
70. Weiss, “Restoring the Radical Socrates,” 16. Grote, History, VIII, 300.
chap. 9 in Socrates Dissatisfied, 161-9. 17s Friedrich Nietzsche, “The Problem of
Tie Crito, 54. Socrates,” Portable Nietzsche, 479.
Nietzsche’s italics.
18. Friedrich Nietzsche, The Birth of
Chapter 12 Tragedy, trans. Shaun Whiteside
Conclusion: A Conflict Unresolved (Harmondsworth, England, 1993), 67.
. Strauss, What Is Political Philosophy?, 93.
1. Leo Strauss, What Is Political . C. M. Bowra, The Greek Experience
Philosophy?, 93. (Cleveland, 1957), 199-200.
Dy On the antithetical positions of Socrates . On the difficulty of justifying civil dis-
and Athens, see Willmoore Kendall, obedience on the basis of a higher law,
“The People Versus Socrates Revisited,” see Carl Cohen, Civil Disobedience:
in Kendall, Willmoore Kendall Contra Conscience, Tactics, and the Law (New
Mundum (New Rochelle, NY, 1971), York, 1971), 105-20.
149-67. . Aristotle, Politics, I11.13.1284a.
. Aristotle, The Nicomachean Ethics, . Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Social
trans. H. Rackham (Cambridge, MA, Contract, trans. Maurice Cranston
1934), V.ii.11. (Harmondsworth, England: Penguin
. Bernard Knox, “Introduction to Books, 1968), 79. Rousseau’s italics.
Antigone,” in Sophocles, The Three . Kendall, “The People Versus Socrates
Theban Plays, trans. Robert Fagles Revisited,” 165.
(Harmondsworth, England, 1984), 51. . Diogenes Laertius, Lives, I. 2.43.
. Knox, The Heroic Temper: Studies in . Xenophon, Apology, 34.
Sophoclean Tragedy (Berkeley, 1964), 8, . Phaedo, 118.
38; on the Sophoclean hero as an indi- . See Arendt, Between Past and Future,
vidualist guided, like Socrates, by an 107-16; see also, Sheldon S. Wolin,
inner law, see Cedric H. Whitman, “Plato: Political Philosophy versus
Sophocles: A Study of Heroic Politics,” chap. 2 in Politics and Vision
Humanism (Cambridge, MA, 1966), (London, 1961), 28-68.
especially at 7-9, 202, 232. 29, Aristotle, The Nicomachean Ethics,
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 Index

Abednego, 188 akrasia, 116

Achilles, 36, 40, 76, 133, 170, 175, Alazon, 66
181, 184, 216, 217; and honor, Alcibiades, 40, 65, 86, 111, 113, 135,
92-3, 98; and rhetoric, 24; and 167-8, 171, 212, 216
Socrates, 40, 132-4, 136-8, 175, Alcibiades I (Plato), 137, 238 n. 17
181, 211, 216-19 Allen, R.E., 195, 241n. 1
Acropolis, 14, 59, 96, 140 Ameipsias, 39
Acts (of the Apostles), 189 amnesty (Act of Oblivion) of 403 B.C.,
Adam, James, 157-8 13/2 eL08—13.4125
Adkins, Arthur W.H., 93, 150, 193, Amphipolis, 135
194 anakrisis, 16, 106, 126
Aeacus, 184 Anaxagoras, 50, 82, 109, 122, 127,
Aegina, 198 1297223) oil
Aegospotami, 198 Andocides, 73, 109, 110, 119
Aeschylus, 14, 24, 52, 99, 140, 141 andrapodismos, 197
Agamemnon, 123, 132, 184, 211, 217 andreia, 170
agathos, 92, 174 Andromache (Euripides), 57
agathos polités, 103, 152, 194 Antenor, 40
agon, 6, 24 Antigone, 6, 24, 141, 188-90, 193,
agon tés dikés, 6 216, 240 n. 59
agon timétos, 173 Antigone (Sophocles), 6, 52, 87, 140,
agones, 7, 93 161, 187-9, 193
agora, 13, 15, 30, 99 Antilogies (Protagoras), 50
aidés, 94 Antiphon, 25, 50, 52, 230 ch.2, n. 12
Ajax, 98, 184, 216, 217-8 Anytus, 17, 18, 130, 139, 148, 163,
258 Index

172; allegedly executed by the areté, 47, 76, 92, 117, 132, 144, 150,
Athenians, 226; animosity toward 155, 174
Socrates, 61; characterized in Plato’s Argave, 158
Meno, 73; chief instigator of indict- Arginusae, 160
ment of Socrates, 15; leader of the argumentum ad misericordiam, 169
democratic resistance to the Thirty, argumentum ad populum, 180
73; and polis as educator, 118; as Aristophanes, 14, 28, 38, 39, 40, 41,
representative of the politicians, 72 42.43, 57, 122; 127, 129, 140;
Aphrodite, 158 156, 1715231056
apolis, 176 Aristotle, 106, 146-7, 153, 155, 180,
Apollo, 56-63, 123, 125, 135, 158, 201, 204, 215, 223, 226-7; on
172, 176, 182, 184; central role in amnesty of 403 B.C., 108; on
the Apology, 129; sides with ene- Antigone, 188; on Cleon, 88; on
mies of Athens, 57; and Socrates’ democracy, 101; on forensic (judi-
philosophic mission, 60-1,157, 177, cial) rhetoric, 38, 179; on good man
185, 193,213, 223; on) Socrates: and good citizen, 103-4, 215; on
wisdom, 56-8, 70-1; and Trojan megalopsychia, 216; on rhetorical
War, 123, 132 persuasion, three modes of, 36; on
Apollodorus, 178 Socrates’ role in the Greek intellec-
Apologia Pro Vita Sua (Newman), 36 tual revolution, 45; on the state,
Apology (Plato), 8-11, 14, 26, 34, 41, 102; on vengeance as justice, 197
105, 145, 148, 160, 180, 186, 190, Arrowsmith, William, 6
191, 192, 195, 201, 202, 203, 210, asebeia, 118
213, 218, 225; on acting right- Aspasia, 85, 169, 201
eously, 196; Ajax and Socrates, 217; Assembly (ekklésia), 23, 25, 53-4, 79,
Apollo’s central role in, 129; appar- 88, 105, 114, 121, 125, 152-5,
ent conflict with the Crito, 206; and 161-2, 187
civil disobedience, 200, 209; on Athena, 52, 99, 120, 217
conflict between Socrates and Athena Nike (Victory), Temple of, 14,
Athens, 104, 170; and conventional 120
hero, 136; as drama, 141; on duty Athena Parthenos (Athena the Virgin),
to God, 193; as forensic rhetoric, 14
36,179; historicity of, 17-21; and Athena Polias, 96, 123
image of Athens, 85; as a mono- Athenian democracy, 1, 2, 5, 37, 78-9,
logue, 16; and philosopher facing 88, 95-104, 117, 146, 161; and the
danger, 69; and power of speech, individual, 2, 78-9, 99-104; and
84; on public opinion, 94; and radi- ostracism, 101, 153; radical, 88, 96;
cal Socrates, 133; as re-creation of and tyranny of the majority, 2, 101,
Socrates’ trial, 2; religious tone of, 130, 146, 163
157; and rights, 100; on the soul, Athens, Acropolis, 14, 59, 96, 140;
138-9,183; as tragic irony, 32; on agora, 13, 15, 30, 99; amnesty (Act
tyranny of the majority, 146; on the of Oblivion) of 403 B.C., 13, 72,
unexamined life, 177 108-13, 125; Areopagus, 52, 95,
Apology (Xenophon), 17, 18, 73, 181 96; Assembly, 23, 25, 53-4, 79, 88,
Aquinas, Saint Thomas, 189 105, 114, 121, 125, 152-5, 161-2,
Archelaus, 45 187; Athena Nike (Victory), Temple
Arendt, Hannah, 1, 69-70, 102, 165, of, 14, 120; Board of Ten, 108; citi-
168, 216 zenry, 4, 5, 6, 79, 91, 96; and the
Areopagus, 52, 95, 96 civic hero, 81, 84, 91, 94-8; com-
 Index 259

pared with Sparta, 79-80; Council Dionysus, 8; and Thirty Tyrants, 13,
of Five Hundred, 79, 96, 108, 114, 27, 44, 57, 72, 108, 112, 163-4,
125, 153, 155, 161; Council of 187, 190-1, 206, 220, 222, 240n.
Four Hundred, 95; and Delian 59; Tholos, 153, 163; and trial of
League, 34; and demagogues, 87-8; the generals, 153, 160-2, 164, 187,
and democracy, see Athenian 222; trial procedure, 15-17, 55,
democracy; the Eleven, 108; Eliaia 106, 112, 125, 173; and tyranny of
(Heliaia), 13, 95, 229n. 1; and the majority, 2,, 101, 130, 146, 163;
empire, 9, 13, 14, 34, 44, 53-4, and “unwritten laws,” 79, 82; and
77-8, 81, 82, 86,154; Erechtheum, women, 83-4, 171, 184
14, 120; and free speech, 1, 11, 29, Augustine, Saint, 119
43, 99-100, 121-2; and genocide,
29, 35, 51, 54, 85, 155, 197, 209, Bacchae (Euripides), 158
212; and Great Dionysia, 39, 40, Bakhtin, Mikhail, 68
82, 90, 140, 175, 185; and Hermae, Barthes, Roland, 24, 38
mutilation of, 111, 123; and ideal Before and After Socrates (Cornford),
of freedom, 79; impiety statute, 139
125-6; jurors (dikasts), 3, 14, 17, béma, 152
36, 125-6, 154, 171-2, 180-6; law Birth of Tragedy, The (Nietzsche), 220
revision and recodification, 109, Bloom, Allan, 136, 156
125-6; lawcourts, 6-7, 23, 29; Long Board of Ten, 108
Walls, 13, 14, 198; and Melos, 29, Boeotia, 135
35, 54, 90, 103, 155, 197, 198; and Bonner, Robert J. 151, 161
Mytilene, 36, 53-4, 90, 103, 155-4, bouleutérion, 153
197; and OedipusTyrannos, 86-7; Bowra, C.M., 76
and oligarchic revolution of 404 Bradley, A. C., 4
B.C., 15, 44, 111; and oligarchic Brasidas, 40, 62, 135
revolution of 411 B.C., 15, 44, Brickhouse, Thomas C., 236n. 23;
111-12, 161; and ostracism, 101, 239nn. 43, 52
153; Parthenon, 14, 96, 120; Briseis, 132
People’s Courts (dikastéria) 13, 154; Burckhardt, Jacob, 98
Piraeus, 14, 108, 111, 198; and Burnet, John, 20, 31, 236n. 22
Pisistradid tyrants, 96; and the Bury, J. B., 5
plague, 44, 57, 89, 101, 152; Pnyx,
152-3; and polis ideal, 75-104, Caird, Edward, 120
204; Porch of the Maidens Callias, 49
(Caryadids), 14; and power politics, Callicles, 31, 52, 111, 159, 192
9, 51; Propylaea, 14; prytaneis, 153, Callicrates, 88
161-2, 239n. 47; Prytaneum, 174, Callixenus, 161-2
178; and religion (piety), 118-26; Cartledge, Paul, 141
and rhetoric, 23-25; and role of the Chaerephon, 57-8, 71
theater, 6-7, 140-1; Royal Stoa charis, 148-9
(Stoa Basileios), 15, 16, 109, 126; Charmides, 110-11, 164, 167
as “school of Hellas,” 5, 80, 85; Charmides (Plato), 67
and Sicilian invasion, 29, 35, 44, Chryses, 132
82, 86, 91, 111, 123, 140, 212, Cicero, 45, 66, 138, 147
231n. 35; and Sophists, 25, 28-9, Cimon, 33, 34, 61, 101
42, 47-8, 105, 112; Ten Governors Cleisthenes, 96, 154
(of Piraeus), 108; and Theater of Cleon, 36, 53, 87-8, 135, 190, 212
260 Index

Cleophon, 88 dikaiosuné, 103

Clouds (Aristophanes), 28, 39-44, 57, dikastéria, see People’s Courts
DID el2ieuloe saloon dikastai, 182
Cohen, David, 125 dikasts, see jurors
Confessions (St. Augustine), 119 diké, 95
Connor, W. Robert, 87-8 Diodorus Siculus, 163
Constant, Benjamin, 102 Diodotus, 36, 53, 156
Constitution of Athens (Aristotle), 88 Diogenes Laertius, 8, 15, 45, 122, 178,
Corax, 25 2G 22 Iie
Corcyra, civil war in, 90 Diomedon, 162
Corinth, 198, 207 Dionysus, 8, 40, 122, 158
Cornford, Francis, 86, 137, 139 Dionysus, theater of, 8
Coulanges, Fustel de, 176 Diopeithes, decree of, 121, 122
Council of Five Hundred, 79, 96, 108, divine voice (daimonion) of Socrates,
D142 520l S3enl 5 alo 110, 129, 157-60, 172, 183, 185,
Council of Four Hundred, 95 210
Cratinus, 39 Dodds, E.R., 93-4, 122
Creon, 24, 188-90, 193, 200, 205 Dover, Kenneth, 181, 237n. 63
Crete, 207 Dworkin, Ronald, 205
Critias, 110-11, 113, 163-4, 167-8, dysnomia, 96
7A
Crito, 4, 178, 191-203, 207, 209-13 Ehrenberg, Victor, 83, 101, 102, 111
Crito (Plato), 2, 4, 8-11, 85, 146, Eiron, 66
190-213, 218, 225 eironia, 66, see also irony, Socratic
Critobolus, 178 eisangelia, 161
Croesus, king of Lydia, 59 ekklesia, see Assembly
Cropsey, Joseph, 205 Electra, 216
Csapo, Eric, 236-7n. 57 elenchus, 63-5, 105, 107, 145, 208
Eleusinian mysteries, 39, 111, 118,
daimon, or daimonion, see divine voice 11S 22
David, Jacques-Louis, 3-4, 225 Eleusis, 39
Death of Socrates, The, (David), 3, 225 eleutheria, 79
Defense of Palamedes (Gorgias), 48 Eleven, The, 108, 175
Delian League, 34 Eliaia (Heliaia), 13, 95, 229n. 1
Delium, 39, 135 entheos, 158
Delos, 191 Ephialtes, 96
Delphi, 56, 95 epistates, 239n. 47
Delphic oracle, 56- 63, 70-1, 95 epitaphios logos, 75
demagogues, 87-8 erastai, 83
deme (demes), 14, 96 Erechtheum, 14, 120
Demeter, 125 Eros, 82-3, 85-6
Demetrius Phalereus, 18 éthos, and rhetorical persuasion, 36,
Democritus, 103 39, 179-80
démokratia, 78 Eucleides, 108
démos, 51, 78, 88, 162 Eumenides, 99, 141
démos-hater, 88 Eumenides (Aeschylus), 52
démos-lover, 88 eunomia, 96
Demosthenes, 75, 125, 190 Eupolis, 39
Diagoras of Melos, 39, 119, 122 Euripides, 14, 57, 90, 140, 158
 Index 261

Euryptolemus, 161 Heracles, 62, 175, 217; and Socrates,

eusebeia, 118 1535136. 72
Euthyphro, 121 Heraclitus, 58, 93
Euthyphro (Plato), 16, 67, 73, 120, Hermae, mutilation of, 111, 123
1A 1295157 Hermesy 110) 17,
Evenus, 49 Hermogenes, 18
Herodotus, 24, 25, 51
Finley, M.I., 100 Hesiod, 25, 52, 184
Foucault, Michel, 131, 138, 237n. 1 Hestia, 174
Founding Fathers (US), 189 Hippias, 25, 47, 49
Friedlander, Paul, 26 Hippolytus (Euripides), 158
Frye, Northrop, 32 Histiaea, 198
Furies, 99, 141 Histories (Herodotus), 51
History of Greece (Grote), 51
Gandhi, Mahatma, 189 History of the Peloponnesian War
Garland, Robert, 126 (Thucydides), 19-20, 53, 82
Genealogy of Morals (Nietzsche), 92 Homer, 25, 62, 81, 92, 134, 136, 137,
Gettysburg Address (Lincoln), 35, 75 170, 184, 217
Glaucus, 218 homo rhetoricus, 28
gods, Olympian, 121, 123, 129; homo seriosus, 28
chthonic, 38 hoplite, 97, 134, 153
Goldhill, Simon, 229n. 13 hubris, 82, 91, 95, 136, 137, 147, 223
Gorgias, 25, 26-7, 33, 47, 48, 49, 50 Hyperides, 119
Gorgias (Plato), 31, 33, 34, 35, 61, 84, Hysiae, 198
99, 104, 151, 159, 192, 202
Gouldner, Alvin, 94 ididtés, 102, 152
graphé paranomon, 235n. 86 Iliad (Homer), 36, 81, 91, 92, 123,
Great Dionysia, 39, 40, 82, 90, 140, 132, 134, 136, 170, 210, 218
175, 185 Ion (Euripides), 57
Greek Enlightenment, 14, 51, 122, Ion (Plato), 63
123 Ionia, 50
Grote, George, 43, 51, 70, 179, 200-1, irony, Socratic, 26, 28, 45, 181, 185,
29 208-10; complex, 48; and the inter-
Grudin, Robert, 68 rogation of Meletus, 113-4; and
Guardinii, Romano, 5 Socrates’ character, 32; and Socrates’
Gulf of Corinth, 56 speech for the Laws, 200, 202
Guthrie, W.K.C., 20, 157, 164, 238n. Irwin, Terence, 236 n. 23
17 iségoria, 99
Iser, Wolfgang, 233n. 47
Hadas, Moses, 93 Isocratess 25,98) L195 197
Hades, 38, 122, 137, 184, 208, 209 isonomia, 79
Hebrew prophets, 71 Isthmian games, 207
Hector, 132, 170, 181
Hegel, G.W.F., 4-5, 142-4, 218 Jaeger, Werner, 20, 42, 93, 97, 138
Helen of Troy, 26, 48 Jefferson, Thomas, 189
Heliaia (see Eliaia) Jesus, 138, 139, 143
Heliastic oath, 125 Jowett, Benjamin, 10, 228nn. 4, 5
hemlock, 3, 191 jurors (dikasts), 3, 14, 17, 36, 125-7,
Hera, 129 154, 171-3, 180-6
Index

Kagan, Donald, 76 Marathon, battle of, 34, 77, 78, 98

Kahn, Charles H., 21 May, Rollo, 59
kakos, 92 megalégoria, 147
Kendall, Willmoore, 242 n. 2 megalopsychia, 147, 174, 216
Kierkegaard, Srren, 18, 115, 141, 218 megalopsychos, 216
King Archon, 15, 17, 106-7, 112 Megara, 207
King of Persia, Great, 183 Meier, Christian, 6
King, Martin Luther, Jr., 36, 189, Meletus, 15, 17, 55, 148, 157, 168,
241n. 7 172, 179, 181; accuses Socrates of
Kitto, H. D. F, 4 atheism, 126-8; allegedly banished
kleos, 93 by the Athenians, 226; described in
klepsydra (waterclock), 17, 167 Plato’s Euthyphro, 73; interrogated
“Know thyself,” 56, 66, 70, 137, 138 by Socrates, 105-16, 125-30; possi-
Knox, Bernard, 86-7, 216-7 bly the same Meletus who indicted
kratos, 78 Andocides, 73; representative of the
poets, 72
Laches, 66 Melos, Melians, 29, 35, 54, 90, 103,
Laches (Plato), 66 155, 197, 198
Lamartine, Alphonse de, 44 Memorabilia (Xenophon), 18
Lanham, Richard, 28 Menelaus, 217
Laws (Plato), 202 Menexenus, 84—5
Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion Menexenus, (Plato), 84-5, 201, 202,
(Hegel), 143-4 2087211
Leon of Salamis, 163, 187, 191, 206, Meno (Plato), 61, 64, 73, 118, 197
209, 222 Meno, 61, 64, 118
Lesbos, 53 Meshach, 18
Lesky, Albin, 138 Metaphysics (Aristotle), 43
Letter from Birmingham Jail (Martin miasma, 119
Luther King, Jr.), 36, 189, 241n. 7 Mill, John Stuart, 2, 3
Lincoln, Abraham, 35, 75 Miltiades, 33, 34, 61, 93
Locke, John, 189 Milton, John, 189
logography, 230, ch.2, n. 12 Minos, 184
logos (argument), and rhetorical per- Minotaur, 136, 191
suasion, 36, 179-80, 202 Monoson, S. Sara, 234n. 26
logos (speech), 23, 103 Moralitat (Hegel), 142
Long Walls, 13, 14, 198 Mosaic Law, 144
Loraux, Nicole, 83, 85, 133 Mount Parnassus, 56
Lyson,; 155°17, 72; 73, 172,226 Musaeus, 184
Lycurgus, 75 Muses, 63
Lydia, 59 mythos, 116
Lysander, 62, 163, 198 Mytilene, Mytileans, 36, 53-4, 90,
Lysias, 187111, 119, 163 103, 155-6, 197
Lysis (Plato), 67
Lysistrata (Aristophanes), 140 Nagy, George, 108
Nebuchadnezer, 189
MacDowell, Douglas M., 240, ch. 9, n. Nehamas, Alexander, 66
59; 240, ch. 10, n. 22 Nestor, 40
Machiavelli, Niccolo, 223 Neumann, Erich, 159
MacIntyre, Alasdair, 76, 92 Newman, John Henry, 36
 Index 263

Nicomachean Ethics (Aristotle), 215 76, 97, 123, 135, 140, 141, 143,
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 46, 91, 92, 93; on 160, 163, 173, 188; and Athenian
the Apology, 160; on Athenian patriotic rhetoric, 200; and the civic
hubris, 91; haunted by Socrates, hero, 81; effect on Athenian popula-
231, ch. 4, n. 24; on incompatibility tion, 152; effect on Hellenic world,
between Socrates and Athens, 220; 86; and genocide,197—8; and insta-
on Socrates’ new agon, 106; on bility in Athens, 37, 111; moral
Socrates’ physical appearance, 40; effect of, 9, 21, 27, 44, 46, 52, 85,
on Socrates as radical reformer, 87-90, 103, 169; and power
159-60 equated with justice, 51
Nilsson, Martin, 120 Penelope, 170
nomizein, 123-4 People’s Courts (dikastéria), 13, 154
nomos, 51-2,120, 124 Pericles, 5, 33, 53, 61, 65, 77, 86, 90,
“nothing to excess,” 56, 95 96, 98, 102, 152, 154, 165, 169,
Nous (Mind), 45 190, 233n. 20, 234n. 26; Age of,
13, 34, 120, 145; as Athenian dem-
Ober, Josiah, 154 agogue, 87; and the Athenian
Odysseus, 91, 170, 184, 217 empire, 77, 86; dies from the
Odyssey (Homer), 91, 184 plague, 57, 89, 101; Funeral
Oedipus, 216 Oration, 24, 35, 52, 75-87, 89, 91,
oligarchic revolution of 404 B.C., 15, 98, 150, 185, 201, 204; and the
44,111 gods, 81-2; removed from office,
oligarchic revolution of 411 B.C., 15, 101
44, 111-12, 161 Pericles, the Younger, 162
Olsen, Francis, 241n. 43 Persephone, 38, 39
Olympia, 175 Persia; Persians 934,517,097 (42/5
On the Gods (Protagoras), 122 101
On Liberty (John Stuart Mill), 3 Peter, First Epistle of, 189
On the Original Condition of Mankind Phaedo (Plato) 3, 45, 49, 139, 183,
(Protagoras), 116 191, 218
On Truth (Antiphon), 50 Phaedra, 158
Oresteia (Aeschylus), 14, 52, 99, 141 Phaedrus, 32
Orpheus, 184 Phaedrus (Plato), 32, 43, 49, 84, 201,
Orphics, 137 202
ostracism, 101, 153 Phaenarete, 14
ostrakon, 101 phalanx, 97
pharmakos, 176
Palamedes, 49, 184 Pheidippides, 40-1
Panathenaea, 175 Phidias, 14
Paris, 26, 48, 181 philia, 194
parrhésia, 99, 131 Philoctetus, 216
Parthenon, 14, 96, 120 philo-polis, 88
pathos, and rhetorical persuasion, 36, philos, 205
179-80 philosophy, conflict with politics, 1, 6,
Patroclus, 93, 132, 133, 181 S211, 165156; 159) 171,478, 213,
Paul, Saint, 116 221, 222, 225-7
Peitho, 24, 99 philotimia, 93
Peleus, 76, 93 phronésis, 152
Peloponnesian War, 2, 13, 29, 54, 57, Phthia, 210-11
264 Index

physis, 51-2 Rhadamanthys, 184

Pindar, 120 rhéetor (rhétores), 154-5
Piraeus, 14, 108, 111, 198 Rhetoric (Aristotle), 35, 179
Pisistratid tyrants, 96 rhetoric, deliberative or political, 35,
plague, 44, 57, 89, 101, 152 76, 155; epideictic or ceremonial,
Plataea, 197 35, 76; forensic or judicial, 26-36,
Plato, 2, 7-10, 16, 34, 40, 49, 52, 63, 147; philosophical, 31-3, 147, 164,
64, 66, 67, 73, 84, 85, 101, 116, 201
118, 120, 136, 137, 141, 146, 156, Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 224
1575 15951780190, 191, 192193; Royal Stoa (Stoa Basileios), 15, 16,
196, 197, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 109, 126
DOS 21 ese 232226
pleonexia, 82 Salamis, battle of, 34, 59, 78, 98
Plutarch, 77, 231n. 35, 233n. 20 Samos, 45
Pnyx, 152-3 Sarpedon, 92, 218
Pohlenz, Max, 102 Schleiermacher, Friedrich, 10
polis, 1, 228n. 2 Scione, 197, 198
polités, 151 Sermon on the Mount (Jesus), 138
politeuesthai, 151 Seven Sages, 25, 95
Politics (Aristotle), 103, 204 Seventh Letter (Plato), 68, 113, 146,
Polus, 151 233n. 36
Polycrates, 18 Shadrach, 188
Polyneices, 188, 190 shame culture, 91-4, 194; contrasted
polypragm6n, 63 with guilt culture, 94
Popper, Karl, 146 Sicilian invasion, 29, 35, 44, 82, 86,
Porch of the Maidens (Caryadids), 14 OTS Lid 1235 140; 212723 ines
Potidaea, 135 Silenus, 40, 176
Praise of Helen (Gorgias), 26, 48 Simonides, 118
Prodicus, 25, 47, 49 Sisyphus, 184
Prometheus, 116 Sisyphus (Critias), 111
Propylaea, 14 Sittlichkeit (Hegel), 142
Protagoras, 14, 25-6, 47, 82, 116-18, Slater, William J., 236—-7n. 57
122, 204 Smith, Nicholas D., see Brickhouse,
Protagoras (Plato), 25, 49, 116 Thomas C.
Proteus, 171 Snell, Bruno, 92, 93, 124, 137, 138
prytaneis, 153, 161-2, 239n. 47 Social Contract, The, (Rousseau), 224
Prytaneum, 174, 178 Socrates, and Achilles, 40, 132-4,
pséphisma, 240n. 59 136-9, 172, 175, 181, 211, 216-19;
psyché, 137, 138 and Antigone, 6, 187-9, 193; argues
Pythagoras, 25 for the Laws, 199-210; and
Pythia, 56-8 Aristophanes’ Clouds, 37-44; and
atheism, 38-9, 126-8; and
Quakers, 189 Athenian constitution, 11, 162, 222;
Quintilian, 32 and Athenian democracy, 145- 6;
and avoidance of politics, 151-65,
Redfield, James, 211 219; charges against, 1, 15, 39- 41,
Reeve, C.D.C., 71, 240n. 65 42, 106-7, 110, 121, 131-2, 179,
Republic (Plato), 7, 34, 52, 66, 67, 219; and civil disobedience, 2-3, 11,
118, 136, 156, 158, 202, 204, 226 104, 140, 144, 164, 172, 187-93,
 Index 265

200, 203, 205, 206, 209, 220, 222, 110, 123, 131-50, 157, 165, 170,
223; compared to Silenus, 40, 176; D735 ASA 7521872992; 2105-213,
compared to a stingray fish, 64; 218-19, 222, 223; and philosophi-
condemned to death, 178; and con- cal rhetoric, 31-3, 147, 164, 172,
flict with Athenian values, 1-2, 4-5, 201; and philosophy as a radical
11, 27, 30, 36-7, 43, 99, 104, 139, activity, 69-70, 149; physical
141-4, 147, 149-50, 159, 172, appearance of, 39- 40; places
192,196, 201, 215-19, 222, 224; Athens on trial, 72, 147-8, 173,
and conscience (moral autonomy), 183, 227; and poverty, 42, 71,
1-2, 132, 144, 149, 156, 158, 162, 150-1, 155; practices a private polli-
T7235 199519952.09:2 15—6..2.18. tics, 165, 180; professes ignorance,
225; and corrupting the young, 1, 42, 64-7, 69, 172; pronounced
15, 26, 39-40, 72, 106-7, 113-15, guilty, 172; proposes a counter-
123-32, 167-9; on death, 132-6, penalty, 16-17, 172-8; refuses to
183; and Delphic oracle (Apollo), flee Athens, 199; revolutionizes
56-8, 60-3, 70-1; disclaims knowI- Greek view of piety, 71; and rheto-
edge of natural science, 44-6; his ric, 23-36; and role of politics in
divine voice, 110, 129, 157-60, indictment, 112-3; and the rule of
172, 183, 185, 210; duty to God, law, 2, 4, 11, 38, 195, 198-9, 210;
1-3, 71, 104, 135, 140, 180, 187, as scapegoat, 21, 176; service in
193, 200, 210-13; examines the Peloponnesian War, 14, 134-5, 149;
craftsmen, 63; examines the poets, and skepticism, 42; and the
62-3; examines the politicians, Sophists, 38-9, 42-3, 46-50, 56,
60-1; and family, 123, 169-70; and 68; and the soul, 1, 3, 15, 131, 135,
Funeral Oration of Pericles, 145, see 137-9, 144, 168, 173, 195-6, 211,
also Menexenus; as gadfly of 219, 221, 227; on teaching, 48, 49,
Athens, 37, 48, 111, 147-50, 158, 149, 167-9, 219; and trial of the
US95A GOM6 S172, 17/6, 22250 24: generals, 153, 160-2, 164, 187,
and “God,” 228n. 5; good man but 222; his trial as a trial of philoso-
bad citizen, 103-4, 145, 215-6; and phy, 156, 215; and the “unexam-
Greek heroic tradition, 133, 136, ined life,” 177; and virtue as a form
172, 175, 181, 184, 185, 211; and of knowledge, 49, 115-6
the Hebrew prophets, 71; and Solon, 24, 25, 95-6, 103, 197
Heracles, 62, 133, 136; historical, 9, Sophists, 25, 105, 112, 118, 221; and
10, 17, 20, 21, 66, 68, 121, 146, epistemological nihilism, 50; and
191, 192, 202-3, 208; and impiety, Greek intellectual revolution, 45;
1, 15, 38, 107, 110, 119-25, 146; and moral collapse of Athens, 28-9,
as intellectual midwife, 67; and 42; and political education of
irony, see, irony; and Jesus, 138, Athenians, 47-8
139, 143-4; and Meletus, interroga- Sophocles, 6, 14, 52, 62, 87, 140, 161,
tion of, 105-116; member of the 187-9, 217
prytaneis, 153, 161-2, 239n. 47; Sophroniscus, 14
and new conception of freedom, sophrosuné, 82
103; and old accusers, 16, 37-50, Spartas25-9,.15, 27,205.29, 37, 65,
127; and parrhésia, 131; as philoso- 79-80, 82, 102, 123, 145, 198, 207
pher-hero, 7, 9, 10, 21, 132, 136, stasis, 7, 95
174-5, 184, 218, 227; philosophic Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn, 233n. 49
mission of, 1— 4, 21, 27, 30, 36, 37, Stephanus (Henricus Estienne), 228n. 4
43-4, 48, 60-1, 63, 71, 94, 99, 104, Stoa Basileios, see Royal Stoa
266 Index

stoa, 100 effect of war on human behavior,

Stone, I.E, 110, 113, 155, 236n. 22 89; on Funeral Oration of Pericles,
stratégos, 77, 153 77; Melian dialogue, 54, 103;
Strauss, Leow $2, 87, 192,/1995215, Mylilenean debate, 36, 53-4, 90,
230n. 7 103, 155-6; on the Sicilian invasion,
Strepsiades, 40-1 91; skeptical view of gods and ora-
Strycker, E. de, 230, ch. 3, n. 11; 232, cles, 82
chs, 08 16 timé, 92, 94, 132
Sunium, 191 Tisias, 25
Suppliants (Euripides), 99 Tocqueville, Alexis de, 2
Symposium (Plato), 40, 65 Topics (Aristotle), 106
Syracuse, 48 topoi, 82
Torone, 198
Taylor, A.E., 20, 139 trial of the generals, 153, 160-2, 164,
Ten Governors (of Piraeus), 108 187, 222
Theaetetus (Plato), 67, 68 Triptolemus, 184
Theater of Dionysus, 14 Trojan War, 90-1, 132, 218
Thebes, 198, 207 Trojan Women (Euripides), 90-1
theios, 223 Troy, 26, 48, 81, 92, 132, 211, 217
Themistocles, 24, 33, 34, 59-60, 93, tyranny of the majority, and democ-
101, 176 racy, 2, 101, 130, 146, 163
Theodectes, 18
Theognis, 197 Vernant, Jean-Pierre, 7, 24, 97-8, 176
Theophrastus, 18 Vlastos, Gregory, 20, 48, 69, 71, 129,
Theramenes, 161, 163 134, 146, 160, 196
Theseus, 62, 99, 136, 191 Voegelin, Eric, 141
Thessaly, 191, 202, 207, 211
Thetis, 132 Wasserstrom, Richard, A., 241—-2n. 57
Thinkery, 40-1 waterclock (klepsydra), 17, 167
Thirty Tyrants, 13, 27, 44, 57, 72, 108, Whitman, Cedric, 219, 242n. 5
110, 112, 163-4, 187, 190-1, 206,
220, 222, 240n. 59 Xanthippe, 170
Tholos, 153, 163 Xenophon, 17, 18, 19, 46, 73, 115,
Thomson, J.A.K., 66 123, 129, 135, 146, 147, 157, 158,
Thoreau, Henry David, 2, 165, 189 LOU 163; 178218 te 192226
thorubus, 56
Thrasybulus, 57 Yunis, Harvey, 119
Thrasyllus, 162
Thrasymachus, 52, 66, 111 Zeller, Eduard, 236n. 24
Thucydides, 9, 19-20, 24, 54, 57, 75, Zeus, 38, 41,118, 122, 125, 129, 197
76, 77, 85-7, 89-90, 103, 156, 190; Zeus Agoraios, 99
on civil war in Corcyra, 90; on the Zeus Polieus, 123
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