Menexenus

You back from business or some other place, Menexenos?

I was at the townsquare, Socrates; back from the assembly hall.

What precisely had you to do with the City-State's council? Or is it too obvious that you believe you are at the conclusion of your training and higher education, and in belief you're already so sufficiently adequate you mean now to be oriented towards greater affairs; do you try your hand at leading elderly men like us, you amazing man—at your ripe young age, in order that your household not lack continually granting some director to manage us?

Well if you allow and advise it, Socrates, I will be eager to be in charge: And if you don't, I'd not. Although I went to the assembly just now and found out that the council is going to select someone to speak over the dead—as you know, they are going to hold a funeral.

Of course; well, whom did they pick?

No one, they...put it off until tomorrow. Really, I think they'll choose Archinus or Dio.

And yet, Menexenos, there are a lot of different ways in which it might be glorious to die in battle. In fact, it gets a lovely funeral, one proper for a noble man too; and if one should happen to die quite poor, he still receives due praise—even should he be a scoundrel, it's by men who are both bright and eulogize not at random, the ones singing their praises so beautifully spend a long time preparing their statements so that what they say is both relevant and not about each man, although they weave in a way most gorgeously expressions—their result, to bewitch our soul; they even offer praise to their city in every single way and commend those who died in the war and our relatives, all the ones who came before, praising us ourselves who're still alive: Such that I, Menexenos, am eminently well disposed to being flattered by them, and each time I stand out apart when I listen, I'm enchanted because in the moment I believe I have become taller and more noble, even more—a bit too beautiful. Such that, by and large, a few out-of-towners always gather with me and listen to what I become rather prideful towards them on the spot over; actually, I do believe those men experience these same things as relates to myself and the rest of the city, and that they consider it more amazing than before in being persuaded by the speaker. This grave attitude stays with even me some three days or more: The speech is like a song I can't get out of my head the speaker's voice, so that it's almost the fourth or fifth day that I recollect myself and notice where I am, still on earth; up to then, I am obsessed with not living in the Isles of the Blessed—deceased. This 's how professional speakers are in relation to us.

Oh Socrates, you're always coming down upon the the Assembly speakers. But truth is now I think a man who's been picked will not easily walk away; 'cause in every conceivable way the selection comes like right now; & so the actual speaker will be either way forced to speak, reading of one's own heart.

Where'd you get that from, my dear man? Are the speeches of these people in the particulars so finely prepared?, and yet it is no difficult matter to speak extemporaneously on such matters. Like, if one wished to speak properly about the Athenians among Peloponnesians, or about Peloponnese amidst the Athenians, you'd need a fairly right good speaker—one being persuasive and of honorable intention: And whenever anyone is brought to trial or struggling with these individuals, they become the same ones even he compliments. It's no big deal to be seen speaking well?

You don't think so, Socrates?

Oh my, by God no—I do not!

Then you think you'd be able to speak yourself, if it was needed and the council were to select you?

And—even to me Menexenus, it really is no marvel to amaze 'at I speak to effect what with a teacher present I did happen upon, she being at quite the admirable state over her study of the rhetorical art, but also as the very one who has made other quite a few other men—& good ones too—into public speakers; but one also who went far, sir, passed the Greeks; I mean Pericles, Xanthippou's son.

Who is this lady? Or is it clear that you mean Aspasia?

Yes, I'm talking even, like Konnos from Metrobios since these two are my instructors; one's a music teacher and she, the very art of rhetoric. So then I say should a man be supported like so, it really is no amazing marvel to speak with cleverness: But even someone who had ever worse up-bringing than I—though, if trained in music by Lampros, but also in publically speaking by Antiphon of Ramnosios,—even still might this guy be able to be honored as a celebrity by telling the Athenians how great they are?

And what would you be able to say, if it were necessary for you to speak?

Just me on my own—perhaps nothing at all: But I sat listening to Aspasia just yesterday as she was mourning, a funeral speech delivered over these very same matters: Because I heard just what you're talking about, how the Athenians were about to select the speaker; when she was about to start going through some of it on the spot, as which matters were in need of speaking about, and had seen to the rest of it earlier I believe that she composed the funeral speech which Perikles pronounced, as much of it were left over she pieced together from that famous man.

So truly you'd even remember what it was Aspasia herself said?

If not, I'd be mistreating you; I am a student of hers, that's true—and I took quite a few hits when I kept forgetting lessons in discipline.

Then, why'd you go through that?

There was no way to not, the instructor had it in for me (the one whose speech I bore out); solemnity.

No way Socrates; but tell me and you will quite please me, was it you who wanted Aspasia to give the speech, or someone else? Well, say it!

But you might laugh at me, if I seemed to you an old man still playing games.

Not a bit, Socrates; but say it in every turn of phrase.

Then actually, it being necessary to do as you please—that it even almost might, if you were to direct me to start dancing with my clothes off; I would to amuse you, since we are both alone. But she spoke, I do believe, by starting her speech about the dead men like this:

"So in the act, know that we have the things appropriate to these of our dead, o' the ones fated to be conveyed down that road of one's destiny, bearing ourselves to the grave together out of the city, but individually by the family members: And in reasoned measure does the law direct the rest of the universe to recompense the men and must do so. But in a speech well-said about deeds properly accomplished, a memory and universal order in affairs of state do come into being as a result of people hearing; there is need of such a rationale for whomever will properly compliment the dead and graciously give advice to the living by encouraging fathers and brothers to remembrance of their excellence, to recall their fathers and mothers, and if some of their children still among the living are left behind, his speech comforts these people. So what reason could we seem to have for a speech? Or how should we rightly begin in praising great men, for whom living their life made their relations so overjoyed by cause of virtue, they even exchanged their final last in return for security of the living: I believe it right, according to human nature—just as they became noble in such a way, also to hymn them in praise. But they became great by cause of their being born from excellent people. Let's then give credit first to their noble birth, and afterwards praise their upbringing and education; and on top of these considerations, let us elucidate in speech the actual act of their deeds, display it as a noble and worthwhile undertaking. So since the generation of their children made first a beginning of their nobility, since it is no foreign family's source, and does not declare these children as resident aliens in the land with their having come here from somewhere else: Rather it shows that native locals in reality do live inhabiting their homeland and they are raised not by a cold step-mother like others have been; but from the mother of the country in which they live, even now having breathed their last, they rest upon the familial grounds of she who bore and raised and helped establish you. The absolute most just and right thing on the earth exists primarily, the mother herself—for this is also how the nobility of these men comes together in being so arranged.

"It is a land also worthy of all people's complimenting praise, not just ours, in a lot of various ways, but first is the single greatest aspect that it succeeds in being loved by the gods. And the disputes the gods have in relation to it stand as our witness, in reasoned a speech: How could this country, which the gods praise, not be rightly praised by all humanity? And a second grounds for praising may properly be that at that very time when all the earth in bloom brings forth every manner of living creature, both beasts and grazing herds, in this season our land is shown barren and cleansed of wild animals; it chose and gave birth to man from amongst living creatures, who in our understanding surpass the other forms of life and believe in right and the gods alone. And this argument is given proof by the fact that the land gave these creatures birth, and created our ancestors. But every young thing to which the earth gives birth has its necessary means of sustenance, the offspring to which a woman is clear in giving birth—both truly and not in fact—rather she is surpassed if she has no streams to nurse her offspring. With respect to this fact, our country and mother both provide ample proof as to how she created humanity itself; in fact, she was alone at the time when ever she was first to bear the people's nourrishment, the fruit of grains or barley, produce from which, in the most gorgeous, noble way, the human race is fed. It is more fitting to accept such proof as relates to the ground than a woman: For the earth resembles a female in conceiving and giving birth, but woman actually imitates the planet. But she does not envy this fruit; rather she distributes it even to the other fruits of earth. Among this belongs the creation of olives, which aid one's toils, for her children: She was raised and came of age to prime of youth and offered them gods as their heads of state and teachers—and it is fitting in such circumstance to omit their names—as we do know—those of us who set life up disposed towards a way of living each day, practicing the very first abilities people acquired as relates to safeguarding the land we teach the proper means of acquiring and utilizing tools of defense.

"Born and raised in such a way the ancestors of these people inhabited a city-state they had equipped themselves, which one does right to recall in brief terms. Now the actual constitution of the city, its state is nourrishment for human beings—lovely because of its good people, it is the antithesis of evils. Then as our ancestors held a funeral rite in this lovely state it is necessary to elucidate, on account of its constitution, those noble men and the ones of today, these kin of the men who just made their final end. But the very city itself was then, and is still now, a land in which we presently are ruled by the best in birth, and for all time from that fact do many things result. One line of reasoning calls this state democratic, another calls it something else, but it is in reality a government of the best according to approval of the majority. Since there were always sovereign authorities for us to deal with, and at one time these were hereditary, at another elected, they have control of the city, by and large, with respect to the majority and they appoint authorities and also grant strength to those continually esteemed best in reputation, and neither by infirmity nor poverty—no, not even inherited ignorance will ever have rejected even one soul, but the opposing qualities are not honored as they are in other cities: Though it is only one horizon—he who acquires a reputation for wisdom or being noble holds power in office. And its creation equal-made is cause of this, our nation. Now the other cities have been supplied with all different types of various people to such extent their citizens are strange and the constitution of the city-states, a little club run by warlords: So each of them live regarding each other as slaves and masters. However we were, and our kin, all born as brothers of our sole mother and deem it inappropriate to be each other's slave or master; instead, the legal status of our birth compelled us to seek liberty in our very nature under the law, and never to yield to each other anything at all except a reputation for excellence and good sense.

"Indeed from such cause these people's fathers and our own, even these men themselves, and the men of noble birth have been thoroughly indoctrinated by freedom of every kind—so many great endeavors they unveiled for all humankind as personally as public property because they consider the necessary condition concerning their liberty that the Greeks go to war for Greeks, even non-Greeks on behalf of all of Greece. So then, as how they beat back Eumolpos and the Amazonian women marching to field of battle, and enemies even before, so did they defend the Thebans against Argives and repel Heraclids from Argos, which is appropriately related a brief outline, and the poets on the subject have already memorialized quite well by praising their excellence in song for every kind of virtue; so, if we try to order the same things in everyday discourse, perhaps we would appear outclassed. So these things then I do think right to dismiss, since they also have their due; but no author of these matters as yet possesses a worthy reputation for having taken up their worth in worthwhile lines, no poet as yet in remembrance—concerning these affairs I believe one must memorialize them by praising and engaging others to appropriately set the achievements of the ones who accomplish them both in song and some other form of poetry. It's for these causes I speak these words first as reasons: Those born of this land held in check the Persian rulers of Asia who were trying to enslave Europe, the men of our familial line whom it is both justified and needful to praise in their being memorialized first for their virtue. A virtue truly one must see, if intending to praise it right, as if occurring in speech at that famous hour when the Asian continent did service to its third of Kings; Cyrus, the first of these, had liberated the Persian cities he controlled at his own behest at once subjecting their masters, the Medes, to slavery and ruled over the rest of the mid-East unto Egypt as well; and his son was able to march on Egypt and Libya: But the 3rd King, Darius, crossed on march the borders of the Scythians, and ruled at sea the ships throughout the isles to such extent that no one was a match for him; opinions, of every human, were held in subjugation; so the Persians' empire had made slaves of so many great and warlike peoples. And when Darius had found fault with us and men of Eretria (really just pretending to attack Sardis) as pretence, he sent 500,000 in various ships, some three hundred craft—commanded Datis in charge of the fleet and ordered him to bring back Eretrians and Athenians if he wished to hold on to his head; but sailed to Eretria for quite a number of men, who maintained the best reputation of the Greeks at that time for the necessities of waging war; but he conquered these men within three days and divided up their country entirely so that no one could escape in such a manner as this: Going to the furthest reaches of Eretria the soldiers, dispersed from sea to sea, clasped their hands passing through all the land that they could tell the King, No one can have escaped them. With this as their intent did they march from Eretria to Marathon, believing it expedient amidst this very self-same necessity that the Athenians move onward allied with the Eretrians. But in the execution of these activities, and though they did attempt, none of the Greek city-states assisted the people of Eretria or Athenians except from Sparta—They do arrive always from the latest fight.—and every one of the rest was astounded, in love with the salvation of the present now keeping peaceful quiet. One who becomes involved in this matter, truly, should know such men just happen to be the ones who took their display of virtue at Marathon—the strength of the foreigners they also checked as arrogance from all the east and first fixed their monuments of victory over savages; commanders and teachers take for each other the other's place because resisting Persian might could not be futile, but the entire mob and all wealth give way to virtue. Then, so I do state that those men not only become our fathers in sharing our corporeal frame, but even so doing of our freedom and that of all the people in this country; now, looking to that action, and seeing the most recent conflicts the Greeks dared hazard for the sake of salvation, they started learning from the men of Marathon. So the most noble acts in speech must be then dedicated to their memory, while runner-up goes to those who fought at Salamis and for the statue of Artemis in the naval battle and won. In fact, one might have a good many of these men's deeds to wade through, and such acts do succeed each other waiting over land and by sea also to prevent these things: And this seems to me the most glorious of these feats—this I recall to mind—that they effect the next effort accomplished for the men at Marathon. These men who fought at Marathon in point of fact only showed the Greeks the possibility of defeating large numbers of foreigners on the ground with just a few, but at sea it was yet unclear and the Persian navy held repute as being unbeatable by cause of their multitude, resources, technical ability and strength; this is praiseworthy in the men who fought the engagement at sea, worthy for they dispensed with the fear the Greeks held and they stopped being terrified to great extent of young and men. From either side did it come about that those who fought at Marathon and the battle of Salamis—the other Greeks were trained by the men who made war by land and sea; they came to understand and got accustomed to not fearing foreigners. Third I pronounce the task at Plataea was, for the numbers and scope of its achievement, a matter of national security for Greece—a precedent of this affair between Spartans and Athenians. So these men all were defense against the greatest and most problematic threat, and because of this virtue in courage they are offered our praises now and for time to come by future generations; but after this were a good many of the Greeks' cities still under a foreign power, and the king himself was reported as intent on trying for the Greeks again. There is just cause for us to be mindful of these facts for we are men who by the actions of our predecessors do complete salvation by completely removing the driven barbarians from the sea. These were men both who fought at Eurymedon and went on campaign to Cyprus, even sailed to Egypt and many different places by different means: One must recollect them and understand with gratitude their importance in getting the king to pay attention in fear for his own safety, his mind on security, but not in plotting successfully ruin for the Greeks.

"Even this then indeed, this war wore the entire polis out on behalf of its citizens and the rest of the allies against the foreigners; but when peace came about and the city received its honor, there came to the city-state an occurrence not uncommon for the successful—at first a rivalry, and rivalry led to envy: Which also caused this city's listening to the Greeks in the war. After this, the war having occurred, they joined battle at Tanagra over the freedom of Boeotian people in confronting the Spartan foe—there was a battle hotly disputed, which a later action determined—for some left to depart leaving behind those they were trying to assist; meanwhile our forces achieved victory on the third day at Oenophyta by restoring rightfully those who were wrongly exiled. These then were the first men after the Persian war who presently assisted Greek against Greek for the sake of liberty to become bravely noble and liberate those whom their assistance aided: They 're the first laid to rest by the city which honors them in this memorial. After this, a great war broke out and as all the Greeks were up in arms cutting the country apart, and paying in full the price of undeserved gratitude for their city, our men defeated them by sea and taking the Spartan leaders at Sphagia,—they could have destroyed them—but yielded and recompensed, and even made peace, because they were intent on the need to wage war against Greeks to the point of victory and not out of a personal enmity of the state to destroy the fellowship of the race; but with foreigners, to the death. These men deserve their praise, who fought this war to rest here because they demonstrate that if someone were at odds over how some others in the prior conflict against the barbarians outshone the Athenians, their contentions are not true: Because these men here show that—with Greece in factional dispute—they overpowered the foremost of the rest of the Hellenes with whom they once overcame the foreign barbarians together, to conquer these men on one's own. The third conflict came, after this peace, unexpectedly and terrible; the one in which many great men made an end and lie here, so many in Sicily erected as endless monuments in defense of freedom for the people of Leontini whom they aided by cause of sworn oaths sailing even to far-flung places; and on account of the length of the voyage, the city at a loss and unable to help them—failling of this, they came to misfortune: Their enemies in bitter conflict retained greater grounds for praise of their virtuous prudence than the others' friends—but many in battle throughout the Hellespont, on a single day, took all the enemy ships overcoming many, and still more, and they said this was a thing fearfully unexpected as event of the war; I speak of this, the arrival to such a desire for victory, for the city as relates to the rest of the Greeks, that they actually dared to solicit the hateful king of Persia who repudiated their overture along with us, reintroduced this again in private—foreign act against the Hellenes—and united all the Greeks and barbarous peoples both against the city-state: Where indeed the city's might and virtue be quite clearly shown. Now the foe though it had already been exhausted in war and learned of the young men in Mytilene did assist with sixty ships, manned them themselves as well with men agreed to be the greatest to conquer the enemy as they freed the allies—They met a fate beneath them, unburied at sea: Now they have lain at rest. They are to be memorialized in praise; our victory came from the excellence of those men not only at the time in naval battle, but throughout even the remainder of the war, since the city has a hold on its repute because of their being honored for never flagging in armed conflict, all people could not—the reputation is also true!—overcome us, we were beaten by our difference from them, not by any other of them: We defeated ourselves and yield only to our own. And after this, a calm set in, and peace, for the rest; our domestic struggle was fought like that so if it is our lot for people to rebel, that no city-state otherwise boast of our city's disorder. Since the real citizens came together, one with another, apart from the Piraeus, outside the town so happy, humble, and beyond the hope of the rest of Greece (and they did settle the war with moderation against the men at Eleusis) and not one of those allegations was true in other respects, except for kinship in truth of fact, supplying its constantly loving kindness, alike in language and not just in speech, but as an action: It is necessary as well for those who have died at each other's hands in this conflict to have a memory and exchange some with whom we are able through prayer and sacrifices amongst such men as these, who in their strength outstrip those grasping their knees since even we have traded in our hostility. It's neither out of cowardice they bind each to the other, nor in hatred, but out of misfortune . And we are ourselves, who live, are witness of this: Beings in truth we ourselves acquire the same opinion as those people in relation to each other about things we did and suffered. But after this a total peace came about for us, the city kept itself peacefully quiet, forgiving on the one hand the foreign in that they, in suffering sufficiently badly at the city's hands, were not lacking in their defense, while on the other Athens, in anger at the Greeks, calls to mind how in suffering well the kind of favor they paid back—since they come together with the foreign other, depriving them of the ships which saved those people before, and obliterate the city walls, as return for preventing theirs from falling: But the city Athens was so minded as to never defend Greeks in servitude against each other, nor from foreign threats. Then, as we were disposed to this intention, the Spartans have come to believe their allies in defense of freedom, Athens, have fallen and that it was their work to toil slaving over the rest; they keep doing these things. And so why make idle talk? Truly, I wish not to speak about what happened with men of old, nor just after these things—but we our very selves do know how thoroughly struck to dumb they came of good use in the city of the Greeks and were the first—Argives, Boeotians and Corinthians,—and the thing most sacred, divinest of all, even the king didn't know what to have done in this affair,—so it happened that from not a single quarter did hope of relief arrive to him except from this city, which he readily did lose. And what is more, even if someone wants to justifiably find fault with the city, the one stating this sole allegation would make a proper claim that it has always been too disposed to pity which is service, even, of a lesser kind. In particular, at the time they were unable to remain steadfast and could not directly oversee the policy which had been adopted at Athens, that it would not assist anyone in a condition of servitude against the ones subjugating them, but instead relented and helped them and here she has assisted the Greeks in freeing them from slavery, so that they are as free as they were enslaved, while there it dared not to aid the king out of respect for its trophies at Marathon and Salamis and Plataea: But in allowing exiles and those who want to help did Athens save them with integrity. And with reinforced walls and filled with ships, accepting the war since it was compelled to war on the Parians' behalf we fight the Spartans. The king feared the city's state when he saw the Spartans give up fighting by sea and, wanting cause to revolt, he demanded of the mainland Greeks whom the Spartans had earlier provided him whether it would be an alliance with us and the rest of the allies; he thought we would not want to so that his excuse might be the pretext for an uprising. And he deceived the other allies, because they wanted to surrender to him; the Corinthians and men of Argos, Booetians and other allies assembled and swore an oath that if resources were needed, they would hire the Greeks in Greece proper—but we alone were not so reckless as to hire them nor give our word. Truly thus indeed is the noble aspect of the city's form and its freedom, the steadfast and healthy, anti-foreign nature, for being purely Greek separately from those not like us. Now descendants of Pelops and Cadmus, of Aegyptus or Danaus and a great many other whose nature is foreign—except when Greek by habit of custom—do not intermingle with us; but Greeks proper live untainted by foreign affiliation which is where the city gets its hatred purely of a foreign race. And yet we were singled out again for not wanting to act shamefully and to accomplish an impious act in hiring Greeks out for those not of our land: Then, when we arrived at the same matters by which we were earlier wasted in war, under God our execution of the war was better than in the past; in fact, with our ships and walls and our colonies we have come to desist from war in such a way so as to be content with its resolution, as are our enemies. However, we are bereaved of loss in truth, such virtuous men, in this war too, those brave men who made use of their difficulty in Corinth and betrayal at Lekhaeos—the noble men and ones who freed the king and sailed to victory over the Spartans at sea: I recall these to you, but it is proper to compliment them and put such men to rest.

"These are truly the deeds of the men who lie here, and of as many of the others who died for the city, a lot of finely worded things and the rest still yet so much more, and more beautiful: So many days and nights would not be enough for one who means to completely finish relating them. Then as these things are, those recalling the children of these men must direct each, every man—just as in war-time—not to desert the company of one's ancestors, nor to submit in yielding to cowardice hereafter. So therefore I myself, you children of great men, also now, even for what time remains I order—whenever I should happen upon meeting with one of you—I will both remember and encourage you to be the best possible; and presently I am justified in saying what our fathers dictated to proclaim for those forever left behind: If they should suffer some experience, when they are about to take a chance. But I relate to you what I heard from those famous men and the sort of things they would now say with sweetness in accepting your strength—to judge by signs they argued upon a time. Rather it is necessary to believe one hears those men themselves say what I state: & they uttered these words—

"Oh children, the fact that you come from brave fathers is a proclamation present even now; but while it is possible for us to live less than gloriously, we choose to make an end in lovely fashion before you do, before those upon a time who received the blame, sooner than our own fathers and the entirety of the race before us shrinks in shame,—we think he who shames his own kind lives no kind of life and believe for such a man that no single person, nor any of the gods, is dear to one meeting his end either above ground or below. Then it is necessary for men recalling our speech, if you embellish it somewhat otherwise, to fashion it in virtue knowing in this that all other things, both possessions and pursuits, are shamefully wrong. But luxurious wealth conducts its quality of possession through weakness—though such a one is rich to another degree, and not to his own benefit;—not beautiful in body and strength in being evil, in living together with respect to proper things there appears otherwise inappropriate content also making it an object more translucent in its possessing and exposing cowardice: All knowledge becomes separately of good judgment and the rest of its virtue is bad character—it seems not like true wisdom. It is for these reasons at the outset and in the final, last and through everything that you must try to possess every last thing completely in how to exceed both us and the men proceed us in fame: But if not, you must know that we, as for us, should beat you in contest of virtue, it is a shameful victory; but if we lose, our loss brings happiness. In particular, if we should fall short of victory and you conquer us—assuming you prepared your faculty of opinion towards the ancestors not for the purpose of killing or wasting your idea of it, to know for certain that for a person thinking about 'what's real there' is nothing more shameful than exhibiting oneself being honored not for one's own worth, but by cause of our fathers' traditional repute: That it is the honor due, children to their parents, as a glorious house of treasure; and that it is used for both wealth and esteem in this monument, and to not hand over our children out of some weak bit of courage, at a loss after seeing its own resources and grounds for praise. And if in general then you put these things in to practical service, friends, you come to us as dear friends when the attendant fate conveys you home; and thus taken care of and made shameful will no one accept you very kindly auspicious: Why some boys are to have these things said for them.

"Our fathers from whom we take life and mothers eternally need to take comfort in bearing unfortunate loss, and so if one should be reconciled also to not mourn—since they need no cause of distress—for the fate that befalls it will be sufficient to provide this, but healing men, those who mitigate remembrance recollect what prayers they offered them were the gods made hearers of. Because they do not pray for them to be made children immortal, rather to be great and well-known—they achieve these goals, which are the greatest good; all's not so entirely easy for a mortal man, according to his mental capacity, in what occurs in his life. And in bearing bravely their misfortunes as mere events, the fathers of brave sons are truly seen as being such themselves; if they give ground, they will give grounds for suspicion or have no place among our people, or will utter lies when praising us: But the imperative is neither of these, it is instead those who, especially among us, commend them in act providing themselves of appearance in reality as fathers of real men. For a good while now, the phrase 'nothing to excess' has been thought to have been well-said; it is, in truth, also well reasoned; but for any man, all the things which lead to happiness have been referred to oneself, or very near this, and that they not be raised up amongst other people by whom, whether they behave well or ill, they are compelled to err and that a man's affairs are ready to live the best possible way—this is a man of sense and this brave man is also wise; he will be persuaded of belief in the proverb despite money, by cause of children, in spite temptations because he neither exults in excess of joy nor is he too wrecked by grief: He will be seen accomplishing this of his own free will. We value such people as one of us willingly and assert they are so; we now allow that we ourselves are thus, not in anger or out of fear as to whether one must make an end presently. In deed we ask our fathers and mothers, with this same intention, to keep living for the rest of our life knowing those who sing and wail in grief will not do us a favor, unless there is a perception of the living for the departed; in this manner they would please not, and in disgracing themselves they bear too onerously their burden: Deftly with moderation can they present grace. Now, our matters will soon have their end, and it will be the most beautiful end for human beings so that it be the more fitting to adorn or hymn them and in caring for our women and children, and supporting them and turning our mind from here they would in particular live the more beautiful life in forgetfulness of fate, more upright, they're dearly beloved. This is enough to proclaim with us: But we wish to address the city so that they will take care of our fathers and sons in raising moderately the children and tend with worthiness the elderly; and now we know even if we advise encouragement, it will be sufficiently seen to.

"Those men therefore, oh you children and families of the dead, mandate that we bring this message back and I have reported it as readily as I can; and I myself ask on their behalf, on behalf of those who remember their own and for those of good cheer concerning their people—since we both in public and privately care for and about you, our elderly—wherever each should happen upon one another, whomever it is from their midst. You yourselves must certainly know of the city, how to serve it,—are aware of how it sets down laws concerning the children of men who died in the war and cares for their parents, and especially how it commands the other city-states to stand guard over the dominion which is largest in order that the fathers and mothers of the deceased not be harmed; it raises children in common, fully willing for no orphan be unwatched over by establishing them in the figure of their father while still yet children, and whenever they go to a man's final goal, it sends them away to their own fate after fitting them out in full suit of armor to demonstrate and recall the purposes of their father are a tool of the ancestral virtue it offers—and for the sake of an omen's favor the city starts to go to our familial abode, leading the way gloriously with strength at arms. It honored the dead to never abandon them and formed our laws, custom and beliefs according to each full year in common for all to see for each what happens in private, and established for them wrestling and horse-racing contests, and the whole art of music, and has clearly brought to establishment a fate of the dead in the house of son and heir, even for sons in their father's home, a place of their parents at the Governor's by fashioning all public business of everyone as careful service throughout all time. It is needful that you reflect on these concerns early in the day and endure fate, because to the dead and the living you are the most loved and easy to honor and do service. Now by this time you and all the others both must together depart by law in crying grief aloud for those who have made their end."

This is the speech, Menexenos, of Aspasia from Mytilene.

My god Socrates, you're saying Aspasia must be pretty blessed if she could compose such words despite being a woman.

Well if you don't believe me, follow along with me, and hear her while she speaks.

I've met Aspasia a number of times, Socrates, and I know what she's like.

So, what? You don't like her and now you're grateful to hear her oration?

I'm quite, oh Socrates, grateful for this speech of hers, or from whomever the man is who spoke it to you; and in a lot of other ways I'm grateful to the speaker.

That would be fine: So long as you don't defame me, in order that even in turn I might recite you a lot more lovely speeches, of the political kind, from her.

Don't worry, I won't blow your cover; only, tell me one.

Well, this will work.

Hippias Minor

And why are you so quiet, Socrates? With all that Hippias has shown—off; and you aren't praising any of his assertions, or asking any questions: Does something seem to've been said amiss to you? Particularly since we ourselves have also been left alone—we who lay claim to hold a share, insofar as we do, of passing the time philosophically.

Actually Eudikos, there are a few things I would like to learn from Hippias which he was just now saying about Homer. In fact, I used to listen to your father Apemantos about how Homer's Iliad is a more beautiful poem than The Odyssey, and that its degree of superiority is the same as that of Achilles over Odysseus; now on each of these counts he said there's Odysseus to consider on the one hand, and Achilles on the other. So I would gladly—that is, if Hippias is willing—inquire about that in order that he consider these two men, which of them he says is better; since a lot of different things have been pointed out to us, about other poets—and especially Homer.

Well it's obvious that Hippias won't grudge you that—if you were to ask him a question, to answer. But really Hippias, if Socrates asked asks you answer? Or what will you do?

In fact, I'd be doing some pretty terrible stuff, Eudikos, if I went to Olympia for the Greek national holiday whenever the Olympics are held—with me constantly heading from my home at Helis back to the temple—were I to present myself even arguing that someone should want a speech from me that is all ready for show, and I was wishing for an answer to what someone asked; but right now I would rather run away from Socrates' questioning!

Hippias, you've come to an ecstatic state of being if you are so hopeful as concerns your mind with regard to wisdom that you head off to the temple for each Olympiad: And I would be shocked if one of the athletic competitors were so fearless and trusting in his body he went there and someone challenges him; just like you say about your intelligence.

It's likely, Socrates, this is what happens to me; but that's why I have started to compete at the Olympics—I have yet to meet up with anyone at any point who was stronger than myself in anything.

You say that your opinion, Hippias, is a gorgeous offering of wisdom for the Eleans' city and for your parents. But what do you say to us about Achilles and Odysseus both—which do you figure was better and of what cause? Because each time we are all in the temple and you perform a rhetorical display, I'm left at a loss by your words—but am hesitant to ask yet one more question because a great crowd is present and I would prefer not to get in your way by asking about the exhibition; but right now, since there are fewer of us and Eudikos here encourages us to speak: Do tell and show us for sure, what did you mean about these two men—how do you judge them?

Well I still want it, Socrates, to be more transparent than when I went through what I'm saying both about these men as well as others, because I say that Homer made Achilles the greatest man of the ones who went to Troy, and he made Nestor the wisest and Odysseus trickiest.

Oh my! Hippias, then won't you do me a favor like this, that is not to laugh at me, if I hardly understand what's being said and keep re-iterating questions? But try to answer me kindly at ease.

It would be a real shame, Socrates, if I educate others in these very matters, and expect to make money because of this, but when questioned myself by you I had no judgment to speak of and I answered abrasively.

You're being very reasonable. But surely when you said Achilles was made the greatest, I thought I understood what you meant when you also said Nestor was made wisest; but when you spoke of Odysseus saying that the poet made him the most versatile—as the truth must be said to you in reply—I entirely missed what you mean by this: Tell me again, I'll understand a little better then. Did Homer make Achilles the opposite of tricky?

The least so, Socrates: He made him the simplest and most truthful since, when the poet has them conversing with one another, in the section called Prayers Achilles tells Odysseus:

"Laertes' god-born son, inventive and resourceful Odysseus,
There is need to speak out in my declaration quite bluntly,
Just as I bring it off and do think is best to finish this:
Because I despise any man, who would bury one thing in
His heart and utter another, as I hate the gates of Hell.
But I'll speak my own mind as will be best when accomplished."

Between these men he makes clear the manner of each in words, how Achilles is honest and direct, and Odysseus is tricky and deceptive: Since he has Achilles speaking these words to Odysseus.

Now, Hippias, I am already willing to take a chance on learning what you mean: You say that the tricky man is false, that's how it seems.

Entirely, Socrates; since Homer has made Odysseus such a liar in a lot of places throughout the Iliad and Odyssey both.

Oh, so Homer thought one man was truthful, and another false; but it's not the same man.

Well, how would he not be, Socrates?

Does it seem so, for real, to you?

Absolutely true; in fact, it'd be awful if it not.

Then let's let Homer go for now since it is simply impossible to keep asking questions about why on earth he intended to make these his words: But since you appear to take up his cause, and these things you're saying Homer meant seem right to you, do answer on behalf of Homer and yourself together.

This will be so, but ask in brief what you want.

Do you make a claim such that false men are unable to do anything, like men in distress, or that they are able to get something done?

I personally say they are able to do quite a number of different things, like deceiving people.

Well they are capable, it seems, of being tricky also according to your argument; right?

Yes.

And they are wily and frauds through being foolishly devoid of sense, or because of depravity and a certain arrogance.

By cause of their depravity above all, and its intention.

Then they do make sense, so it seems.

Yes, by God—quite a bit of it.

And since they're sensible they know not what they do, or do they understand?

They understand exactly; for these reasons they also commit wrongs.

But in knowing these things that they understand, are they ignorant or knowledgeable?

They're wise in the very knowledge of how to deceive.

Hold it: Shall we recollect what it is you claim? You say that false men are able, sensible, have an understanding—are "wise"—in relation to these very things, they're liars?

Well in fact, that is what I'm saying.

You mean some men are both honest and liars, and they're the exact opposite of one another?

That's what I argue.

Come now, some of those who are quite able and wise, as it seems, are the false men according to your logic?

Oh, absolutely.

But when you say the liars are of strong ability and wisdom according to these very qualities, do you claim they are strong liars if they want to be, or that they are powerless in relation to these very lies they tell?

I mean they are capable.

To repeat the main idea, false men are wise liars and able to deceive?

Yes.

Then a man who is unable to lie, and stupid, can be not false?

He cannot.

So each one has an ability, the man who does what he wants whenever he wants to: I speak not of one constrained by illness, nor of things like this, but like how you are able to write my name whenever you wish, I mean this. Or not, you who can be so,—do you call that ability a power?

Yes.

Do tell me, Hippias, aren't you acquainted with arithmetic, the art of calculation?

Above all others, Socrates.

So then if someone were to ask you what the sum of three times seven-hundred is, if you wanted, you'd say it fastest of all and, most important, be accurate concerning this problem?

Certainly.

You claim to be as capable as possible and wisest regarding these things?

Yes.

Then are you both wisest and most able alone, or even the best at these very things (being the most capable and smartest)—that is, logical calculation?

I'm clearly the best too, Socrates.

Then you would speak the most powerful truths there are about them, right?

I do think so.

But what about falsehoods concerning the very same facts? Now just as we said earlier, do respond to me in an appropriate and dignified way, Hippias: If someone asked you how much 3 x 700 was, might you specifically lie and forever tell lies as relates to the same things that concern these, intentionally lying and never answering truly; or could someone who doesn't know math be of greater ability than you if you preferred to be false? Or if the ignorant one should want to tell a good many untruths, would he unwillingly say true things, if he happened to be right through his ingnorance; but even if you, a wise man, wanted to lie, would you always be a liar according to the same effects?

Sure, it is just as you reason.

So the false man is a liar as relates to other matters, however not about number; he can't tell a lie as he's counting?

It's also true, good God, about number.

Then shall we make this our supposition, Hippias, that he is a person false as relates to calculation and number?

Yes.

So who would this person be? Shouldn't one start with him if he intends to be a liar, as you just agreed, that he has the power to lie? But you just argued that one who can't be false, if you recall, is a man who can never be untrue.

Well yes, I remember and it was so stipulated.

Therefore you were just shown to be the one most capable of lying about math?

Yes, actually this was also counted true.

So you are also the best able to speak the truth regarding mathematics?

By all means.

Then the same man is best able to speak untruths and true answers as concerns calculating math?—and this is a logical man because of these facts, a good mathematician.

Yes.

Who, then, becomes a liar regarding calculation, Hippias? The good man or someone else? Because the same man is also able to; and this man is truthful as well.

He seems to be.

So do you see that the same person is both lying and truthful about these facts and that the true one is not a bit better than the liar? Since it is clearly the same man and he is the opposite of contrary, as you just now were thinking.

He doesn't seem so in this case.

You want that we should look at it from another perspective?

If you want.

So you also have experience of geometry?

Why yes, I do.

So, what? Isn't it also the same in geometry; the same person is best able to mislead and give correct proofs in relation to the figures? A mathematician.

Yes.

Then concerning these things, would someone else besides this man be good?

No, this one's right.

So the wise man who's good at geometry is the most capable at both? And even if someone else tells untruths about the figures, would the good teacher still be this man? Because this one is able, and the bad one is unable, to lie: So wouldn't the man who's unable to deceive be a liar as was agreed?

This is true.

Then let's look at it a third way besides—astronomical science, which is, again, a technical skill you believe you have greater knowledge of than the foregoing. But really, Hippias?

Yes.

Then even in astronomy these same things are also true?

Seems apparent, Socrates.

And in astronomy, then, if someone else is untrue, the quality astronomer will be the false one—the one with the power to lie: But he who is incapable, won't—since he's ignorant.

So it seems.

The same man then, even in astronomy, will be both true and false?

Apparently.

Come now, Hippias, and look freely like this according to all forms of knowledge to see whether on earth there exists a thing that is otherwise or if it's like so. You are, by all means, the wisest man with respect to abilities which are greatest of all, as I have heard you brag about before when you recount in full your great wisdom one should emulate in the marketplace amongst the merchants. You said you went once to Olympus and that everything you wore on your person was of your own making; first off the ring which you wore—since you started from that—was your own workmanship, as you fancied yourself a ring-maker, and another gemstone was your work, and a bath-scraper and flask for oil which you made yourself; next, sandals which you wore you said you yourself had cut the leather for, and a cape and shirt you wove; and what everyone thought a most unusual exhibition of the greatest intellect, since you said the belt you wore beneath your shirt was just like the Persian fabrics, very costly, and you wove this yourself; in addition to these things you said you came with poems in hand—epic, tragic and ceremonial—and a bunch of speeches, compositions of all different kinds; and as for the abilities which I was just now discussing you said you had come to particularly excel in other skills, as well as rhythm and harmony and calligraphy and quite a few others in addition to these, as I seem to recollect: Actually, I forgot about your skill at memorization, so it seems, a trick which you believe you are a man most brilliant at; and I think I'm forgetting a great many others. But what I mean to say, looking at your own abilities (and they are considerable) and to others', do tell me whether on earth you find, out of the agreements made between me and you, anywhere a place where the truthful man and the lying one are found separately and not as one? Look willingly into whichever type of wisdom or villainy, or whatever else you please to call it; you will not find one my friend—as it doesn't exist—since you say so.

Well, I can't Socrates; not right now like that.

Nor will you, as I believe; and if I am telling the truth, remember what results for us from your line of reasoning, Hippias.

I really do not understand what you mean, Socrates.

Well perhaps you're not making use of your tricky memory right now—since it's clear that you do not consider it a need; well, I'll remind you. You were thinking about how you said Achilles is truthful, and that Odysseus is a liar and wayward?

Correct.

Then you now see that the same one who is both false and true has been plainly shown so that if Odysseus is false, he too becomes truthful, and if Achilles is true he also becomes a liar: And the men are no different from each other, nor are they opposites—instead they're alike?

Oh Socrates, you always twist some words like these into arguments since you take what's to be the most contentious part of the argument and grab hold of this detail in particular, and you do not fight the matter out in its entirety with reference to the proposition; since right now, if you wish, I'll show you with a lot of evidence, by sufficient cause of reason, that Homer has made Achilles a more poetical figure than Odysseus, and one who is no liar: But he made the other deceptive, and a compulsive liar, and man worse than Achilles. But if you want, go ahead and make a counter-argument, a speech matched with speech, on how one or the other is greater: And these men here will know all the more which speaks more reasonably.

Hippias, I certainly do not argue that you are wiser than I; rather I am accustomed to pay attention whenever someone says something, and especially when the one speaking seems reasonably wise to me and I want to understand what he says—I learn by asking and compare and consider once again what reasons are said in order to comprehend: But if I think the one speaking seems thoughtless, I neither ask another thing nor do I care about what he is saying. And you will realize this for a fact, whom I consider to be wise, because you will find me no problem over statements made by this type of man; you'll discover I am one who learns from him in order that by learning I may be of some use. Since I have also now come to consider you speaking, what you were saying in the verses you just quoted, when you pointed out that Achilles speaks to Odysseus in belief that he's a phony; it seems out of place to me, if the reasons you speak are true, that Odysseus—the trickster—appears in no place as a liar while Achilles seems a wily fellow according to your own argument: At any rate, he does lie since he declares these words you just quoted by verse:

'Because I despise any man, who would bury one thing in
His heart and utter another, as I hate the gates of Hell.'

A while later he speaks of how he would not be convinced by Odysseus and Agamemnon both, and that he would not, for the life of him, remain in Troy; but says,

"Tomorrow, after sacrifice is offered to Zeus and to all gods
I will load up the ships and draw them forward into the ocean:
If you want to watch, and if it is a concern to you, you'll see
By dawn sailing on the Hellespont with its schools full of fish my
Ships as they're rowed to convey the men straining eagerly forward;
And if the shaker of earth, glorious Poseidon grants fine sailing,
It's on the third day I shall arrive at Phthia, the fertile land."

While before these lines, when he's lambasting Agamemnon, he says

"And now I will go back to Phthia, since it's so much better to
Head home with the curved ships—I am not minded to stay here and be
Disrespected while I suck up riches and pile up more wealth."

At the time he says these things he's in front of the entire army, and on the other occasion before his companions: Nowhere is he seen either prepared or trying to sail the ships to return home; but in manner quite appropriate to his upbringing, he puts little stock in the truth of what he's saying. So in fact, Hippias, I was asking you questions from the beginning at a loss as to which of these two men had been better fashioned by the poet's making, and I was considering both of them to be great men and thinking it's difficult to decide which is better in relation to falsehood and truth and the rest of what comprises virtue; because they're also both quite alike in relation to this.

Because you're not looking at it properly, Socrates. One the one hand, as for the lies Achilles tells, he appears to be lying not out of some plot, but unwillingly he is compelled by the army's disaster to stay put and assist; now on the other, Odysseus lies willingly, according to his scheme.

You're deceiving me, my dearest Hippias, and you yourself copy Odysseus!

No way, Socrates: What do you mean, and in relation to what reason?

I'm saying that you say Achilles does not tell untruths by design and he was such a treacherous cheat, in addition to pretentious, just as Homer made him, that he seems quite a bit more disposed than Odysseus towards easily avoiding notice through his own boasting—with the result that he is inconsistent enough to contradict himself and Odysseus doesn't notice: He certainly is not seen saying anything to him to the effect that Odysseus perceived he was lying.

What sort of statements are these, Socrates?

Don't you know that later, after he speaks to Odysseus, he says he'll sail away right with the morning; then goes and tells Aias that he won't sail off—instead he says something else?

Wait, where?

The lines where he states—

"For I will not even think about blood-spattered war until the
Son of bellicose Priam, illustrious Hector, has arrived
Right before the tents and ships of the Myrmidon soldiers slaughtering
The Argives, and ignites the ships with consuming fire:
But around my bed and dark ship, I believe that Hector—
Even though craving a battle,—will check the fight held back."

Now Hippias, do you think the son of Thetis, who was tutored by Chiron (& he was so very wise), was so forgetful that though he had been berating liars just a little before, at the furthest extreme of deception he says to Odysseus he would sail away—and told Aias he will stay, but you believe he wasn't plotting, and considered Odysseus antiquated, and that he is superior to him by very means of this conniving and lying?

No, I believe not, Socrates; instead, through being persuaded of these very things in good faith he says different ones to Aias than he did to Odysseus; but what truths Odysseus speaks he says always with an ulterior motive, and tells as many lies in the same spirit.

Oh Odysseus is better, so it seems, than Achilles.

No, of course not a bit Socrates.

But why? Weren't men who purposely lie just shown to be better than unwitting liars?

And how, Socrates, would men who willingly do wrong and hatch plots on purpose and perform bad deeds be better than those who don't mean to, for whom a great deal of forgiveness is considered right—if someone, without knowing it, acts unjustly or lies or commits some other wrong? Even the laws are considerably harder on those who purposely perform evil acts, and tell awful lies, than they are on the unaware.

You do see, Hippias, that I am speaking reasons true when I talk about how I am intent on the questions of the wise? I am even bold enough to consider this one thing the only true good, holding the others of low esteem; because I get tripped up over how the facts are disposed, and I do not know how they really are. And for me sufficient proof of this truth is that whenever I associate with one of you who is well-regarded for wisdom, and with men whose wisdom all the Greeks are witness to, I seem to know nothing; 'cause none of the same things, so to speak, seems right to me and to you. Although what sign proves ignorance better than whenever one should disagree with men of wisdom? And I do consider this incredible fact to be the good which saves me, since I am not ashamed when I learn; instead I learn by asking questions and I am very grateful to the respondent, and I never cheat anyone out of goodwill due. But I never deny it when I happen to learn something, I don't consider the lesson to be my own discovery; instead I compliment the one who instructs me for being wise and I display what I learned from him. And what's more, at present I don't agree with your line of reasoning, in fact I am very much at odds with you; and I am certain that this difference is on my end because my nature is such as I am in order that I not say I am one bit better. Now it seems to me, Hippias, to be entirely the opposite of what you argue; the men who harm people and commit injustices and tell lies and deceive people and make mistakes voluntarily, but not, in general, unwillingly, are better than they who do not mean to. However, the contrary of these claims sometimes seems best to me and I wander around these truths, clearly on account of my not knowing; but right now, in the present situation I am out of sorts and I believe that they who willingly do wrong are a bit better than those who do so unintentionally. And I fault the prior arguments as cause of the current crisis to the effect that in the present case it now appears that those who unwillingly do all these things in the particulars are worse than ones who mean to. So do me a favor and don't refuse to heal my soul, since surely it is better by far for you to do me a good turn by cutting my mind off from ignorance than by curing an illness of the body. So if you want to speak a lengthy speech, I tell you right now that you would not cure me—for I won't follow you—but if you're willing to reply to me like you just did, you'll definitely assist me; and I think you yourself will be no worse off. I would quite rightly call you for help, too, Apemantos' son; but you have whet me for conversation, and now, if Hippias wishes not to answer me—you must beg him for me.

Oh Socrates, I don't think Hippias will have any need of our begging; he hasn't yet mentioned any such thing, actually he says that he will not run away from any man's inquiry. Isn't that right, Hippias? Wasn't this what you said?

True, I did; but Socrates, dear Eudikos, is always causing trouble in conversations and looks just like a serious trouble-maker.

My dearest Hippias, I certainly don't do these things on purpose—since I would truly be wise and terrible according to your logic—but rather inadvertently, so do forgive me: Since you, once again, say one should forgive a man who means to do no wrong.

Please do exactly this, Hippias; but both on our account and for the sake of your foregoing statements, do answer the questions Socrates will ask you.

Well I will answer, if you're asking: So, ask whatever you wish.

Truthfully, I ardently wish to look deeply into what is currently being said, which on earth are better: Men who willingly or unwillingly commit a wrong. I really do think, for the purpose of inquiring, that the most genuine way is to go about it in this manner. So answer me: Do you say a certain runner is good?

I call some that.

And worthless?

Yes.

Accordingly one who runs well is good, and one who runs horribly is bad?

Yes.

So then the slow runner runs badly and the quick one does well?

Yes.

Then in a race, you also have running fast as positive and being slow is negative?

But why would it [not]?

Then which is the better runner, the one who means to run slowly or who doesn't?

The willing one.

Then running is an act of doing something—like making poems?

Certainly, it's to create an effect.

But if "making" is to do something, isn't it also to do work?

Sure.

Ah, the one who runs badly works at this awfully embarassing performance in a race?

A terrible one, & how would he not?

And the slow runner runs badly?

Yes.

Therefore the good runner, of his own free will, accomplishes this bad and shameful effect, but the bad runner does so unwillingly?

Looks like it.

In a race, then, the man who unintentionally turns in a bad showing is more worthless than one who means to?

Sure, in racing.

What about in wrestling? Which wrestler is better, the one who falls intentionally or unintentionally?

The one who means to, it seems.

It is far worse, and a greater shame, to lose a wrestling match than to pin your opponent?

Fall and you lose.

And in a match, therefore, the wrestler that intentionally does a poor and pathetic job is better than the one who doesn't mean to?

Apparently.

And what about in every other use of the body? The man of superior physique is unable to accomplish both effects at once, in terms of strength and weakness, both ugly and lovely: So whenever he does something awful in relation to his body, the man who's in better shape conducts his business knowingly—but the one who's out of shape is unintentional?

It appears to be the case even in relation to matters of strength.

What about good posture, Hippias? Is it not of a better body to willingly assume an awful and painful position, but to do so unintentionally's of a worse one? But what do you think?

I agree.

And unshapeliness is a voluntary act dependent on a positive trait, but when involuntary it is from a bodily defect?

It appears to be.

And what do you state about voice? Do you say it is better to be purposely grating than involuntarily?

That the intentional discordance is preferrable.

And that it's a worse conditition to be so involuntarily?

Yes.

Would you take good possessions over bad ones?

I'd have the good ones.

Would you really rather have feet that are purposely misshapen, or crippled against your will?

On purpose.

But the quality of lame feet is not negative and unsightly?

Yes, it is.

What? Isn't poor vision a state of eyes' weakness?

True.

So which set of eyes would you want to possess and which would you rather live with? Ones that someone willingly sees poorly and squinty-eyed with, or unwillingly?

Ones that see willingly.

You believe that in your own affairs the things which willingly commit evils are better than the unwitting ones?

Such things are surely true.

Therefore one single principle encompasses everything, like ears and nostrils and a mouth and all the senses, and it states that the perceptions which unintentionally do harm are not worth having, as they are evil, while the ones that do so purposely are to be acquired since they're good.

Seems right to me, at least.

What? A better sense of involvement results from which tools, ones you intentionally produce bad effects with or unintentionally? For example, is the rudder with which one involuntarily misguides a ship better than one by which someone means to?

The latter.

And isn't it exactly the same way with a bow and lyre and flutes and all other things?

You speak the truth.

Why? Getting a horse whose temper is such that one voluntarily rides it badly is better than doing so unwillingly?

With a bad temper, willingly.

And that's a better horse?

Yes.

Then the actions of a soul from a horse with the better temper would willingly do evil things, and with the temper of a very bad horse it would be unwilling?

Of course.

So, same with a dog and all the other animals?

Yes.

Wait, what? Is it better to possess an archer's mind which purposely misses its target or a head which accidentally misses?

An eye that misses on purpose.

Then this is also a better soul as relates to archery?

Sure.

And a soul which inadvertently makes a mistake is more despicable than one that intends to?

In archery at any rate.

What about in medical practice? Isn't the one that purposely does a bad job on bodies more doctor-like?

Yes.

OK, so this skill in this form of practice is better than the non-medical kind?

Considerably.

But why? Take the art of playing a harp or flute, everything else that relates to these skills as forms of knowledge: Isn't the art or skill that knowingly creates bad works, ones to be ashamed of, and errs—isn't the unknowing one worse?

It seems to be.

But then, I imagine, we should accept the character of servants who willingly, rather than unwillingly, make mistakes and commit wrongs as they are better in regard to these things.

True.

But why? Shouldn't we want to have them with a mind that is as wonderful as possible?

Yes.

Then it will be a better soul that intentionally does evil work and wrongs; better than unintentionally?

But wouldn't it be awful, Socrates, if the men who purposely do wrong end up better off than ones who do it unintentionally?

But surely they do seem to be as a consequence of our statements.

Hm, not to me.

I thought they seemed so to you too, Hippias. Answer me again, is not justice either a certain type of ability or form of knowledge; or is it both? Doesn't justice have to be at least one of these things?

Yes, it must.

So if justice is therefore an ability, the more capable soul will be more a more just one? Since, I suppose, you most noble man, such a power appears better to us.

It does appear so, generally.

And what about if it is a type of knowledge? Isn't the soul that's more knowledgeable in wisdom a more just one, and the less informed soul is more unjust?

Yes.

But what about if it's both? Is not the soul that's thus in relation to both knowledge and power more just, and the one of greater ignorance more unjust? Isn't it necessarily so?

It seems so.

So the more powerful soul of greater wisdom appears to be better, as a proposition, and is of greater ability in doing both beautiful and ugly things according to its entire quality of action?

Certainly.

Why then whenever it produces unappealing actions, it does so willingly by means of its power and ability; but these facts appear under the auspices of justice, in reality either together or individually?

They appear to.

And acting unjustly is the act of doing bad things while not being unjust means to do virtuous ones?

Yes.

Therefore the more powerful soul is also a more noble one, even when it is unjust, it will intentionally do wrong; but the wicked soul acts unjustly against its own volition?

It appears so.

So the man who possesses a good soul is virtuous, and he with a bad one is evil?

Yes.

To purposely commit acts of injustice is an act of a good man provided that a bad one unintentionally does so—if the good man has a good soul?

Well that truly is the case.

Oh, so even if this particular man willingly commits errors and does ugly, unjust things, Hippias, he should be no different than the good man.

I don't have any grounds to agree with you on these matters, Socrates.

And I don't even agree with myself, Hippias: But it is necessary for us to appear like this for the time being, according to our conversation. However, as I've been saying for a while now, I have wandered all over the place in concern about this and things never seem right to me. And although I don't consider aimlessness any marvelous feat, and the same goes for personal disposition, still if wise men like yourselves will stray, this matter has already become terrible for us should we come to you not disabused of our error.

Euthyphro

What's the new news, Socrates? Why, have you left your pastimes at Apollo's gymnasium to pass the time here near the Magistrate's court? There's no way you also just happen to have a suit before the official as I do.

Certainly not, Euthyphro, what the Athenians term just—a suit; an indictment rather.

What do you mean? Someone has, so it seems, brought you up on charges; but I wouldn't make that the charge, that you indict another.

Certainly not.

Someone charged you?

That's the truth.

Who might this be?

I myself do not know the man, Euthyphro, very well. He seems to me some young lad, an unknown one. But they named him, I do believe, as Miletos; and he is from the Pittheus clan. If you recall to mind a man of that family name, Miletos; type of fellow with straight, smooth locks—and lightness of beard—but has a curved, charming nose.

I'm not picturing him, Socrates; but what charge has he filed against you?

What kind of charge? A fairly respectable one, I do believe: Since it is no minor matter, his being so young, to have realized such needed action. Now that one, as he says, knows what way the young people are being corrupted, and who the people corrupting them are. He must even happen to be a wise man and, after seeing my own ignorance—in belief that man's corrupting those of such an age,—he came intending to denounce me, as at one's mother, on behalf of the city's state. He even seems, I believe, to be the sole man in politics starting off right; since rightly to be concerned for the young is primary that they will become best: Just as is seen for right, a true tiller of the ground to take care of the young vines first, and after this come also the rest. As is evidenced that Miletos perhaps first clears us off, the ones ruining the young peoples' growth, so he says; since after this is clear that by caring for the elderly, he will be responsible for the most benefits and greatest good for Athens—as at least seems likely to happen for one started out from so authoritative an outset.

I would prefer it, Socrates; but I'm afraid the opposite may occur: Now, seems to me he simply sets out from the fire's place to harm our city's state in trying to victimize you. And tell me, what does he say you even do to mislead the kids?

Things strange, you admirable man, as these here to hear; for he says I'm a maker up Gods, also that I create new gods and not believing in the ancient ones he alleged because of these very acts: So he states.

I see, Socrates: It's because you say the supernatural happens to you repeatedly. So because of belief you carve a new vein concerning the divine, he has charged this allegation; and certainly slanderous does he come to court, knowing such things easily hook the masses. Because even myself, truth be told, when I state something about the divinities in the citizens' assembly—for telling them what is to come—they laugh like at a crazy man: And yet, I have not once said anything untrue whenever I foretell the future; nonetheless, they are jealous of all such as we who are like this. Though one must not consider these, but have it out instead.

But maybe, Euthyphro my dear friend, being laughed at is no matter at all. Now for Athenians surely, as I do believe, it is not especially of concern should they consider somebody clever—that is, unless disposed to teaching one's own personal wisdom; but they'd think he makes even other people like this: They therefore get angry whether, as you figure, it is out of envy or by some other cause.

Then about this right here, how ever it is they're disposed to me: I'm not very eager to experiment.

Well perhaps you think you scarcely present yourself and that you are unwilling to teach your knowledge of wisdom. Though I am afraid, through my love of humanity, I seem to them exactly like I can so effusively pour myself out to every man I speak to; not only for free, but that I would quite happily even be put out of pocket if someone cares to hear me. So then, as I was saying even now, if they would laugh—just like you say you felt—it would be nothing too unpleasant to put up with them making fun of one at court. But if they're going to be respectful, the way in which this will turn out—opacity except to you seers.

But perhaps it won't be any concern, Socrates; instead, you will fight your case quite mindfully while I think I too shall win mine.

An indictment for you, really Euthyphro? Are you defending or per suing?

I am plaintiff.

Pursuing what?

A man I am thought insane, yet again!, to pursue charges against.

And why's this—does your prey fly on wings?

He's far from taking flight; the man happens to be quite very old.

Who is this?

He's my father.

Your own, oh most noble sir!

Absolutely correct.

But what is the accusation, and what is the suit for?

A charge of murder, Socrates.

By god's own son! Oh Euthyphro, is it that so many miss how the right way is? But I just cannot believe to act rightly is a man's succeeding at this; more like one who goes already a bit too far beyond wisdom.

Far enough by God, dear Socrates.

But the dead man is, surely, a family member deceased of your own dad; or I suppose it is clear? Since you certainly would not charge him with a vengeance for murder on another's behalf.

Funny that you think there a difference whether the man killed is a stranger or relative, but not that this alone must one watch out for: Whether the killer slew him rightfully or no.—and if it was legal, to let it go; but if not, one needs to proceed, even if the murderer lives in your own home and sits down to dine with you (since the guilt does equally defile should you live associating knowingly with such a one if you do not cleanse yourself by atoning and proceed to prosecute that man). The dead man, in fact, was a worker of mine and since we farm in Naxos, the servant was there working on our land. But when he was belligerently drunk and had been angered by one of our household slaves, he killed him. Then my father tied him up by the feet and hands, threw him into some ditch and sends a man back to get legal advice from a religious expert on what to do. But in this span of time, dad took little thought of the tied-up man and neglected him as a murderer, it being no concern if he should perish—so then this is what also happened: For he has died from hunger and cold and because of chains before the messenger came back from the Oracle's representative. So this is what both my father and the rest of my family are also sore about because I prosecute for murder, on a murderer's behalf, my father who did not commit murder, so those people say; and if he did kill him in particular,—the deceased being a homicide,—one should not worry about it as such: That is immoral, a son to attack his father for just punishment of death—but they're looking at it wrong, Socrates, the religious as it is both about holiness and in relation of what's wrong.

Indeed you do think you know from God himself so precisely about matters divine, how they are disposed concerning things religious and the unholy so that—with these affairs so accomplished, as you state—you have no fear in passing judgment on your father as to how you may happen to perform an act of impiety?

It'd be ill of use to me, Socrates, and Euthyphro would not be any different than most people if I don't know such things as these, all of them, exactly.

Then it is far best for me, Euthyphro you are incredible!, to become your disciple, and in response to the accusation—the one about Miletos—best too to challenge him on these very facts and argue that even in the past I made quite the effort to know about matters divine, and now since that man says I act speaking thoughtlessly and err in cutting a new mold about the divinities, I have actually become your student—"And if, on the one hand Miletos," I'd say, "you do agree that Euthyphro is wise with respect to such things, consider how I am also practicing correct belief and drop your charges against me: If on the other hand you refuse, bring a suit against that teacher before you do me alleging he's corrupting his elders, both myself and his own father by instructing me and berating to punish him"—and should I fail to convince and not get the action dismissed, have you charged before me instead, is it best to say these very things before the judges I appealed to challenge him?

My God, Socrates; then if he tried to have me indicted, I might find, I suppose, some way in which he is not right and our argument would have pertained a lot sooner to that other guy in court than be about myself.

And truly, my dear companion, in sight of all this I want to be made your pupil knowing that any given other, sure—as well as this guy Miletos—while they simply seem not to see you, he perceived me so pointed and easily that he wrote me up for impiety. So now, by god Zeus tell me what at present you assert you so reliably know about what kind of thing is holiness and sacrilege, both concerning murder and the rest? Or is 'piety' itself the same as itself in every action, and ungodliness, conversely, is opposed to the pious in every case, but is similar to itself also in possessing one particular appearing in relation to its most ungodly form—the every same thing which should, will be impiety?

Doubtless totally, my Socrates.

Do tell me already, what holy piety is and what is impious unholiness?

Well I mean then that the holy is just what I am doing right now, when someone is behaving wrongly as relates to capital crimes like misrepresenting the sacred or something else such as this, it's to prosecute the one who is at fault—whether he happens to be a father, your mother or whomever else; but that not to proceed being impious: Since, Socrates, I shall tell you a proof to view how our customary is so of divine law—which I already told others also, that these things might turn out rightly so—let none chance they may, even be anyone who might, give in to an impious man. Now, the very people who do honor to Zeus for being the chief and most law-abiding of the gods also agree on this point, that he bound his father for trying to consume his own sons (which was unwarranted) and that God it was in return castrated him by cause of other acts like this; but they are angry at me that I go after my father for being unjust and thus do they contradict their own arguments concerning the gods and about me.

Well this isn't the reason why I'm being prosecuted, that whenever someone makes claims such as these about the gods, I accept it somewhat argumentatively—is it? Because, so it seems, someone will say I am at fault. So now if these things do seem right to you too, who are well aware of such matters, it really is necessary, as it appears, that we defer to you. Since what will we even say, I mean also ourselves agree to know nothing about them? But tell me—by God friend—you really think these things happened like this?

As well as things even more amazing than these, Socrates, which most people do not know of.

And the war, you believe there really was one between the gods, terribly bitter rivalries as well, and battles and a lot of other such sort of things which are both stated by the poets and by talented artists, even other divine accounts depicted for us, in particular at the great Panathenaeum festival where the tapestry rich in such designs is taken up to the Acropolis? Ought we say these truths are facts, Euthyphro?

Not only that, Socrates, but what I was just now saying; and I'll describe a lot of other things to you, if you wish, concerning the divine: When you hear them, I'm certain you will be shocked.

I wouldn't be surprised; but tell me these things in detail for one time more at your convenience: Now try to say more clearly just what I was asking you.—'cause you, my friend, showed me well enough earlier when I asked what ever the holy is; but tell me how this thing—holiness—happens to be what you do in prosecuting your father for murder.

And I was speaking truthfully, Socrates.

Perhaps: But the truth is, Euthyphro, you also say a lot of other things are holy.

They are, in fact.

Then remember that I advocated not for you to explain to me one or two of the many holy things, but that very form by which the pieties all are holy? Because you were saying surely by means of one single type both that unholy things are impious and things pious are holy: Or do you forget?

I recall.

Then go ahead and show me this apparent ideal, what on earth it is, in order that by looking to and using it as example's self—which such a thing should be, of those which either you might or someone else could use—, I may say is holiness and what could not be such I'd say is not.

If you want so, Socrates, I will tell you like this.

Well really, I do wish.

The thing that's dear to the Gods is therefore holy, but if not loved by them would be unholy.

All right, Euthyphro, and just as I kept searching for you to answer, now in the same way am I also do respond: However, whether it be true—I am not certain yet; but you clearly will fully prove what reasons you stated as really true.

Oh, quite so.

Come on, let's examine what we say. Both piety and a pious person are holy while that which god detests, whether object or man, is impious: But it's not the same thing, entirely opposite rather—the holy in relation to impiety; isn't that so?

So then it is.

And seems to be said well enough?

I think so, Socrates (that's what they say).

Then also that the gods, Euthyphro, team up and quarrel with one another and have rivalries amongst them against each other, and this also is said?

Why, it's spoken of.

But the difference between whose what, most noble fellow, makes hostility and angry feelings? We should look into thus: If you and I were at odds over a total, about which of two groups was greater, the difference concerning these might make us hostile enemies; or, were we to arrive at a sum in direct relation to such things, would we get over it so quick?

Pretty surely.

Therefore, should we differ also about something greater and one smaller, if we were to go measure, we would fast depart from our dispute.

These matters are fact.

And even if we came to weight in, as I imagine, might we make distinction about the heavier and lighter both?

& why not?

What about, indeed, if we disagree, and in relation to what capacity for judgment, were we unable to reach decision; would we be each other's enemy in a rage? Perhaps it's not inconvenient to you, but—as I'm reasoning—look at whether these things are both right and wrong, fair and ugly, good and evil. Is it not that these relate to what we just disagreed about and, incapable even of recourse to a sufficient choice, do we turn hateful to one another, whenever we become enemies,—both you and I and all other people too?

But the disagreement is this, Socrates, and over these facts.

But what are the gods, Euthyphro? Even if they do not quarrel, might they differ about these very facts?

They certainly must.

And certain of the gods—you see, my noble Euthyphro—variously consider some things lawful according to your rationale, and lovely and shameful and great and bad: But certainly they can't have gone to war against each other if they weren't at odds over these things? Isn't that right?

You're speaking reasonably.

Consequently, they all individually believe beautiful things are also good and right, they even love these traits, but despise their opposite?

No doubt.

And the same stuff, so you say, some think just and others wrong over which they form factions in disagreement and attack each other—this is the case?

It is.

Wow, it looks like the same things are hated and loved by the gods, and the same matters would be divinely both detested and dear?

Apparently.

Then both holy things and impieties will prove to be the same, oh Euthyphro, to judge by this line of reasoning?

Chance may be.

You did not answer the question I just posed, you curious wonder. Though, I wasn't asking this per se—what manages to be the same as both pious and unholy—but what maybe might be dear to the divine and hateful to them—as seems likely: I mean so that what you do now in punishing your father be no matter for amazement if by doing this you render service pleasing to Zeus, but hated by Kronos and Uranos; an act dearly beloved to Hephaistos, but also hostile to Hera.—and if there is some other god differs from a different one on the subject disputing in turn, also to those gods according to the same facts

But Socrates, I think, at least about this here, none of the Gods each disagrees at odds with an-other differing as if there were no need to pay the penalty for any man who kills another wrongly.

But why? Have you heard someone disputing that one who kills unjustly or does something else unlawful, whatever it is, ought not pay a penalty?

Actually, they stop at nothing to make these challenges in a lot of places, ways—even in courts of law: Since they commit all manner of wrongs, they do and say an awful lot when they're put on trial.

It's true even they agree, Euthyphro, that they're wrong and despite their agreement, don't they still say they should not be penalized?

Absolutely, this is fact!

So they don't do and say any old thing; as I believe they wouldn't dare to argue in disputing this as fact, that if they do not harm—they must stand trial; rather, I think they say they are not guilty: Right?

You are asserting truths.

Then they do not dispute that is the case—as if it were not necessary for the wrong-doer to offer amends—but rather they fairly contend who is at fault, both for doing what and when.

Your assertions are true.

Therefore the Gods also come to be subjected these exact things if they bicker about what is right and wrong, as your argument states; and some men say they do each other harm while others disagree? Since clearly neither a divine nor human being, you amazing man, is so senseless as to argue against this bit, that it's the one who commits wrong by whom justice must be served.

Yes, this you speak is true, oh Socrates, at least in the abstract...

But I think, Euthyphro, the claimants dispute each, every point as carried out in act—people as well as gods—that is, if the gods have disagreements; though differing as concerns some action, some claim a transaction has been rightly carried out while others say it's been unjustly done: Isn't this right?

Of course.

Come now, my friend, show me too (so I may become more wise) what proof you have that all the gods believe that man suffered a wrongful death.—the one who after slaying a man while employed as laborer got tied-up by his master because of the one who died and he sooner gains his end on account of the chains before the man who bound him learned what must one do from the authorities on burial and homicide, and on behalf of such a man it indeed is proper for his son to proceed against and incriminate the father for murder? Come and, as regards these matters, try to clarify something specifically for me as to how above all the gods consider this one act to be right: And should you demonstrate this sufficiently plain to me, I will never stop singing your praises famed for wisdom.

Well perhaps it is no small task, Socrates, since I would positively be able to show you.

I understand; it's because I seem to you less of a worthy student than the judges, since you clearly indicate for those men both how unjust acts are and that every one of the gods hates such things.

Positively clear, Socrates, especially if they hear me speaking.

Oh, they will listen—if you are thought to speak reasonably. I came to realize this as you were explaining and I considered it personally: "If that in particular which Euthyphro points out as true, how all the gods consider a death such as this to be unjust is wrong—what more have I to learn from him with respect to what on earth 'the religious' is and what is its opposite? Actually, this ought be it in deed, as it seems: What is hated by the divine. But really, as relates to this fact they appear forever indistinct—divided presently as piety and what it is if not: Since being hated appears also loved by the gods." As a result, I'll let you go on this: If you wish, let all gods and every one of them hating consider it injustice itself. But this correction do we now stipulate in the argument—how what all gods hate is impious and that which they love is holy: And what some love while others hate it,—one way or another, neither; both—then you want us to distinguish about "the pious" and the ungodly just like this?

And what's to prevent it, Socrates?

Nothing stopping me, Euthyphro, but have a look at your own thought: If assuming this premise is so easy, you will show me what your proposition states.

Well I should say piousness is this: What all the gods would cherish; and its opposite, which the gods all detest, is unholy.

Then let's review this again, Euthyphro, to see if our argument's well-stated; or ought we let it go and accept this hypothesis as our own, which other folks assume—if someone should say some thing carries weight on its own, would we so agree it holds true? Or must what the speaker argues for be looked into?

Have to look in to that: Although, I personally think this here now is well argued.

My good man, we are about to now improve. But consider such proposition as this: Is 'the Holy' loved by the gods because it's piety, or is whatever's loved by the gods holy & pious?

I don't know what you mean, Socrates.

Rather, I'll try to relate it a bit more clearly. Do we say something gets carried and carries, and is led on also leading, even seen & seeing and all other such things you learn to notice—either of two things are other than each other, even how different?

I believe that, myself, I understand.

Then there is also something loved and a thing's other to this, that which does love?

Sure, why not?

Tell me whether the carried object is brought off because it is said to succeed at it, or by some other cause.

No, rather through this.

And that which is led, surely, by cause it is guided; and what is seen since it's viewed?

Yeah, OK.

Then a thing is not really seen because it is looked at, instead its opposite—since it's seen—on account of this being perceived: It is not that something guided, because of this, gets led—rather because it is led, for this reason it's referred to as guided: A thing is not carried because it gets toted, but rather as it is carried an object is borne. Is it elucidated, oh Euthyphro, what I want to convey? But I want this should mean, if something happens or happens to someone, not that whatever it is occurring simply happens, but that which happens is an event's own occurrence: What happens to someone they do not suffer, rather whatever the experience as is impression. Or do you not concur thus?

No, I do.

Therefore even that which is loved or happens is what, an occurrence experienced by somebody?

Yes I agree.

Ah!, even this then is just as the foregoing: Not because a thing is loved is it felt as love of those whom it's loved by, but because it is experienced as being loved?

It must.

Well what then are we saying about the pious, Euthyphro? But that it is whichever thing is loved by all the gods, as you argue?

Certainly.

It's because of this that thing is holy, or by some other fact?

No, it's because of this.

Oh, since it is piety it's loved—and not because it is loved—on account of this holy fact it is pious?

Apparently.

So the outcome, I guess, is as it's loved so an object cherished by the gods is also dear to them?

And how would it not?

Then what's dearly loved by the divine is not pious, dear Euthyphro, nor is piety just loved by the gods as you claim; insteatd our explanation is other than this?

How is that, Socrates?

Since we agree "the pious" gets loved because of this fact, that is, it's piety; but not that because it is loved is it pious: That right?

Agreed.

Say what's loved by gods as that which is held dear to the divine, by means of this very act in being loved, is cherished—but not because it is dear to the divine, that for this cause is loved?

Your reasons speak truth.

But if what the gods love and the holy were thing one and the same, that is piety, whether on the one hand the pious were loved by virtue of its being holy and on account of its being loved by gods it was cherished as dear to them, or on the other, because of being loved by divine gods that which the gods love they were to cherish dearly—even the pious would be holy through its being loved: And now you see how it is otherwise disposed, since they are both entirely either to each other. For in the first place, that which is loved, is which sort of thing receives affection; but conversely, the type of thing which is loved, because of this affection is dear cared for; and you, Euthyphro, happen to—in posing the question with respect to holiness, "What is piety?"—wish not to clarify the matter's substance to me, but claim there is some quality about it that piety is affected this holy state—to be loved by all beings divine: But what it is you've yet to say. So if it's beloved to you, in order you not hide it from me, rather please explain again from the top what on earth the holy is, whether it is by gods' love or some state of experience—since we will not have disagreements concerning this—instead do tell willingly what is piety and what the irreligious is?

But Socrates, I do not have any means to tell you what I bear in mind: For we have somehow gone always around what we were to be running toward and it does not want to stay somewhere we might set it down.

These statements of yours, Euthyphro, look to be those of our ancestor Dædalus. And if I were to posit explaining them as a reasonable position, perhaps you would have me as the butt of a joke on the grounds that both the effect of labored explanations shies away from me in relation to how the running argument goes and wants not to remain anywhere run might set it down: But up to now (since the suppositions are your own). Indeed, as an other point there missing joke; for they do not wish to wait for you, as you can see yourself.

Seems to me pretty nearly the same joke, Socrates, that the words you tie up are bound to lack: Because this circumlocution in them "will not stay in place,/[w]ill not stay still.", I am no inspired man; but you seem to me—you Dædalus!, since these accounts keep waiting not on my account, at least.

Then you run the risk, my friend, of becoming that much more clever than this, our forebear in terms of skilled art by such self-same extent he created his own objects so artistic they seemed to move, so do I make even another type of thing—as so it seems—not stay still in relation to my own concerns. And truly, this is the most intelligent aspect of my way, that I am unwittingly wise: Because I would prefer my statements remain words and run staying fixed motionless instead of being engaged in Dædalus' skillful knowledge made into the wealth of needy Tantalos. As if that weren't enough, since you seem a bit soft to me, I shall myself consent to show you how one may instruct me concerning holiness. And so you don't slack off: Forsooth, whether it seems required to you that what is right must be entirely just holiness.

For my part, agreed.

Then is also everything which is upright, pious? Or is the holy entirely just, and what is just right's not altogether godliness—but part of it, holy, and the rest as some thing and else?

Socrates, I'm not responding to your thoughts expressed.

And in truth, though younger than I am you are no less than smarter by that same degree of difference: But what I mean is, you are too much—by cause of riches, for wisdom. But do, you blessed soul, be prepared and intent: For really understanding what I mean to say is no difficult task. Because I argue the converse of what the poet who made poetic this verse says,

Even the man who planted all this couldn't want to blame God who
Begets everything, true: For where fear is will be respect's awe too.

So, I take this differently than the poet; tell you how?

Of course.

I don't think it means 'so that fear may be there should be shame too'—although a lot of people seem to me terrified, also scared of diseases and poverty, afraid of a great many such evils while being not one bit respectfully fearful of those things which terrify them; that seem right to you too?

Of course.

But it says where there is awe, there is also fear: Since there exists the sort of man who is god-fearing regarding some matter, and though ashamed, has not come to be frightened, or worries about no reputation of ill-repute?

So, then he is afraid.

Oh, no; this is invalid as reasoning: For where fear is will be respect's awe, too; but in order there be respectful awe even where there is fear, but not that fear be everywhere awe. What's more, I think fear is a form of awe's own.—respect, since it's a portion of fear like something too great in amount; so that it's not just where quantity is would be excess: But where is too much there must also be measure. You follow that, somewhat, now?

Absolutely.

Although even arguing such a thing begs the question: Justice's right next to also being devout? Or where devotion is pure, is there also just right; but for justice to be right, not in every case holy: But is piety just a limb from the body of right? Do we talk like this, or you think it's otherwise?

No, like thus; since you appear to reason correctly, I guess.

See closely the thing after this: Now, if the pious is moiety's share of justice, it is our need to discover truly what sort of part this takes as holiness in relation to what is just. So then, if you ask me about matters current, like of what sort is allotted when even in number and what does it happen this number would be—I'd say it were not odd, but rather equal: don't you think?

Seems right, to me.

Then you try too and in like manner show me what part of justice is spirituality so we may reasonably claim, even to Miletos, that we have not acted wrongly or been justifiably indicted for atheism; as men ostensibly have come to know quite well enough from you about things religious and reverence, also what they are not.

Well, really I think this, Socrates, portion of justice is religious doctrine in relation to dutiful service of the Gods and as relates to caring for human beings; that which remains seems a part of being just.

And you seem to me, Euthyphro, to reason quite admirably; but I still lack one little thing: For I am yet to understand service, that which you term it as. But you perhaps do not name, I'd guess, what sort of services they are and with reference to other things, like in service as to gods—our logical claim, right?—the sort of thing we say about horses: Not that every man knows how to tend to them, but that their trainer; in truth?

Does without a doubt.

Since equestrianism tends to train horses:

Yeah.

No one truly knows how to tend to dogs except the hunter who raises them.

Putting it simply.

Because hunting, no doubt, tends to graze dogs—

Sure.

And to be a cowboy, serve cattle?

Pretty much.

It indeed is both devout service and reverence of gods, Euthyphro? So you state?

I do say so.

Then every form of service, brought about the same end? Which sort of thing follows here: Assuming it as a good which assists the beneficiary, just like so you see that horses, when serviced by horsemanship, they profit and are made better.—or do they seem to you not?

I think they do.

And dogs, for example, do so gain from being tended to, and cows, and all other things as like so: Or in case of harm to the one receiving service, do you think it is true service?

My God, oh no.

But you do if it helps?

How could I not?

Then truly even religious service being gods' is both to assist them and magnify them as gods? And would you also grant one that whenever you do something pious, you cause some portion of the gods to become more holy?

By Zeus I do not!

But I don't think you, Euthyphro, are considering this—even I am quite a way off—but for this reason I also tried asking you what on earth you say service of the gods means because I didn't believe you stated as such.

And rightly so, Socrates: For I've not mentioned it much.

Well: What service of gods would be the righteous one?

The very one, Socrates, which the servants do in serving their masters.

I know; that would be, so it seems, a certain waiting on gods.

So, certainly then.

Then you might be able to say in treatment of what business the practice doctors administer happens to be service-oriented? You don't believe it's for health?

In fact I do.

And what about the work of shipbuilders? You could say to the business of what action their engineering is serviceable?

Clearly, Socrates, for the production of a boat.

Even construction workers serve to build houses?

Yup.

You great man, do say: The act of tending to gods, towards fulfillment of what effort would it be of service? For it is clear that you know, seeing as how you say you're the one who knows, it's the divine things best.

And I do speak true words, Socrates.

Then proclaim by God himself what on earth that divinely good work is which the gods make cause complete employing us as their servants?

Oh Socrates, a lot of beautiful things.

And the Generals too, my friend? But you could nonetheless quite easily say their objective is to produce victory in war: Don't you?

But how could I not?

I think farmers also accomplish a lot of splendid things: Though the sum of them is—as the finishing touch—their nourishment out of the ground.

Undoubtedly.

But what about the many, and lovely, things which the gods produce? What is the foremost summary of its production?

I told you a little earlier even, Socrates, that these things are all of a much greater labor to learn precisely how they hold true: However, I do tell you this quite simply, that if someone understands both how to pronounce things that are gratifying to the Gods and do this while praying in sacrifice, the sacred things exist in the form of these acts and such matters preserve people's own home and the public concerns of their cities; but the opposite of things which have been made acceptable are impious—they're things that subvert everything unto destruction.

Really, very true I beg of you, sincere Euthyphro, far in fewer words; if you wanted, you would've tried to say just the main point of what I asked: But no, rather you are—so clearly, too—eager to teach me. And what's more, now just when you were towards it you gave up the distinction which, had you answered,—I would have learned from you as realization what divine law purely is. Now, since the questioner must follow the inquired wherever the latter may drag him, what once again do you say the religious is and why holiness? Do you not argue it as some particular awareness of offering both sacrifice and prayer?

I gather it is.

Then you claim burnt offerings are the gods' to be offered, and that they demand prayer?

Oh very much so, Socrates.

Then understanding the gods in terms of commandment and giving ought be divinely sanctioned knowledge—by this, your argument?

Wonderfully well, oh Socrates! You understood what I said.

Because I am a lover, dear friend, of your wisdom and I have paid attention to it so that which you speak shall not fall into the dust. Instead, do assert for me what is this service to the gods? Are you saying you believe it both what they ask for and you bestow on them?

That's true, I am.

So it's not that asking appropriately can be what we beg of them; you mean they ask for these things?

But why, what?

Again the act of properly giving the things those Gods do happen to demand of us, you're saying these are given back to them in turn? But it certainly cannot be a teachable skill that offers these gifts to someone—to bring presents—which are not at all needed.

True, Socrates, you've a point.

Then the art of religious piety would be, Euthyphro, a skilled kind of trade for gods and human beings between each other?

Like commerce, if calling it so pleases you.

On the contrary, I find nothing pleasant unless it happens to be true. But tell me what advantage the gods profit by the gifts they accept from us? Since what they give to everyone is clear: For we have no good thing which would exist unless those gods grant it. And that service they receive from us, what benefit for them? Or do we get so much greater a deal than they in relation to our trade we take all that which is good from them, but they are in receipt of nothing from us?

But Socrates, you think the Gods are helped by these offerings which they take from us?

But what in the world would these things be, straight from your heart—the gifts from us for the gods?

What else do you believe it is besides honor and its reward even—what I was just, have been saying—it's grace?

Aha!, true devotion is that which given freely satisfies, Euthyphro; but isn't that assistance also dearly beloved to the gods?

I do suppose it most cherished of all—everything.

Then this, once more—as it appears to be—is piety: What wholly pleases the gods?

Absolutely certain.

Then you're astonished to utter these statements wondering if the arguments, you find, seem to go about instead of standing still and you accuse me of making them move on like Daedalus since I myself am rather a bit more skilled than Daedalus even at creating mazes that zero in? But don't you realize our conversation has just come right back around to the same point? For certain you recall previously that the pious & holy both seem not the same to us and appeared to differ from each other: Remember?

Oh I recollect.

Then you are reflecting on how you say the holy dear to gods is selfless love? And this is no-thing other than becomes true devotion—right?

Very true.

So either we just now did not agree each with the other properly or if we were, now we are putting it incorrect?

It seems...

A need, once again, to examine what the pious is from its beginning as a rule because until I know for my self, I will not back down. But don't look down on me; instead, hold your intention entirely fixed that, right this very now, you speak the truth: Now you know even if you were some person else, you are not to be dismissed as a fickle Proteus until you speak. Because if you did not know accurately about holiness and sacrilege, there is simply no way you could ever try to, on behalf of a hired hand, proceed against an old man like your dad for charge of murder; no, if that were the case you would even be so terrified of the Gods to hazard risking this—in fear that doing it you might be wrong,—and become disgraced before the people: But now you know for certain that you clearly think you know, in general, both what the religious is, what isn't. So say it, most blessed Euthyphro, and conceal not what you believe it as.

Once again, well then... But Socrates, now you're getting a bit involved; and it's time for me to go.

To do whatever you do, my friend; in leaving you ruin me—my hope, I came to great expectation that if I learned religion from you, about the impious too, I will be reconciled with the charge Miletos claims by confessing to him that I am become now wise because of Euthyphro about the heavenly as truth demonstrated even that I no longer act ignorant in speaking my mind I introduce not new ideas about the divine and above all about the rest, my life would that I might live a better one.

Republic VI, 509c-511e

"Well you," said I, "are the one responsible
for geting me to explain how I think it is."

"And don't," said he, "stop, if nothing else,
going the whole way through what the sun is
like; & you won't leave anything out?"

"Actually," I said, "I do that quite a lot."

"Then," he said, "don't omit a bit."

"Rather much," I told him, "I think; but as far
as possible right now, I will not intentionally
make omissions."

"Not one."

"Then understand," said I, "just what we're talk-
ing about: there are two sides even to being in
charge. One rules over the realm of the mind's
type & place, and the other's of the eye (just so
you don't think I, in speaking to you of the sky,
am crafting clever tricks about the word); but you
do have these dual forms -- the visible, perceived."

"O.K."

"It's like if you took a line chopped in two un-
equal parts; cut up either piece again in the
same way, both that of the type that's seen and
of the one perceived, and you will have, invisibly
and clear, either division looking like one an-
other in the section that is seen -- & by 'like-
nesses' I mean first the shadows, second the pro-
jections that form in standing pools and on both
dense things & smooth and conspicuous, and every-
thing such as this, if you catch my drift."

"No, but I understand."

"Then put the other one to that which it is like,
the animals around us and every thing that grows and
the entire type of which has been prepared or made."

"I'm comparing them," he said.

"And would you also be willing to say that" I asked,
"dividing it, both in truth and not, as an opinion's
formed in relation to cognition, so is the like
related to its likeness?"

"I do" said he, "indeed."

"Look once again at the mental slice, how it is
to be cut."

"Wait, what?"

"How there is one thing the soul here treating
individual images as they appear is compelled to
examine from underlying suppositions, proceeding
not to an initial rule but to a goal, but the
other -- the one not assumed for the purpose of
beginning -- goes from a hypothesis and, without
the representations that relate to the other,
is made by these observations from them
in creating the approach."

"I do," he said, "not understand what you
are saying very well."

"But once again," I said, "because you will get
it more easily than from preceeding statements;
for I think you know that the people who practice
geometry and math and such subjects start by
postulating the odd and even, the figures and
three types of angles, related types of objects,
according to each system and, viewing as known
these things after making them hypotheses, assume
there is no longer a need to give any explanation
of them, either for themselves or to someone else
since they seem entirely obvious, and from these
facts they start going the whole way throu' the
rest and end up with the same line of reason
they set out to examine."

"Of course," he said, "even I know that."

"Then also that they use these observations
as they're seen and make arguments over them,
but they are not considering of these, but those
concerning which these things look alike, speaking
for the sake of the square itself and the 'real'
diagonal, but not the one they draw and th' other
things like this, these very ones they form in
their heads and draw, which they are both shadows
of and likenesses in water, then use these as images
and seek them out themselves to see what someone
might not otherwise apprehend by sight or tho't."

"You are telling truths," he said.

"And the perception of this they call 'the known'
and claim that their mind must use hypotheses
to begin the present investigation by going to a
beginning principle, as it were unable to rise
above its own underlying assumptions, and treat
the likenesses themselves represented from the
ones below and those that relate to these as
completely clear opinions and their honors due."

"I know what," he replied, "you mean about that
which is under the geometrical and its sister arts."

"Then know for sure that the other thing I mean
is a slice of the mind's part, this one which,
in a word, reason itself is bound to by the power
of conversing, making hypotheses for itself, not
as rules to start from, but suppositions supported
in reality, like stepping stones and marches, in
order that -- in going on up to the unassumed for
the purpose of an initial cause of everything, by
taking hold of it is held already again by the things
that bind to that rule as to a final goal -- it may
disembark in applying not an individual perception,
no not that a bit, rather observations real in them-
selves and relation to each other and end-up at
true appearances."

He said: "I understand well, no: 'cause you seem
to me to be saying a great deal; & I get that you
want to distinguish the thing seen by the knowledge
of reason thru conversation, both of that which is
and as perceived, that is more clear than what's
seen as known by the so-called technological arts
in which the conjectures hypothesized are forced as
starting points even in thought's opinion, but not
if the ones viewing see that they're a perception;
and because of their not having gone back up to start
in their inquiring, but from initial guesses, they
don't seem to you to apply their mind about them,
even though, given a rule, they are intelligible;
and I think you're calling the angle-makers' habit
and opinion of people as such an actual notion,
but not with respect to mind, since the idea
is in between appearance and their brain."

"Your demonstrated proof is, as always, sufficient to
the last. And take it from me," I said, "in the case
of the four sections there comes about these four
mental states in the soul: the highest is intelligence,
and understanding, second; but give faith back to the
third & abstract comparison for the last; and put them
together in order, just as it is for the things they
share in truth so after you consider them do they
participate in obvious clarity."

"I comprehend, agree with and am writing as you say."

Plato's Defense Speech of Socrates

How you Athenian citizens have been affected by my accusers I do not know—but then even I almost forgot myself they speak so persuasively; but as for truth, in a word, they have said none.—& what I was most amazed at, all the lies they told, that they alleged you must beware to not be by me deceived, like I'm such a clever speaker; for in their shamelessness about to be disproved by me in fact—as I appear in no way speaking cleverly—I thought this their most shameful act; unless, that is, these men call clever a speaker, terrible!, who tells the truth: If this is what they mean, I would agree I be no orator like them.
So these guys, as I reckon, either have or have said nothing true; but from me you will hear the truth entire.—though not, good God men, oh Athenians!, arguments prettily adorned like these ones' with jargony phrases in order pre-arranged; you shall instead hear things argued reasonably in words as they happen to occur—for I do believe that what I say is just—and let none of you expect otherwise, since it would clearly not be right, at this age, jurymen, to come before you like a young man delivering set-speeches. In truth I ask this seriously of you, Athenian men, imploring even, if you hear me defend myself by the same arguments which I am in the habit of reasoning at the town square with the merchants where many of you have heard me, and elsewhere too, that you not cry out in shock because of it. 'Cause it's like this: Right now is the first time I have stepped into court at the age of seventy years, so I am simply foreign to the mode of speech here. Therefore just as you would, if I really did happen to be a foreign guest, certainly agree with me if I were speaking with that voice and manner in which I have been raised, truly do now beg this of you, as I believe is just, to dismiss the style of speech—for perhaps is worse and may be better, too—and look at thing itself & apply your mind to this question: Whether what I say is right or no; for this is just man's sole virtue and for a public speaker to tell th' truth.

So first then I am just, right to defend speaking myself, Athens' gentlemen, against the first lies I was accused of and primary accusers, and next to the ones later and men who made allegations because many of my accusers have come to you—and for a number of years already—saying nothing true; & I am more afraid of these than the ones with Anytos, although they, like those, are terribly clever. But the former are moreso, citizens, who have taken to persuading many of you from childhood, and were accusing me alleging nothing so true as that there is a certain wise man, Socrates, who meditates on sky-high things having examined everything beneath the ground and makes the lesser reason stronger. Oh Athenian citizens, these men have spead this rumor, are my cleverly terrifying accusers—as the people hearing them think those who look into these matters do not believe in gods. Since these men who accuse are numerous and have been making accusations for quite some time, and what is more, even talking at you (in that age which you were most susceptible to belief) as you were each mere children and lads, artlessly alleging charges uncontested with no one there to answer in defense—and what is most senseless of all? The impossibility of knowing and stating their names; unless one happened to write some comedies. As many as used slander to persuade you, who were themselves convinced in persuading others, these are all intractable; because there is no way they can be brought here, no one can refute them: Rather it is quite simply required for the defendant to fight as if against shadows and refute no one answering. Then even you must rightly judge, just as I claim, that my accusers are of two types: Those who made recent accusations and others who've done it for some time whom I am now discussing. And you should also think it needed that I myself speak to defend against the former first; you actually heard those men making allegations before, and considerably more than, these later ones.
Now, one must offer a speech, men of Athens, and try to wrest from the you prejudice which you acquired over a long period in so short a time. So I would prefer this turned out thus, should something be better for you & me both and that I were to effect a thing greater by my defense in speech; but I think it a difficult matter and am surely not unaware what sort of task it is. So all the same, however this may go to please the God, one must still obey customary law and persuade by offering explanation.
Let us then take up from beginning what the accusation is from which my slander has arisen in belief of which Miletos as well, I guess, had me indicted on this charge. Now, what do my slanderers say to defame? It seems therefore required to read accusers' sworn testimony: Socrates is unjust and busily goes about examining things under earth and in sky & making the weaker argument stronger, even showing others how to do these same. Some such charge is this: But you have seen these things for yourselves in Aristophanes' silly play, some Socrates there bandied about, saying he treads the air mumbling a lot of foolish nonsense like an idiot which I know nothing, either great or small, about. And I'm not speaking as one who dishonors knowledge like this, if someone is wise as related to such subjects—not that I hope to be acquitted of Miletos' charge—but really I have, Athenian gentlemen, no part of these. Again, I offer you quite a few witnesses and think you capable both of showing each other and talking to, as many have ever heard me in conversation—and there are many of you here—so tell each other whether any of you has ever heard me, either a lot or not, in dialogue about such affairs, and from this you will come to know what are the other such things that many say about me.
But the truth is none of this, even if you have heard that I try to indoctrinate people and make money greedily, this is also false. Since this, too, does seem to me a noble pursuit, that is, if one *could train people like Gorgias of Leontini and Prodicus the Chian, Hippias of Elios. Each of these, men, is able, in going to each city, to (they might congregate freely with whomever of their own fellow citizens if they wish) persuade these young men to leave their communities and form alliance amongst themselves by giving money and remain in debt of thanks besides. Since a certain fellow from Paros here is also pretty wise, whom I saw heading home 'cause I just happened to have accosted a man who has paid the professional teachers more money than everyone else combined, I mean Callias of Hipponikos; and I asked him (since he has two sons), "Hey Callias," I said, "if both your sons were a pair of ponies or calves and we were to have a trainer take them for hire who was going to make them, both fine and noble, live up to their potential, this man would be an equestrian or farmer; but now, since they are both men, what teacher do you think is best for them to have? Who is an expert in such excellence, both the human and political form of knowledges? Because I think you are viewed in light of your having sons. Is there," I asked, "someone or no?"
"Certainly," he replied."Who's that?," I said, "and where from? & how much does he train for?"
"Evenos," he said, "dear Socrates, from Paros: 5 minæ."
And I pronounced Mr. Evenos fortunately blessed if he has as truth this skill and his teachings are so agreeable. Therefore would I, for my part at least, pride myself on being wonderful if I were to know these things; but I do not understand them, Athenians.

And maybe one of you might reply, 'Oh, but Socrates, what is your deal? Where have these slanderous statements against you come from? I mean, certainly you of all people doing nothing any more uncommon from the rest did not acquire such reputation and opinion unless you were acting different than most: So tell us what it is that we not act harshly in speaking about you.' These seem to me just right words for one to say, & I will try to demonstrate for you why on earth it is this happened to me, both the reputation and its false charge: Listen, hear.
Perhaps I will seem to some of you like I am playing child's games; but you must know very well I will tell you the truth in its entirety. Because I, oh citizens of Athens, have received this infamous name for none other than a certain wisdom. What kind of knowledge's this? The sort of a humane understanding; but really, I do risk this to be wise. Now these men perhaps, whom I just mentioned, are wise about a form of knowledge greater than man; that, or I have nothing say. For I certainly know not of it and whoever says I do is lying and speaks for the purpose of libeling me. Now don't, Athens' citizens, shout at me if you believe I say too much, because I do not claim the argument I make is mine, but I will disclose its speaker worthily for you. For of my wisdom, if there is any even of a sort, I shall provide as witness to you the prophetic Lord at Delphi. You've had to've known Chaerephon. This man was my companion from youth and friend to your party, shared with you your recent exile; you even returned home together. You also know what sort of man Chaerephon was, how eager for whatever he undertook. And he actually one time went and received this oracular response—don't raise a ruckus at what I speak, gentlemen—he asked whether anyone is smarter than I. Then the priestess replied that no one is more wise. And this very man's brother will testify to you about these facts since the man has passed on.
Do examine well the basis upon which I lay these claims because I am now about to show you from where falsehood against me has derived.
Now when I heard this, I took it quite to heart: "What is the god talking about? And why on earth does he riddling speak? But I surely don't even remotely agree that I am wise; so what did he mean when he said I am wisest? I mean, he clearly is not lying,—that would be impossibly wrong for him." And I asked for quite some time what does it mean? Turned next with great difficulty to examing some such doubt of him, I went to one of those people considered knowledgable as, from there, in refuting the response, could show the Oracle that 'This is a wiser man than I, and you said I am most!' Then I looked at this man very thoroughly and (need not mention him by name—except to say he was one of those public persons I examined on some such matter as had experience of and talked with him at length) he seemed to me, this man, to appear wise to a lot of other people, and to himself the most, but was not; & then I kept trying to show him that, while he thought he was wise, he maybe—is not. So that's why I became disliked by this man and by many others who were there. But then, as for myself, as I left I figured out that I am a wiser man than this person since neither of us chances to have any special access to privileged knowledge; but this guy thinks he knows something and doesn't, while I—just as I do not know in fact, don't think I do. So I do seem wiser than this man by virtue of this very one small fact: I don't think I know that which I do not really know. Then I went next to another one of those people who appear to be wiser than that man and the same things seemed to happen to me & from there I was detested by that one and a lot of others.
After this I went immediately off realizing that, though I was hurt and scared because I had become disliked... but making god's the most important work still seemed it necessary then—for one looking into the oracle, what its response signified, must go to all who seemed to know some thing. And by the dog, Athens' men—since one has to tell you things in truth—I seriously perceived an impression like so: The men considered best almost appeared to me most lacking in my search as relates to the god; but others who seemed of a lower sort were seen as men more fairly capable of being sensibly disposed. It is, truly, necessary to exhibit for you my deceptive wanderings as of one belabored at some troubles, so that for me, the power of prophecy become even irrefutable. For after the political men, I went to the poets who write tragedies and celebratory hymns and the other makers of verse, like right there I was going to catch myself red-handed as less aware than those men. So I picked up their poems which I thought were in their most completed form and would ask them what they mean to learn something from them on the spot. I am, therefore, ashamed to speak to you, uh...gentlemen, the truth; but it must still be proclaimed.
To say in a word, the bystanders were almost all speaking better than they about what the poets had written themselves. Then I made again this realization about the poets in a short space of time, that it's not through wisdom they produce what they do, but by a certain natural disposition and they are inspired like a prophetic soul,—one who proclaims oracles. Although these people actually do say a lot of pretty words, they know nothing of what they speak. Even the poets looked to me to have been affected some such experience and I, right away, perceived they thought through the art of poetry, people are also most knowledgable about other subjects they don't understand. I went away from them right there & then thinking the same thing has just which happened also with politics.
Then to finish I went to the craftsmen because I knew full well that I myself understand nothing, so to speak; but I was aware that I would find these men comprehend a lot and pretty things. And I was not deceived in this; rather, what they knew I didn't understand and were, in this regard, more cognizant than I. But, men of Athens, to me they seemed to possess the same overbearing as the poets and best public officials: As a result of noble accomplishment in their field, each believed himself most learned with respect to the remaining matters of highest import.—and I believe that they fall flat by obscuring that one form of wisdom; so that, naturally, I asked myself, on the Oracle's behalf, whether I ought accept being just as I am—neither one bit wise in the skill those men possess nor unlearned in ignorance—or else have which things they do. So I asked myself and the Oracle what profits me just as I am able to be.
This was the review of formation, gentlemen of Athens, from which so much anger came upon me, and of that most difficultly depressing sort, to such extent that many slanders were born from them and this name was called, that I am wise; on each occasion, people around me think I myself know about these issues I cross-examine another on. But the truth, guys, is the God dares to be wise and risks saying this in his 0racle because human knowledge is worth precious little and zero. And he does seem to mean 'Socrates' by this and did hazard to divinatively declare by my name in making me example as if it were to say, "This is the wisest man among you, people—whoever, just like Socrates, understands he is worth nothing in reality as relates to being wise." So I, even to this day, go around inquiring about I do seek these things as concerns the God, and with the locals and strangers, whenever I think one may be wise, should he not seem to me so, I assist the god in pointing out that no wise man is.—truly wise: Because of this activity I am afforded no free time for behaving like the other people in town in any appreciable way, or even my family, and I live in total poverty as result of my service of the god.
But these concerns aside, the young men who chase after me—those with the most leisure time, the sons of the wealthiest—of their own free will: They enjoy hearing people be questioned and they oftentimes imitate me, and then attempt to scrutinize other folks; & therefore, I think, they find a great deal of people who think they know a thing, but in fact know little or no. This then is why those questioned by them are angry at me—not with themselves—and they allege that Socrates is someone disgustingly unclean and corrupts young men; and whenever someone asks them what he is doing and what teaching, they have nothing to say and are without a clue. But so they not seem to be at a loss, they state the accusations which are ready-made for the men who do love wisdom all, like "things in space and underground" and "believing not in gods" & "to make stronger the lesser claim." Though I consider them just unwilling to tell the truth, which is, they become obvious in their laying false claim to knowing truth and know not a thing. So that is why I think they love being honored and are a violent, excessive mob which strains bitterly to slander me, has filled your ears for a long time with zealous lies. It's from these arguments that even Miletos attacked me, and Anytos & Lycon: Miletos, incensed on behalf of the poets; Anytos for the workmen and administrators; Lycon grieving for the public speakers, so that what I said in beginning my statement, that I'd be shocked if I were able to pry from you this false reputation in such a short time—so massive has it become: These things exist for you, Athenian people, as the truth and concealing neither thing great nor small from you I speak openly free from fear. And yet I've all but seen that I am an irritation to these very individuals, which is proof I speak the truth, that this is false accusation and these are its alleged charges. Even if you look closely now or ask these questions later, you will so find.
So then as regards which charge my first accusers alleged, this must serve as a defense in addressing you; but against Miletos, the noble patriot (so he says) and later slanderers I will have tried to offer refutation after this attempt. But once, of course, again, as of the other set of people who make accusations, let's now take up these men's sworn affadavit. It is, somehow, like this: 'They say Socrates behaves unjustly in corrupting young men and by not believing in gods which the city-state deems customary, but worships other new divinites.' The complaint is, on the one hand, such; but let's line up to inspect each charge upon the other.

Now it says I harm the young by corrupting them. Well, I say, men of Athens, Miletos is wrong, that he's seriously joking, too easily puts people on trial, pretends to be zealous about important matters and troubles himself over what never this man concerns; and so how this is I will endeavor to show you too.
OK Miletos, tell me as well: Do you any other thing but act on behalf of the majority in order that younger lads will be as good as they can?
I certainly do.
Do come now and tell these folks who improves them; 'cause it's obvious you know, as it so concerns you: For after you discovered, as you state, that I ruin them you brought me before these men and leveled a charge. But the one who makes them greater, do tell and reveal for these who it is.—Don't you see, Miletos, that your silence is unable to speak? And yet, does it not seem shameful to you think the evidence sufficient of what I speak that is not remotely your concern and never was? But my good man, do say who makes them braver.
Laws of custom.
This is not what I ask, you finest man, but which person does?, the sort of man who first knows this even itself, that it's 'the Laws'?
These men Socrates, who decide the case.
What do you mean, Miletos? These people can educate the young and are making them finer?
Absolutely.
All of them, or some yes and others—no?
Every one.
By Hera!, you do speak well enough; and about quite a supply of assistants. But really: Does the audience make them better or no?
These men too.
What, the jurists?
The jury as well.
Miletos, you aren't implying that the legislators in the assembly corrupt the younger ones, are you? Or do all those people also make them greater?
Those ones do.
Wow, all Athenians improve their nobility and virtue except me and I alone am corrupting? That is what you mean to say?
I vehemently assert these as facts.
You charged a great deal of misgivings against me. Answer me as well: Does it also seem the same to you as relates to horses? That the ones who improve them are everyone but only some, one makes them worse? Or is it the other way around—that one particular person can make them better, or a select few—horsemen—while most men, if acquainted with using horses, actually ruin them? Isn't this how it is with horses and all other living things? How wholly evident whether you and Anytos agree or not; it would be some massive stroke of luck for the youth if just one guy misleads them while the rest help them out.
But in point of fact, Miletos, you yourself quite clearly show you never cared one bit about the youth and you are obviously displaying your carelessness because the things you charge me with you are not at all concerned. But tell us further, Miletos—under God—whether it is better to live at home amidst matters political or troublesome? My good sir, do answer: It's no difficult thing I ask. Don't troubled men work devilry upon the people always closest at hand and great ones do for them something good.
Absolutely.
So is there anyone who prefers to be hurt by those with him instead of helped? Please reply, my good man; the law, in fact, compels response. Does anyone want to be harmed?
Obviously, no.
Oh come on and tell me whether you hauled me in here in belief I seduce young boys to wrong and make them less virtuous by intention or not.
I'd say quite willingly.
Wait, Miletos, what? Are you so much smarter than I, each at our respective age, that you realize harmful men always work some evil upon those nearest themselves, while good men to something right; but I have come to such a fevered pitch of foolishness, I don't even know this: That if I should make somebody wicked—one of my associates—I will run the risk of receiving harmful action from him with the result that I enact such devilry as this on purpose is what you're saying? Oh Miletos, I don't believe you in this and I don't think anyone else will too; either I corrupt no one, or if I do so unwittingly, you are the one who's lying in either case. If I unknowingly cause harm, there isn't a law here to charge one with such unconscious offenses, except taking him aside to teach and direct him privately—because it's clear that if I understand, I shall stop what I do unwillingly. But you refused to, even ran away from getting together with and teaching me; instead you bring me here to court where law is to call men in who need discipline, not instruction.
But in reality, citizens of Athens, I already argued this was clear: That Miletos was never a bit concerned about any part of this. Oh, but do tell us how it is you say, Miletos, I corrupt the boys? Or is it clear in the indictment you charged me with teaching disbelief in gods the city accepts for other, novel divinities? Didn't you argue these are what I corrupting teach?
This is exactly what I'm saying.
Now therefore by these, the gods which are currently under discussion, Miletos, themselves: Tell me even more precisely, and to these people too; for I am unable to ascertain whether you state I teach believing some gods do exist—I mean, I myself think Gods are real and am not a total heathen erring in this way—but certainly not the gods the city esteems, rather other ones; and this is what you charge me with? That I worship other gods? Or do you say about me he wholly doubts God's and teachers others to do this?
That's what I talking about, how you wholly disregard gods.
Oh!, Miletos the marvel, what makes you say that? It's not like I think the sun and moon are gods like other people do, I?
My god, men of the jury!—when he claims the sun is stone, the moon a planet...
You mean to accuse Anaxagoras, Miletos my pal. And you dismiss these thus and think them so illiterate as to be unaware that Anaxagoras of Klazdomenae's books are replete with these statements? Furthermore, that the youth learn this from me, something it is possible to sometimes get for a pretty penny from the theater lobby for shoppers to buy a laugh at Socrates, if he should make like these're his own and are particularly uncommon? But oh by God, this seems right to you? I don't think any god exists?
No, not my god, in no way—the least.
Well aren't you nihilistic and, as I believe, these beliefs are actually your own. That's how this man seems to me, Athenians, to be especially arrogant and disrespectful &, quite simply, scribbled up this charge out of reckless pride, outrageous youth; because it seems like a riddle, should one try to solve "Will Socrates the Wise know I'm mocking reason by saying things contrary to my belief, or shall I deceive him and the rest of those who hear?" Looks to me like this man contradicts himself in his own accusation, as if he were to say: 'Socrates is wrong in not considering Gods, but considers them gods.' But this is childish.
Do look at together, citizens, how I see this man's line of reasoning; but you must answer us, Miletos. But you people must recollect what I asked you at the start: Not to shout out loud if I craft arguments in my habitual way.
Is there such a person, hey Miletos!, who believes human concerns exist but not humans? Let him answer, men, and not cry one objection after the next; is there such a one who believes in horses and not horsemanship? Or thinks flutists are real but their study doesn't pertain? There is not, oh greatest man; if you wish an answer to reply, I am explaining to you and these other people. But the answer to this puzzle—does anyone exist to think divine matters are real but disbelieves divinities?
No one is.
How helpful—to answer under compulsion by these men! Are you therefore saying I believe in and teach matters divine, therefore whether novel or traditional—well either way I still consider them heavenly affairs, counter to your word; and I will testify to these things in my counterargument. But if I believe in godly things, I must believe in divine beings in deed, isn't this so? It is sure indeed and I posit that you agree since you do not respond. Don't I consider divine entities Gods or children of gods? Do you say or no?
Pretty much.
Therefore if I think them divinities, like you say, if—on the one side—some gods are divinities, this would be the riddle I say you make into a joke when you don't believe my response that I think gods, in turn, are real (since I do, in fact, believe their being divine): Now, the converse—if the divinities are some bastard children of gods either from young goddesses or some other source, which actually they're said to be, could some person believe they are Gods' children but still not divine? In the same vein, would it not be strange as if someone were to think horses, or even sheep, had children called mules and believed not that horses and sheep are real? But oh, my leaders', there's no way you, in failing to prove these experiments to us, drew this up as a true allegation for anything other than having no grounds to claim as truth I am involved with injustice; but so you could persuade someone who's got a tiny mind that believing in divine things and the divine is not the same; also, on the other hand, that divinities and gods and heroes aren't alike, but this is no contrivance, fact.
But dear men of Athens, since I am not unjust according to Miletos' charge, although it seems not much of a defense, yet will these things suffice; but what I was saying previous, that a lot of anger has arisen—and for a bunch of people—you know how true that is. And this fact, I predict, is what shall convict me; if it really does, it's not Miletos or Anytos, but the crowds of slander and jealousy which overtake me—and these have taken a lot of other people—good men, too—and I think it will also convict, no worry it may stop at me.
Perhaps then might somebody say, "Aren't you ashamed, Socrates, to have pursued such practice that you presently risk death from?" But I would to this person, quite justifiably, say right back: You're reasoning unsound, dear man, if you think a citizen needs to tally the risk of living or death, it's worth precious little help; rather one must not look solely, when one is disposed to act, at whether he does something right or unjust, also at whether you are committing acts of a good man or wicked one.
By your logic, however many divine heroes met their end in Troy would have been poor suckers, and even Thetis' son above the rest—Achilles—who so looked down on danger as something shameful to give in to that when his mother told his eagerness to kill Hector (since she's a God) something like this, as I do think true: 'My child, if you avenge your friend Patroclus' murder and slay Hector, do you yourself perish—for immediately after,' she says, 'Hector is your fatal fall prepared.'—and when he heard this, he thought nothing of risking his death, but because he was so much more afraid of being a coward in life and not honoring his beloved friends, "Right," he said, "now I wish to die having closed the case on the unjust so that I not have to stay here, a laughing-stock aboard the curving ships—dead weight upon the ground." Do you think he thought too much on dying and danger?

But the truth is, my fellow Athenians, like this: Should someone station himself as he thinks best or be deployed by an officer (I do so believe), it remains for him to risk danger taking neither death into account nor anything other than dishonor. I, therefore, would have accomplished terrible acts, oh men of Athens, if back when the commanders ordered me into battle, the men you chose to lead me in Potidaea and Amphipolis and at Delium—when I held my ground where those men ordered me, just like anyone else I hazarded to die; but with the God in command as I thought and came to accept that I must live to philosophize and examine myself and other people, how dangerous!, if right then and there I had left my appointed place for fear of death or any other concern: I really would be terrible and someone could, quite justifiably in truth, bring me into court charging that I disavow gods by profaning the oracle in fear of death by thinking I am wise but were not. But really, being afraid of dying, men, is no different than believing falsely to seem wise, since it's appearing to know what one hasn't seen. For no one understands death, unless it happens to be the greatest of all things which are good to a person—although some fear as if they knew it is the highest form of evil. And yet how is ignorance not this cause for shame, thinking you know what one doesn't know? I, gentlemen, am perhaps different than most people right here in this particular regard; and if truly I were to say I am more wise than anyone, it would be by this as not knowing about the dead, so also not thinking I know. But being unjust and misbelief in one's superior—both human and divine—I know that is evil and a shame. Then rather than ills I know are bad, those which I know not whether they happen to be good shall I never fear and will not flee; so that not even if you acquit me right now in doubting Anytos, who said that I either should not have come here at all or, since I already did, that it isn't possible to spare my life, addressing arguments to you about how, should I end up escaping you, your sons who practice what Socrates teaches them will all be entirely debased—if you told me in response to these things, "Socrates, now we won't believe Anytos and we let you go—but only on condition by which you no longer waste time in this searching and be a philosopher; and if you're caught still doing this, your death"—so if you dismissed me, just as I say, upon these terms, I would inform you that ''I welcome you, Athenian people, and do love you; but I'll obey the God instead of you and as long as I draw breath and can, will not ever stop doing philosophy and giving you advice and showing you how I am to whomever of you I meet talking with at any hour, wording statements as is my wont, like: 'You finest of men because you're from Athens, city greatest and most revered for its craft and power; & you, unashamed of your concern for wealth so that your state will be filled to burst with esteem and honor both, understanding and truth even of the soul: Don't you care to consider how it shall be as great as it can?' And if one of you disputes this and says it is your concern, I'll not dismiss him straight off or walk away; instead I will ask him questions, inquire further and put him to proof: And if he does not seem to me to have acquired virtue but says so, I will object that he relates matters worthy of greatest attention to the least, makes a bigger deal of the more lowly things. I will do this both to a younger and elder man, whomever I speak with—foreigner and local both; but moreso to people from the City by as much as you are nearer myself in kind. For the God orders this—well you know—and I think there no way anything becomes you a greater good in the city than my service to the divine. Because I go around doing nothing else except persuading you, both youth and elderly, to take care neither of body nor material concerns before so much as of the soul in order it shall be as truly good as possible, reasoning that 'Not from money comes virtue, but rather money's made good of excellence and all the other things, both personal and public, which are marvelous for people.' So then if I mislead young people by stating these arguments, these words would be dangerous; but if somebody says I make other claims than these, he means not a thing. Seeing that," I'd say, "you, my fellow citizens, either believe Anytos or don't and either acquit me or not, as I will act in no other way—not even if I must die a thousand deaths."

Oh shut up, you Athenians, and abide by what I asked of you: That you not get too raucus at whatever I should say and listen instead; in fact, I think hearing will profit you, as I am—to be sure—about to tell you such things, and still more, which might cause you to shout. But you must in no way this do. You know well if you put me to death for being such a man as which sort I claim, you will do me no greater injury than to you yourselves because neither Miletos nor Anytos could harm me—for they have not the power—since I don't think it divinely sanctioned for a better man to be harmed by a weaker one. But then again, maybe he might kill or exile or disgrace me; well perhaps this man, or even someone else, thinks these things are great evils, but I disagree; although I do think it much more treacherous to act as this man now is in trying to put a man to death by injustice. So, Athenian men, I am therefore now far from talking in my own defense as one might suppose; rather I speak in your interests that you not commit any error as concerns your god-borne gift by voting me down. For if you kill me, you will not so easily find another man like this, quite simply—even if it's silliness to speak—bound to the city by God as if to a great, big, noble horse but its girth has made it sluggish and in need of being stung by a gadfly—which in fact, I do think the God right in having dedicated me to the state as some sort who, in pricking and convincing and critiquing you down to the last I stop not at all besetting you from every part the day long whole. Then another like this will not so readily be there for you, gentlemen; but if you are by me convinced, you'll spare my life. & perhaps you would be annoyed, like nappers startled awake, should you examine my mettle in believing Anytos, you might easily destroy me, then live out the rest of life asleep if the God were not to send you someone else who'll cause you trouble. But considering the fact I happen to be such a man of the type to've been given to the city & state by the God, you ought to here consider: It seems more than mortal that I have neglected all my own concerns and maintain a household which cares not for so many years of age, since I am constantly engaged in your work I go about to each personally like a father or older brother trying to persuade you concerned about being virtuous. And if I enjoy any benefit from these practices and took money in dispensing advice, I would have a logical reason; but now you must see for yourselves how the allegation-mongers, in all other ways shameless, do so make this charge that they become incapable of having the gall to say they will provide a witness, as if I ever made any money or demanded pay. For my part, I offer what proof I think sufficient I speak the truth: My poverty.
Then perhaps it might seem odd, my going around and offering counsel privately & acting curiously busy, while in public I dare not to mount the rostrum and make suggestions to your multitude in town. And the reason for this, which you have many times before heard me repeat in a lot of different places, is that a particularly holy and divine thing occurs—one that Miletos mocked in writing his accusation—but this has guided me starting from youth, a certain sound happening which, when it comes, always prevents me from doing something I was about to do and never urges me on. This is what opposes my pursuit of politics and seems to me quite all right in preventing me; for you well know, Athens' citizens, if I had tried long ago to make practice of political concerns, I'd have long since perished and would neither have aided you nor helped myself. Don't be sore at me for speaking the truth, for not a man exists who will have been saved by you or any other mob if he is legitimately opposed to and prevents a good many unjust and criminal acts from occurring in the state; it is required instead for the man fighting truly on behalf of the just cause—if only to gain a brief moment's respite—to do so as an individual, but not a public act.
I even will provide you proof positive of these facts, in what you prize over words: Action. Listen to what happened to me so you know I don't yield to anyone for fear of death when justice is concerned; and were I to concede, be but lost. I am speaking to you in strained legalese, but still truth. Now I, gentle men of Athens, never acquired any authority in town, but I was a council member; and after our district succeeded as managing tribe, when you decided to condemn en masse the ten commanders who did not rescuse the battle's survivors at sea—illegally, as you all later thought was right—back then I alone of the Assembly stood opposed to you acting contrary to the laws and voted against it. And even though the speakers were ready to single me out and haul me off, and you encouraged, even supported them, I thought it more necessary to risk it all with the law and just choice rather than remain with you, as what you wanted was wrong (though I was terrified of prison or death); and this was when the city was still under democratic rule.—but when the oligarchy came to power, the 30 tyrants sent for me and four others in the Rotunda and placed me in charge of bringing Leon home from Salamis in order that he die—exactly what those men did a bunch of times to many other people in hopes of implicating as a many as possible in their guilt. Even then, however, I yet again displayed—in deed rather than word—that my concern for death is, to put it rather bluntly, nihil; but accomplishing not an unjust or impious act, this is of the highest import. However, their authority, though it was so strong, did not shock me into doing their dirty work; no, when we exited the hall, four men went to Salamis and arrested Leon while I went off to go home. And I might have maybe died for these acts, if their rule had not been made short work of: Of these facts you will have many witnesses.
Do you seriously think I'd have reached this age if I were involved in public business and, in doing so worthily like an upright man, tried to aid the just and even acted as if this were most important on the majority's behalf? Far from it, you men from Athens, and neither could anyone else. Throughout the whole of my public life, if ever I did anything practical, I appeared as such and privately was this self-same man, never once conspired to compromise justice with anyone, didn't yield to one of those people who slander me in saying they're my student or anyone else; I have not yet ever been anybody's instructor. But if a soul wants to hear me talk about reason and the things I do myself, whether a lad or elder, I bear no one ill will, do not accept money or things for conversation—and would not ever, too; I afford myself instead to rich and poor alike for questioning even if a body wishes, when answering, to hear the reasons I may speak. And whether there be any use in these statements or no, I could not proffer their cause in justness had I not upheld them for someone or if I'd never come to understanding teach; but if one claims not to have learned something from me or says they heard in private that no one else does either, you have to know the reasons are not true.
But why on earth do some people enjoy with me spending so much time? You have heard, oh Athenian citizens, for yourselves all the truth I speak: People like hearing men who think they're smart be cross-examined when they're not. It's kind of savory. But like I say, this activity has been assigned me by the God from both oracles and visionary dreams & every means through which a god (and an-other goddess, Fate) gives some sort of command for a mortal to perform. These facts, Athenian men, are both true and possible to prove, for if I really do corrupt some of the youth and have seduced others to evil, one must assume that if some of them were to grow up and realize when they were young I had once talked them into something evil, they would stand up for themselves to accuse and punish me; and if they were unwilling to, some of those young people's relatives, their father and brothers, other men who were related to them (if their relation had truly in the past been harmed by me) would blame me and exact revenge. There are altogether a great many of those individuals right where I am looking first at Krito there, a distant relation of my own age—father to Kritoboulos here—then there's Lysanias from Sphettos, father of dear Aeschines, and still more: Antiphon of Kephiseius (he's Epigenes' dad) and then these others whose brothers have served in this pastime: Nikostratos, Theotizdo's son (Theodotus' bro')—& Theodotus has passed away, so no way for him to influence this man—and here's Paralios, Demodokos' son, whose brother was Theages; and Adeimantos, this is Ariston's boy (his brother's this fellow Plato) and Aiantodorus—Apollodorus is his brother. I could mention even others, still more, to you; one of whom, Miletos, in his own argument, should have included as witness; but if he overlooked it before, let him call one now—I'll yield the stand—and explain whether he has any such thing to say. You will but find entirely th' opposite of this, citizens; none ready to shout about my corrupting influence, me contriving baseness against their kin—as Miletos & Anytos claim. Since they themselves are corruption and ashes, perhaps they have good reason to shout; but those not so ruined—their elders, the men affiliated with these—what reason do they have for aiding my cause other than the upright and justice because they know Miletos is full of it and that I always tell the truth?

Well guys, what I might be able to argue as defense is pretty nearly this, and maybe something else like. Perhaps one of you may be, in being called to mind himself, irritated; for if you had been tried in contest less difficult than this trial and begged the jury all in tears, and paraded your children to be pitied in full, even brought up other relatives—a bunch of loved ones as witnesses... but I'll have none of that, & if I took these chances (as I could deem best), I would take the highest risk. So someone might make these their realizations and consider me too headstrong and, in rage of these very acts, would cast their vote in anger. In case one among you is such—I judge it improper, but if—I'd think it rather fit to respond in reasoning that I, my good man, certainly do have associates and kin; actually, that one quote from Homer, that I'm not made "from tree or from stone" but out of human being with the result that I have family and sons, too; people of Athens, three of them: One is still a baby and I have two boys. Nevertheless, I brought not one of them here to court to beg you for your vote.
Why then won't I do anything like this? Not that I'm defiant, you men of the city, or to dishonor you; but whether I am bold in the face of death or no is another argument: However, when it comes to reputation for me & you and the state as a whole, I believe it low-down, base to involve myself with this—being of a certain age I have acquired this name—so whether true or lie, either way someone has determined Socrates is not like most people. Then if persons who seem to think different from you will end up in such a state by virtue of their wisdom, or courage, or any other positive trait, wouldn't it be a shame? How often I have seen such men, some of them, when they make judgments, who believe something is true and that they're doing real, important work thinking they will convince how terrible a thing it would be if they die, as if they'd live forever should you not kill them. Seems to me that they wreathe the city in shame so that even a friend from out of town might end up supposing his fellow foreigners are beyond Athenians in exercise of excellence, Athenian men, whom they pick out as no better than ladies in our authorities and other honors. You must not make these mistakes in believing that course true; and if we do, don't turn on yourselves except to demonstrate this very fact: It's so much more important to cast your vote against the man who puts these pitiful exhibitions on stage and makes your city a joke than the one leads quitely.
But opinion aside, oh men, I just think it wrong to plead with the judge or by begging to flee. Justice, rather, teaches to persuade. A judge does not sit and stand for this,—to suck off justice—but to make real judgments; he has even sworn an oath not to show favor or play favorites, judge just according to laws and precedent. We must not inure each other to lying in an oath, you ought not allow it would be wholly improper upon either side. Therefore do not, oh Athenian citizens, judge me worthy of punishments for my need to do before you what I consider noble, just and holy; and most especially, by God, not on the grounds that dismissal would be inappropriate according to this Miletos chap. For it's obvious that, if I were to convince you—even by pleading for myself—I would violate the oaths I've sworn, appear that I teach you to think divinities do not exist and would, very simply, by defending, incriminate myself on the charge that I do not honor Gods. This is, however, far from how it is. I am a believer, oh Athens' citizens, as none of my accusers believe and I entrust the matter to your hands and to the God for judging of myself in whatever way will be best for both me, also for you.

As to my lacking distress, Athenians' citizens, at this occurrence—that is, you voted to convict me—a lot of things in my case contribute to it; and it's not like I didn't expect the outcome to come out like this. Actually, I'm much more impressed at the actual tally of the votes on either side. I didn't in fact think it was to be by so few over more; but now, as it seems, if just thirty votes had fallen on the other side, I would have gone free. So then, I do believe, I have gotten away from Miletos even now; not only fled (but this is certainly clear to all), if Anytos hadn't testified, he and Lykon informing against me, someone would have owed a thousand drachmas for not receiving one-fifth of the votes' share.
So the man proposes for me the penalty of death; well then. Shall I suggest an other punishment for you, oh Athenian citizens? Or is what's deserved so clear? What then? What do I deserve to undergo or be fined for not having learned, in my course of life, to keep quiet, neglecting instead the majority's concerns—making money and household and military offices and public speeches and other such forms of power and politicking alliance & their factions which occur in the state—in consideration of myself as entirely too reasonable to resort to these things to save my skin? I did not go any place where my coming wouldn't have been a benefit to you or myself; and for each thing individually I went to work the greatest good, so I do say: I came here trying to persuade you each to neither be concerned for someone's affairs before taking care of one's own self in order that man can be as happy and wise as one can, nor worry about the state's concerns before city itself or anything else like that according to the same method. So what am I worthy of suffering for being such? Some good punishment, oh men of Athens, if it's in fact necessary, by truth revealed, to honor recompense according to my worth; yes, that as some reward which might befit me so. What therefore is fit for a poor, public servant pleading to take a break in advising your action? What could better accomodate such a man in case like this as dining at public expense?! Seems much more appropriate than when one of you wins in an Olympic horse-racing event; because the one makes you seem fortunate, but I make you blessed; and while he begs for no food to eat, I need nourishment—to exist. So if I must assess the penalty, I propose it be this: To be served in the dining hall.
So perhaps you believe that saying this, I almost seem, in acting defiantly, to argue as if out of pity or pleading; this is, as such, not so—Athenian men, citizens—it is rather more like this: I am convinced I have not intentionally harmed anyone, but have yet to persuade you of this because we had only for a short time conversed with one another. Although, as I think so, if we had a law just like other people about not deciding a capital crime in single day alone, you would have been convinced; but today it's not too easy to untie so quickly such a slanderous knot. However, believing that I don't harm anyone means I am far away from wronging myself to say I deserve so harsh a punishment brought down upon me. In fear of what? Should I not suffer the penalty Miletos prposed, something I say I do not know whether it be good or bad? Should I pick something instead of this and propose that? Why must I live imprisoned as a slave to the re-iteratively established authority of the 11 Police Officials? Or a fine and jail until I pay? But for me it is the same thing I just said: I don't have any money which I could pay it with. But ought I then offer exile as punishment since you might perhaps think I deserve it? But I should be much possessed of clinging to life, you dear Athenian men, if I'm so unreasonable as to fail to figure out that you are citizens and couldn't take my argumentative pastimes, rather found them too heavy and so divisive that you do now seek to be rid of them and others will accept them gladly? People, there's something missing here. My life would not be very fine if I went as an old man exchanging one city for the next and eeking out a living; for you know, wherever I may go, when I speak my peace the young people there will listen just as they do here. Even if I chase them away, these youth are like to drive me off themselves by convincing their elders; but if I don't scare them off, their fathers and relatives will do so on their behalf.
Might someone then say, "Uh, Socrates—if you shut up and keep your piece won't you be able to leave, we beg of you, and live?" This really is the hardest point of all you to convince. If I argue that doing this is to disobey the God and why I am unable to be silenced, you will doubt me in belief I'm acting ignorant; but then again, if I state what happens to be the greatest success for humankind is this, fashioning words at some point about virtue each day and over other things concerning which you hear me in conversation as I prove, reprove and dis-, for myself and other men, that the unexamined is life not livable for human.—& yet you still are less convinced when I tell you that, but it is like this, I tell you men; but persuading's kind of tough...

For only not much time, Athenian citizens, you will have the name e'en blame from those who want to shame our city because you have just sacrificed Socrates: Man of Wisdom.—or they'll call me wise, if even I am not, because they'll want to indict you—if you had at least waited a short while, this benefit would have come to you on its own, for you see how advanced my years are in life and close to death; but by my reason I do speak this word to those same men: Perhaps you think I, fellow citizens, have been taken at a loss for words by which I could have persuaded you, should I have thought there need to do and say any thing at all to avoid just penalty.—Not a bit. I have by tractless loss been seized, not one of arguments, but bold daring and shamelessness in my refusal to tell you the sort of things which taste sweetest to your ears—me singing a mournful tune and doing other, saying many things unworthy of my-self—as I do so say—the types of things you are used to hearing from other folks. No, neither did I then think I needed, in the face of danger, to do anything unbecoming a citizen, nor do I now regret the defense that I made and much would rather choose having spoken th's to be dead than live on like that. In court or war one need not, I must not, contrive this device and so do any thing to flee from death because even in struggles it so often becomes clear that someone would run away from dying and, by their surrender, turn to serving the pursuing; and there are a lot of other tricks for each kind of risk which lead to flee from death if one dares to do and say anything at all. But this may not be so hard, gentleman, to escape dying; rather it is much tougher to avoid wickedness: For it flies faster than death. And now I, despite being slow and old, am caught by something less quick—but my accusers, as they are terrible in cleverness are seized by the speedier: That is, cowardice. Even now I depart from you owing, won penalty of just death while these men have incurred from their truth depravity and unjustness; I abide by my payment, they—by their penalty. These, on the one hand, matters perhaps even needed to go something like thus and I think they came out fairly.
But on the other, with this done I desire to prophesize like an oracle to you who cast your verdict against me for I am truly now already at this point where human beings prophecy, when they are about to be put to death. For I say, oh men who will have slain me, there shall come to you just recompense right after my death, one much more grievous, my Zeus, than by such you murder me; 'cause right now you accomplish this task for you think you're rid of being questioned by causing me to give up life—but the act will turn out quite different for you, as I do speak: More people to question you will come.—right now I hold them back, but you do not perceive; and they will be more unmanagable by how much they are the younger and you shall be the more aggrieved: If you but think killing people will hold their objections back for you down because you do not live upright lives, your notions are not well disposed; for this relief's so weak and gross, that other so gorgeously simple in not keeping back others, but to prepare oneself to be as excellent as possibility. So these then are my divine messages to leave to you that voted for my death.

But with those voted against, I would gladly converse over this occurrence, an event which the authorities too busily conduct, and I go not yet to where I need, when I have gone, to die. No, wait with me, my fellow men, for so much span of time, as nothing stands in way of telling stories through to each, other while one still may because I want to show you, as you're friends, the meaning of the chance event just now occurred for me. For I tell you, judges of men—since I may call you properly in calling you judge—something miraculous has happened. The power of holy prophecy, which I'm no stranger to, has been quite sharp at each point in the past, turning even against some tiny acts if I purposed in any way to do something not right. But now, what has happened to me—you see for yourselves—these things that one might actually think and which are considered the highest form of evil; but for me, I do not venture outdoors, didn't get up to take the stand or even when in conversation, no would not say a word, while the sign of the God opposed me. In fact, it oftentimes checked me on the spot when talking mid-sentence!—but now it stands not at all against me as concerns this act, no neither in deed nor word. What then do I suppose is cause? I'll tell you: Since the result happens, in this form, to come about as good, and there is no chance we rightly understand, however many of us think being dead is a calamity. I have strong evidence in proof of this fact: There is not a way my well-known sign would support me if I were not about to commit a proper act.
Let's consider, even so, how great a hope that this is good. Now being dead's th' other of things; either it's like being none without perceiving the dead man has nothing, no—or, as is said, happens to be a change and relocation for the soul away from this spot here into an other place. And if there really is no sense-perception except like sleep when someone slumbers and does not see in dreams, death would be a magnificent reward—because I wouldd think, if someone had to choose this night in which one so slept that no dream had been, and were required to compare the other nights and days throughout their life with just this night, after looking close then needed to say how many days and nights were better lived, more sweetly than this sole night in one's life, I would imagine not just a common citizen, but even the Persian King himself, would discover these were easy to tally up against the other days and nights—so if death is such a thing as this, I mean it's a reward; but actually, the whole of time appears, so true, to be nothing more than a single night. And if, in turn, death is like going on a trip from here away to some place else and the tales are true—& all those who've passed on are really there—what could be a greater good than this, oh judging gentle-men? If someone came to Hades' home after leaving these people who claim they're just, will they find they real judges who are said to sit in judgment there—Minos and Rhadamanthus and Aeacus, Triptolemus and as many other great men—near immortals!—as proved to be just in life; would this trip abroad be so awful then? Or how great a charge beside to be with Orpheus, Musaeus, Hesiod and Homer, would each of you accept? I want to be dead ten thousand times if these things are really true because to me, for myself, the activity there would be amazing whenever I bumped into Palomedes and Ajax, Telamon's son; and if another one of those men of old has died on account of judgment unjust—to compare my own experiences to those of these men there, I don't think that would be half-bad—and by far the best would be for me scrutizining people there and seeking to continue just like questioning men here about which of them is wise and who thinks they are, but not. How great a payment would one agree to pay, men of the jury, to inquire direct to the man who led the huge campaign against Troy, ask Odysseus or Sisyphus, ten thousand other folks one might mention—men and women both—to speak, be with and question those in that place—an indescribable joy? Not a doubt on Earth people there won't kill a man for this! Both because people there are in other respects much happier than ones here and they are already free from death for the rest of time; if, i.e. the sayings are true.

But you too, of citizen judges, must be of good hope when facing death and be mindful that this one particular is true: There exists no thing bad for a righteous man, neither in his life nor in its hereafter, and his concerns are not ignored by gods; my own matters did not just now happen by random. No, in this affair is clear that it was far better for me already to be dead and released from my cares. This is why the Signal never steered me wrong and, on its account, I'm not very mad at those who voted against and accused me. & yet they did not vote to kill me and accuse with this (same) intent, looking instead to do me harm; this is just cause to find fault with them. I do, however, beg this much of them; please do, gentlemen, honor to my sons (as they are lads) when they cause you these same pains I plague you with; if they appear to care, in your judgment, about money and possessions, or anything else before virtue, also if they think they're really something and are not, you must criticize them sternly as I've done for you on the grouns they care not for what one must and think they're worth something when they're not worthy at all. If you do this do, I'll have suffered myself properly at your hands as will've my sons. But now it is already time to go—me to my dying and you must go on, life; which of us arrives at the more necessary good, unseen by every except the God.

The Crito

Socrates - Krito

S: Why have you come so early, Krito; or is it not yet dawn?
K: It’s just morning. S: What time, exactly? K: Almost day-
break. S: I’m surprised the prison guard was willing to
answer when you knocked. K: He’s gotten used to me,
Socrates, from my coming here so many times; and I might
have given him some favor. S: Did you arrive just now or
while ago? K: Fairly a while. S: Then why did you not
wake me right up instead of sitting there in silence? K: O
by God, no Socrates: I myself w’ld I were not so sleepless
in pain, but I sit here amazed at seeing how sweet you ’re
asleep; and I kept from waking you on purpose so that you
could continue as sweetly as possible; and oftentimes even
before, I counted you entirely lucky because of your way of
life, but most especially as the situation stands right now, so
easily and willing do you bear your bad luck. S: Well Krito,
it would be absurd to get annoyed, being at such an age, if
it is necessary to make an end already. K: And other men as
old as you have been taken in such bad luck, but their age
did not keep them from being annoyed at the present fate.

S: That is so; but why are you here so early? K: I've come with a
terrible message…apparently not for you as it seems to me, but
for me and your friends, us all, something awfully crushing;
which I, do I believe, might bear heaviest of them. S: What
is it? That the boat arrived from Delos, at whose coming I
must die? K: No it is not here, but that I think it will come on
the morrow from what some people coming in from Sunios
who'd gone from there to here, announced. So from these
messages it's clear that it will come tomorrow and that at
day you ’ill have to end your life. S: But, oh Krito, good;
luckily, if this is pleasing to the gods, let it be thus. But I do
not think it’l be here this very day. K: Where do you get y-
our proof of this? S: I’ll tell you: because surely I must die on
the day after the one the ship arrives. K: They say—at least,
that is—the ones who’re in charge of this. S: I don’t think
it will even be here to-day, but on the one after; I get that fr-
om something I saw a short while ago in a dream during
this very night: you even dared not waking me just in the
nick of time. K: But what was your dream about, Socrates?

S: A woman seemed to me to come approach, beautiful, a delight to
look on; dressed in white, she called me & said: "Oh S O C R A T E S,
‘It’s on the third day you shall arrive at the fertile land of Pthia’."

K: It is a strange dream, Socrates. S: Well it seemed obvious
enough to me, Krito. K: Entirely, just as it seem’s/d. But
o, blessed Socrates, believe me still even now & be saved
since, to me, if you die, it is not only a disaster, but apart
from my being robbed of so great a friend, whose like I
will never find again; but yet many folks will think (the
ones who do not kno’ you or I too well) that I could have
saved you if I’d been willing to spend some cash, but did
not care. And really, what opinion could be more horrible
than this, or to be thought that money was considered more
important than friends? ’Cause most people will not believe
you yourself refused to escape from here, though we had
set our hearts to it. S: But why, dear Krito, are we so involved
in the opinion of the crowd? For the most worthy ones, of
whom it is more proper to consider, will think things were
so done, just as done they ought. K: But look, see how one
must take care of the opinion of the mob: and the present
situation itself it is quite clear that a lot of people are not
capable of carrying out some tiny, but close to the most
terrible, evils if one falls afoul of th’aspersions they cast.

S: And if the many were able to accomplish the most horrible
acts in pursuit of the greatest good, it would also be alright.
But presently they are not able to do either because they’re
not capable of making someone reasoned or insane, but do
whichever thing they happen to hit upon. K: Then let those
things be so; but tell me this, Socrates: Are you watching
out for me and for your friends, that if you escape from
here (I bet the prosecutors will offer us the chance to steal
you away from here), we not also be compelled either to
lose our property entire or a fair amount of money, suffer
even something else for these? 'Cause if you are afraid of
some such thing as this, wave it away right now; because
we are certainly right to take this risk in saving you and,
if it's necessary, even something more. So you have no
choice but to believe me! S: I am looking out for these,
Krito, & many other things. K: So there is nothing for
you to fear—actually it’s really not much money that
certain folks are willing to accept to save and take you
away from this place. So why do you not see these dirty
officials as cheap and we wouldn’t even need much silver
for them? & the money of mine that’s yours is, I think,
enough; so even if you’re anxious over my account &
do not think you need to use up mine, these friends of
yours are willing to spend their own; one has even made
offer enough for this very cause, Simmias from Thebes;
and your friend Cebes and quite a few others. So what I’m
saying is: Do not let fear of this make you fail to save your
skin and, like I said to you in court, don’t be troubled be-
cause you wouldn’t, if you leave, know what to do since
in a lot of places—I mean wherever you go—they will
adore and welcome you; and if you want to go to Thessaly,
I have plenty of friends there who’ll make a big to-do for
you and make sure you’re safe and sound so no Thessalian
bothers you. But Socrates, I still don't think you are trying
to undertake a proper course of action, to give yourself up;
when it's possible to be saved? You're even eager for such
things to happen about you, which even your enemies
would and want too, and those who want to destroy you.
In response to them you seem (to me at least) to betray
your sons as well whom, although able to both raise and
teach, you will abandon when you leave; & as for your
part, what they happen on this will they do: But they will
do, as it seems, such things as are wont to happen in foster-
homes to orphans. One must either not have children or,
in nourishing to raise, last through troubles with them;
but to me, you seem to pick whatever's easiest. What a
noble and brave man would choose must one pick too;
that is, if he claims to care about virtue throughout his
entire life: So I, both on your behalf and that of we, your
useful friends, am ashamed that the entire affair not
look—the one concerning you—like it was conducted
by our woman's cowardice, and your appearance for the
charge in court as you entered plea although no need and
ordeal of the trial itself and then, this outcome!, how
ridiculous a thing; that we seem to have abandoned utterly
in our lowly fearfulness, who did not save you, not you
yourself and it was possibly in our power, if only some
small help from us... So see, oh Socrates; these facts that
shame not be coupled with evil for you and for us both.
But I am warning you—and it is more the time we should
have planned rather than be planning for—but only one plan:
For all these matters must be done within this very night
and if we wait any more, powerless and no longer can.
But Socrates, in every way believe me and do nothing else!

S: Oh my love Krito, your desired wishes so worthy if it were
upright in some vain; but if not, to be better by as much as
more difficult. Therefore we must look closely at whether
these things ought to be done or no, as I not at the moment
primarily, rather even am always of such a sort as to not be
persuaded by anyone else of my own so much as by the
argument whichever seems best to my reasoning. Really,
the reasons I was arguing before am I unable now to cast
off since this turn of chance became my way & seem pretty
near alike to me, but I am first their eldest representative
valuing them the same even before; & if we grasp no finer
reasoning in present circumstance, you better be sure I'll
never give way to you—many people's power'd not be greater
than the matters present, like it frightens us as children, send-
ing chains and threats of death and confiscating our things.
So how could we not examine them as moderately as
possible? If we take up then this logic first, you say it's
about opinions. Whether this is repeatedly well-stated
each time or no, must one apply their mind to these opin-
ions but not those? Or before it was well pronounced that
I must die, but now suddenly became clear that it was de-
cided differently for the sake of argument, and was actual-
ly childish foolishness? But I want to look closely at, Krito,
together with you, whether something appears different,
since I am so, or the same which we let go bye or believe
in it. And however it was reasoned, so I think, on each
occasion by the ones thinking they say something, just
like I'm making sense right now, that from the opinions
which people believe it is necessary that some are made
a great deal of, but the others no. Doesn't this, from the
Gods, oh Krito, seem to be well opined to you? Now
since you (as these are things human) are not at death's
door today, and the impending event misleads you not,
look here: Does it not appear sufficiently logical to you
not to pay people's opinions homage, every one, but rather
to some and not others? Not everyone's but some people's,
others' no? Wha' d' you say? Do these things seem said well?

K: Well, yes. S: Then honor the useful and not the lowly?
K: Yup. S: But are the useful ones not of the steadfastly
sensible, but worthless opinions of the senseless ones?
K: Why not? S: Oh come now: Why repeat such things
again? When a man trains physically, & really practices,
does he pay attention to everybody's praise and blame
and opinion, or only that one who happens to be a doctor
or trainer? K: Only one. S: Then ought he be afraid of
the reproaches and gladly accept compliments of that one
but not from the crowd? K: Clearly indeed. S: Then he
must act and practice and even eat & drink as the one
best deems—the one who stands listening and feels be-
side—more than with all the others so. K: That is thus.
S: So then if he disobeys the one and respects his judgment
not and compliments, but honors most people's arguments,
even of those who do not comprehend, is he convinced that
nothing's wrong? K: Well, how could he not? S: And what
kind of mistake is this and how far does it reach and what
about the words of the one who doesn't heed? K: Clearly
that's about the body: Since this does he destroy. S: A
reasoned reply. So in relation to the other facts, Krito, that
we not dismiss them all, and especially about just and un-
just people and things disgusting and gorgeous, both ones
excellent and bad about which our wills' design relate to
whether we must follow the majority's opinion, be even
afraid of it, or that of someone, if there is one, encouraging
whom it is necessary to feel shame towards and fear more
than all the rest; with which if we will go along, shall we
corrupt and slight the thing that was, is better as regards the
right and be ruined by the one that's wrong, or is this no-
thing at all? K: I, at least, think so-Socrates. S: Come on,
if we ruin the thing made better by what's healthy, but by
sickliness becomes worse, in believing the ones who profess
knowledge, is it then, for our part, worth living as it's being
destroyed? But is this thing a body or not? K: Yeah. S: So
we should live with a wretched and corrupted form? K: No
way. S: But must we continue to live with that thing when
it is corrupting through which the unjust deteriorates where-
as the right one does good to? Or do we consider worse that
which is of the body’s form at times is ours & in relation to
it there are both injustice and proper right? K: Not at all. S:
Well, more honorable? K: Totally. S: No then, we should
not care so very much what most people say about us in-
stead of that which is of one who knows about the right
ones and wrong, who is one understands the truth itself.
As at first in this way you make incorrect representation,
to start off by stating we must be concerned about what
most people think concerning the just and beautiful and
good, things and people opposite. "Oh but," might some-
one say, "many have the power to kill us." K: That’s al-
so pretty clear; Socrates, should you say that, you will
be telling truths. S: But my impresario: This is the argu-
ment which to me, at least, it seems we have just gone
straight throu’h yet to be alike even before; but look also
at this again to see whether it stays the same or no, since
living must not be made for the most, but rather with re-
spect to living well. K: But it’s the same. S: And the
good and noble and just life which is the same, does it
change or remain? K: It stays. S: So from agreements
must be examined whether I am justified in trying to go
away from here—though Athenians do not set free—or
it’s unjust; and if, on the one hand, it seems just, let’s try
it: But if on the other not, we let go. Now the consider-
ations you voice about spending money and reputation
and raising children, these as in truth are speculations
of those dying too easily and of those who would even
bring them back alive if they could sans any attention
to these of people in the crowd. But for us, since the con-
versation takes hold like this, there is no other thing which
must be examined besides what we are and have been
saying whether we will do things which are justified and
spend resources on those who purpose to lead me away
from here and offer thanks, ourselves even leading and
being led off at once, or truthfully will we pervert justice
should we do all these things; & if we are seen to commit
acts which are unjust, it is imperative not to take into ac-
count neither whether the ones standing their ground and
leading a peaceful life are to die nor suffer any other thing
at all instead of act unjust. K: I think you state things well
but see, what we’re doing… S: Let’s look, oh brave soul,
at together and if you have some way to respond to me
speaking, reply and I feel will believe you; but if not, stop
repeating right, my good sir!, away to me the same argument
as though I must go away from here because Athenians are
unwilling, since I make a big deal of urging that you do
these things, but not if you don’t want. And see for sure if
the beginning of the question is sufficiently stated for you
and I will try to answer the doubt how you’d think best.

K: Well I will try. S: Do we say we are absolutely, entire-
ly unwilling to commit an act of injustice, or that some-
thing wrong must be done in one way but not another?
Or is acting unjustly in no way useful or good, as we so
often in time gone past agreed? Or have all those agree-
ments made before in these few days been overturned
and old, Krito, men conversing for such a long time so
eagerly with each other have not noticed that we are our-
selves no different than children? Or is it, after all, just
as was agreed on by us then, whether a lot of people
say so or not; and if we must still undergo things even
more difficult, or even not so tough, does injustice, for
all that, still happen to be evil and shameful to the one
acting unjustly in every way? Do we agree or not? K:
We do. S: So there is no need at all to do or be wrong?
K: Not at all. S: Then must the one who’s being wrong-
ed commit no injustice in return (not like so many think),
since it is necessary to never be unjust? K: It seems no.
S: But, what?! Ought one do something wrong, Krito,
or no? K: It is absolutely necessary to not, Socrates.
S: & why? Someone being mistreated who in return
does something bad, as so many say is just, is justified
or wrong? K: Completely unjust. S: But surely treat-
ing people badly is no different than the’ being unjust.
K: Words you say are true. S: Therefore it is necessary that
one neither return wrong or act badly towards another
person, nor should they suffer anything from others. And
Krito, look assuming you agree with these so as not to
contradict yourself—for you know that things seem right to
a certain few and will be assumed.—so for those who have
decided this as well, also for those not, there will be no
agreement for these held in common; instead, they are ob-
liged to agree with one another when they see each other's
intentions. Then you also look at whether really agree and
it seems best to you as well and let's begin planning from
here how…it is never o.k. to do wrong nor be unjust nor
be wrong in return, not even if being treated viley to fight
off the one who is doing evil in return, or do you disagree
and not consider this a common point of origin? Because
for a while even up to now I've had my mind made up, but
if you have come to a different conclusion, tell me to show
what it is. And if you're staying with the same as before,
listen to what's next. K: But I do insist and it seems right
to me; but speak. S: I say truly again what's next, but more
of a question: Whether what someone agrees as is just must
be done to one or should it be feigned as true? K: Be done.

S: From that, look into this: Going from there, but if we trust in
the city-state, do we either treat certain people badly (and
those who deserve the worst) or no? K: I can not respond,
Socrates, to what you ask; I have no idea. S: But look here.
If we are about to either run off from here or whatever this
ought be called, the laws came understanding in common
our state and said, "Tell me, oh Socrates, what you think you
are doing? Other than using this act to intend and trying to
abolish we who are the laws, habits and the entire city or
state just to destroy yourself? Or does it seem impossible
that that city still exist and has yet to have been overthrown?
The one in which judgments would had occurred should
not be strong enough at all, instead were worthless from per-
sonal gain and seduced by corruption?" What would we say
Krito, to these and such other statements? A person wo-
uld have to be a lot of things; that, and especially a good
speaker to talk about this thing being destroyed, the law
which set-up the judgments considered best to have authority
over all. Or do we tell them, ‘But the city/state did wrong
to us and did not judge just our cause?’ That or, what do
we say? K: By God, this—Socrates! S: Then what should
the laws say?, "Um, Socrates: Hadn’t we agreed, both us
and you, upon these thing already? But to abide by the
decisions which the people’s government think just?"
Then if we were amazed that they were speaking, they
might respond, "Oh Socrates, don’t be shocked at what
is being argued here, answer instead. Since it has been
your habit to use questioning and also be answered.
Now come, why are you trying to ruin us and the state by
making allegations? Did we not first off give place to your
birth, and weren’t we there when your father took your
mom and gave you life? So tell those of our laws which
concern marriages how you accuse them not being right."
I would say, ‘I don’t blame.’ "What about to the ones
which concern encouraging production and child-rearing
both in which you yourself were also raised? Or didn’t
the laws which have been provided for this properly
assign your father the task of training you in harmony
and athletics?" ‘They were,’ I would say, ‘fine.’ "Well,
since you became and grew up and were raised, could
you tell us to start how you were not both our baby and
slave, either yourself or ancestors? And if this thing real-
ly is so, then do you think what is just equally for you &
us, even that if we tried to make such things, you would
think that doing these in opposition would be ’s just? Or
is justice not equally right to your father and master, if
one you happen to have, so what you experience you do
not recompense and hearing evil you not respond and be-
ing struck, strike back not and a lot of other such acts;
but to your fatherland and its laws it will be so in your
power that if we try to destroy you because we think it
just, and you also will try to destroy we—the laws—&
your country so far as you are able in return will you al-
so say that if you do this you are practicing justice, as
in truth you care about what's virtuous? Or are you so
wise it has escaped you that your beloved country is a
thing more honorable than both mother & father and y-
our other relatives all, it is more solemn and holy held
in greater esteem even by gods and people who under-
stand and that to be honored it is needed more to submit
and serve your father's land than your dad, to either be-
lieve or do what it demands and suffer if an order is given
to someone keeping the peace to feel—even should one
be stricken and with fear—and if you undertake the goal
of wounding or murdering in war these things have to be
done and thus is this just and one must not yield, cannot
withdraw or give up the task, but even in war and in court
and everywhere you need to do what your city and the
country command or convince it of what justice is; but
to dishonor mother and father is outrage to god and still
much worse to violate country." What will we say to
this, Krito? That the laws speak truths or no? K: Looks
like it to me. S: "But now look Socrates," perhaps the laws
would say, "if we are telling you these things are true &
that what you are trying to make us do is wrong which
you are doing right now because we have made, raised,
taught & trained, handed you all of what we are for your
good and that of all the others citizens, still do we publicly
proclaim by having made opportunity available for any
willing Athenian, since when he has been judged worthy
and seen matters in the city/state and that we are the laws
(and finds us displeasing to him) is he able to take his own
and go wherever he please. And no one of our laws is in the
way or prevents: If one of you wants to go to a foreign settle-
ment should both we and the constitution displease, even if
you moved here from somewhere else as a settler and you
wish to go off to that place, you may take your things and
leave. But if one of you stays knowing how we justify our
judgments and govern the city in other ways, we immediate-
ly say this agreement has been made de facto with us; and if
we urge doing these things and he does not obey, we say he
is three ways wrong: He does not believe his parents and
those who raised him and that he agreed to obey us and in
misbelieving does not persuade us whether we are doing
something wrong, even though we proposed and politely
arranged that he do what we command, but established
either of two ways—convince us or act—but neither he does.
We state that even you are, Socrates, subject to these charges
if you actually do what you have in mind and you not least
among the Athenians, but most out of them." Then if I were
to say, ‘For what reason, why?’ perhaps they would say,
quite justifiably in castigation, that of the Athenians in par-
ticular, I happen to have consented to this agreement most.
But they would say, "Whoa Socrates, we have a lot of
evidence to prove that you found both us and the republic
good; now, didn’t you ever live in it at home above the
other Athenians all? Must have been pretty pleasing to you;
did not even ever come outside of the city to see a festival,
except that one time to the Isthmian games; did not go any-
where to any other place except for marching off to be a
soldier? You did not make a single trip abroad at any time
like the other people, no longing for another city, no wish
to know about other laws took you; rather good enough
to you were we and the state? So that you chose to accept
us and agreed to act a citizen according to us, even went so
far as to have children believing the city-state was good
for you. In fact even at your trial was it still within your
power to propose exile if you wanted, and what you are
attempting now that the city does not consent to you could
have done when it was willing to. But you back then were
being smart like you wouldn't have to unless it be necessary
to but chose as if giving up to die rather than flee; and now
you are not ashamed of those arguments, you do not respect
we who are the laws by trying to destroy and practice the
very acts which the most lowly slave would perform by
trying to run away contrary to the terms of the contracts
according to which you agreed you are a citizen. By all
means first answer us this: Do we tell the truth in arguing
that you have agreed to behave like a citizen as we say in
fact but not in thought or are we wrong?" What ought we
say to this, Krito? Except that we agree. K: Absolutely
Socrates. S: "So then how else," they’d say, "are you
transgressing the compacts and agreements which you
have made with us ourselves? You did not have to agree,
were not deceived, weren't forced to decide rather hastily;
but in all the seventy years you've had to go away, if we
were so often unpleasant to you, judgments were not seen
by you as agreements. But you did not choose Sparta or
Crete for your own or any other of the Greek cities, or e’en
foreign states; you went away from it still less than the
cripples and blind, others severely disabled; so obviously
that the state and its laws were repeatedly acceptable to you,
if not more so than to the other Athenians is clear; for how
could someone find a city pleasing without its laws as
custom? But now you don't abide by the agreements which
were made? Maybe you could convince us, Socrates; and
you won't be a laughing-stock when you'll have departed
from the city. Now look carefully whether you overstep
your bounds and do what is good as relates to yourself or
those who are useful to you. That your friends are going to
risk their lives and even go into exile and lay wastage of
the city or destroy its livelihood is pretty obvious; but if
you yourself first-off went to places which were so alike
in some way, like Thebes or Megara—since they would
both consider you well—will you go as an enemy, Socrates,
to the constitutionality of these states and just as many
people are troubled about their own will despise as if think-
ing you a corrupter of the customary laws and you were
convicted of such penalty from the judges that it seem the
price just is to pay since whoever is a filthy breaker of the
law would they probably consider one who would corrupt
the young and swindle ignorant folks; thus whether you
flee the cities which think of you best and their most
eminent, orderly citizens. And for your doing this your life
is suddenly still worthwhile? Or you'll approach them & be
put to shame in conversations with respect to what reasons,
Socrates? The ones you used here, about how virtue and just-
ice are most worthy for human beings and their habits and
the laws? And don't you think Socrates' busy-ness will seem
pretty unseemly? Even you must know that. But from these
cities disagreeable you will go to Thessaly to see Krito's
friends as a guest? And there surely are full disorder and im-
moral acts and maybe they would hear you sweetly as you
repeat ridiculous about running off away from prison, put
one over on them or how you saved your skin or some other
things such as fugitives are in the habit of arming themselves
with dressing up and how you sold out to buy your scheme;
and since you are old man—such with tiny time left in life
as it appears—you dare so laughably desirous to live
violating the most powerful laws are not one to talk? Perhaps
you'd not hurt some; but if no, will hear a lot of unworthy
things about your self. You will live to undermine everyone
and be a slave? Doing nothing but going off to live as if every-
thing is well in Thessaly, like you had packed up and moved
over a meal to dine in Thessaly? These shall be your justifi-
cation for justice and any, some other virtue to us? But do
you really want to live on for the children, in order to raise
them and teach? Why? After you take them to Thessaly, will
you feed and train, make then foreigners so you may enjoy
this benefit as well? Either this is a 'no' and being nourished
here while you live they will be better raised and receive
education, but only if you are here for them? Because your
friends' service will care for them. Or is it that should you
go off to live in Thessaly, they'll care for them, but if you
move down to Hades' home they shall not take care? Even
as if there were to be from them some sort of help, it is of
these saying they are friends—you must at least do think.

"Oh but Socrates, if you believe we are like your parents,
don’t make your kids a bigger deal, do not place living
life or any thing else before justice so that when you go
to the afterlife you may have all these statements in your
defense for the rulers there, because to you it does not
seem here that, if you do these things, it is better or more
just or holier, neither to anyone of your family nor friends,
and it won’t be any better when you have gotten there;
but right now if you have been treated wrong, leave: If
you go away you are not leaving the laws, just us—but
rather from humankind; and if you do depart so shameful-
ly in requiting injustice with like by contriving unjustness
in return, you sidestep your own agreements and contracts
contrary to us and, through acting wrong, do injury to
those one least ought to harm—yourself, friends, country
and us—we’ll be angry at you if still alive and our bro-
thers there the Laws in Hades’ will not receive you very
patiently in kind, for they’ll ’ve known how you tried to
annihilate us for your own share so don’t let Krito con-
vince you to do what he argues more than what we do."

Know well my dear companion Krito, that these are what
I believe I hear just like the circus acrobats think they still
hear the reed-flutes when performances are done, and the
sound of these arguments rings thundering and makes me
unable to hear anything else; but know as many things as
currently seem right to me, if you speak against them, are
you speaking to no end; but still if you think you’ve some
thing more to add, speak. K: But Socrates, I can’t talk!

S: Then let go, oh Krito, and let us act like this since thus
as the way by which the god indicates he leads is guide.