Chapter II: Part 2

22. But why do some delight to spend so long a time with me? Ye have heard, O Athenians. I have told you the whole truth, that they delight to hear those closely questioned who think that they are wise but are not: for this is by no means disagreeable. But this duty, as I say, has been enjoined me by the deity, by oracles, by dreams, and by every mode by which any other divine decree has ever enjoined any thing to man to do. These things, O Athenians, are both true, and easily confuted if not true. For if I am now corrupting some of the youths, and have already corrupted others, it were fitting, surely, that if any of them, having become advanced in life, had discovered that I gave them bad advice when they were young, they should now rise up against me, accuse me, and have me punished; or if they were themselves unwilling to do this, some of their kindred, their fathers, or brothers, or other relatives, if their kinsmen have ever sustained any damage from me, should now call it to mind. Many of them however are here present, whom I see: first, Crito, my contemporary and fellow-burgher, father of this Critobulus; then, Lysanias of Sphettus, father of this Æschines; again, Antiphon of Cephisus, father of Epigenes; there are those others too, whose brothers maintained the same intimacy with me, namely, Nicostratus, son of Theosdotidus, brother of Theodotus—Theodotus indeed is dead, so that he could not deprecate his brother’s proceedings, and Paralus here, son of Demodocus, whose brother was Theages; and Adimantus son of Ariston, whose brother is this Plato; and Æantodorus, whose brother is this Apollodorus. I could also mention many others to you, some one of whom certainly Melitus ought to have adduced in his speech as a witness. If however he then forgot to do so, let him now adduce them, I give him leave to do so, and let him say it, if he has any thing of the kind to allege. But quite contrary to this, you will find, O Athenians, all ready to assist me, who have corrupted and injured their relatives, as Melitus and Anytus say. For those who have been themselves corrupted might perhaps have some reason for assisting me; but those who have not been corrupted, men now advanced in life, their relatives, what other reason can they have for assisting me, except that right and just one, that they know that Melitus speaks falsely, and that I speak the truth.

23. Well then, Athenians; these are pretty much the things I have to say in my defence, and others perhaps of the same kind. Perhaps, however, some among you will be indignant on recollecting his own case, if he, when engaged in a cause far less than this, implored and besought the judges with many tears, bringing forward his children in order that he might excite their utmost compassion, and many others of his relatives and friends, whereas I do none of these things, although I may appear to be incurring the extremity of danger. Perhaps, therefore, some one, taking notice of this, may become more determined against me, and, being enraged at this very conduct of mine, may give his vote under the influence of anger. If then any one of you is thus affected,—I do not however suppose that there is,—but if there should be, I think I may reasonably say to him; “I too, O best of men, have relatives; for to make use of that saying of Homer, I am not sprung from an oak, nor from a rock, but from men, so that I too, O Athenians, have relatives, and three sons, one now grown up, and two boys: I shall not however bring any one of them forward and implore you to acquit me. Why then shall I not do this? Not from contumacy, O Athenians, nor disrespect towards you. Whether or not I am undaunted at the prospect of death, is another question, but out of regard to my own character, and yours, and that of the whole city, it does not appear to me to be honourable that I should do any thing of this kind at my age, and with the reputation I have, whether true or false. For it is commonly agreed that Socrates in some respects excels the generality of men. If, then, those among you who appear to excel either in wisdom, or fortitude, or any other virtue whatsoever, should act in such a manner as I have often seen some when they have been brought to trial, it would be shameful, who appearing indeed to be something, have conducted themselves in a surprising manner, as thinking they should suffer something dreadful by dying, and as if they would be immortal if you did not put them to death. Such men appear to me to bring disgrace on the city, so that any stranger might suppose that such of the Athenians as excel in virtue, and whom they themselves choose in preference to themselves for magistracies and other honours, are in no respect superior to women. For these things, O Athenians, neither ought we to do who have attained to any height of reputation, nor, should we do them, ought you to suffer us; but you should make this manifest, that you will much rather condemn him who introduces these piteous dramas, and makes the city ridiculous, than him who quietly awaits your decision.”

24. But reputation apart, O Athenians, it does not appear to me to be right to entreat a judge, or to escape by entreaty, but one ought to inform and persuade him. For a judge does not sit for the purpose of administering justice out of favour, but that he may judge rightly, and he is sworn not to shew favour to whom he pleases, but that he will decide according to the laws. It is therefore right that neither should we accustom you, nor should you accustom yourselves to violate your oaths; for in so doing neither of us would act righteously. Think not then, O Athenians, that I ought to adopt such a course towards you as I neither consider honourable, nor just, nor holy, as well, by Jupiter, on any other occasion, and now especially when I am accused of impiety by this Melitus. For clearly, if I should persuade you, and by my entreaties should put a constraint on you who are bound by an oath, I should teach you to think that there are no gods, and in reality, while making my defence, should accuse myself of not believing in the gods. This, however, is far from being the case: for I believe, O Athenians, as none of my accusers do, and I leave it to you and to the deity to judge concerning me in such way as will be best both for me and for you.

[Socrates here concludes his defence, and the votes being taken, he is declared guilty by a majority of voices. He thereupon resumes his address.]

25. That I should not be grieved, O Athenians, at what has happened, namely, that you have condemned me, as well many other circumstances concur in bringing to pass, and moreover this, that what has happened has not happened contrary to my expectation; but I much rather wonder at the number of votes on either side. For I did not expect that I should be condemned by so small a number, but by a large majority; but now, as it seems, if only three more votes had changed sides, I should have been acquitted. As far as Melitus is concerned, as it appears to me, I have been already acquitted, and not only have I been acquitted, but it is clear to every one that had not Anytus and Lycon come forward to accuse me, he would have been fined a thousand drachmas, for not having obtained a fifth part of the votes.

26. The man then awards me the penalty of death. Well. But what shall I, on my part, O Athenians, award myself? Is it not clear that it will be such as I deserve? What then is that? do I deserve to suffer or to pay a fine, for that I have purposely during my life not remained quiet, but neglecting what most men seek after, money-making, domestic concerns, military command, popular oratory, and moreover all the magistracies, conspiracies and cabals that are met with in the city, thinking that I was in reality too upright a man to be safe if I took part in such things, I therefore did not apply myself to those pursuits, by attending to which I should have been of no service either to you or to myself; but in order to confer the greatest benefit on each of you privately, as I affirm, I thereupon applied myself to that object, endeavouring to persuade every one of you, not to take any care of his own affairs, before he had taken care of himself, in what way he may become the best and wisest, nor of the affairs of the city before he took care of the city itself; and that he should attend to other things in the same manner. What treatment then do I deserve, seeing I am such a man? Some reward, O Athenians, if at least I am to be estimated according to my real deserts; and moreover such a reward as would be suitable to me. What then is suitable to a poor man, a benefactor, and who has need of leisure in order to give you good advice? There is nothing so suitable, O Athenians, as that such a man should be maintained in the Prytaneum, and this much more than if one of you had been victorious at the Olympic games in a horse race, or in the two or four-horsed chariot race: for such a one makes you appear to be happy, but I, to be so: and he does not need support, but I do. If, therefore, I must award a sentence according to my just deserts, I award this, maintenance in the Prytaneum.

27. Perhaps, however, in speaking to you thus, I appear to you to speak in the same presumptuous manner as I did respecting commiseration and entreaties: but such is not the case, O Athenians, it is rather this. I am persuaded that I never designedly injured any man, though I cannot persuade you of this, for we have conversed with each other but for a short time. For if there was the same law with you as with other men, that in capital cases the trial should last not only one day but many, I think you would be persuaded; but it is not easy in a short time to do away with great calumnies. Being persuaded then that I have injured no one, I am far from intending to injure myself, and of pronouncing against myself that I am deserving of punishment, and from awarding myself any thing of the kind. Through fear of what? lest I should suffer that which Melitus awards me, of which I say I know not whether it be good or evil? instead of this, shall I choose what I well know to be evil, and award that? Shall I choose imprisonment? And why should I live in prison, a slave to the established magistracy, the Eleven? Shall I choose a fine, and to be imprisoned until I have paid it? But this is the same as that which I just now mentioned, for I have not money to pay it. Shall I then award myself exile? For perhaps you would consent to this award. I should indeed be very fond of life, O Athenians, if I were so devoid of reason as not to be able to reflect that you, who are my fellow citizens, have been unable to endure my manner of life and discourses, but they have become so burdensome and odious to you, that you now seek to be rid of them: others however will easily bear them: far from it, O Athenians. A fine life it would be for me at my age to go out wandering and driven from city to city, and so to live. For I well know that, wherever I may go, the youth will listen to me when I speak, as they do here. And if I repulse them, they will themselves drive me out, persuading the elders; and if I do not repulse them, their fathers and kindred will banish me on their account.

28. Perhaps however some one will say, Can you not, Socrates, when you have gone from us, live a silent and quiet life? This is the most difficult thing of all to persuade some of you. For if I say that that would be to disobey the deity, and that therefore it is impossible for me to live quietly, you would not believe me, thinking I spoke ironically. If, on the other hand, I say that this is the greatest good to man, to discourse daily on virtue, and other things which you have heard me discussing, examining both myself and others, but that a life without investigation is not worth living for, still less would you believe me if I said this. Such however is the case, as I affirm, O Athenians, though it is not easy to persuade you. And at the same time I am not accustomed to think myself deserving of any ill. If indeed I were rich, I would amerce myself in such a sum as I should be able to pay; for then I should have suffered no harm, but now—for I cannot, unless you are willing to amerce me in such a sum as I am able to pay. But perhaps I could pay you a mina of silver: in that sum then I amerce myself. But Plato here, O Athenians, and Crito, Critobulus, and Apollodorus bid me amerce myself in thirty minæ, and they offer to be sureties. I amerce myself then to you in that sum; and they will be sufficient sureties for the money.

[The judges now proceeded to pass the sentence, and condemned Socrates to death; whereupon he continued:]

29. For the sake of no long space of time, O Athenians, you will incur the character and reproach at the hands of those who wish to defame the city, of having put that wise man, Socrates, to death. For those who wish to defame you will assert that I am wise, though I am not. If, then, you had waited for a short time, this would have happened of its own accord; for observe my age, that it is far advanced in life, and near death. But I say this not to you all, but to those only who have condemned me to die. And I say this too to the same persons. Perhaps you think, O Athenians, that I have been convicted through the want of arguments, by which I might have persuaded you, had I thought it right to do and say any thing, so that I might escape punishment. Far otherwise: I have been convicted through want indeed, yet not of arguments, but of audacity and impudence, and of the inclination to say such things to you as would have been most agreeable for you to hear, had I lamented and bewailed and done and said many other things unworthy of me, as I affirm, but such as you are accustomed to hear from others. But neither did I then think that I ought, for the sake of avoiding danger, to do any thing unworthy of a freeman, nor do I now repent of having so defended myself; but I should much rather choose to die, having so defended myself, than to live in that way. For neither in a trial nor in battle, is it right that I or any one else should employ every possible means whereby he may avoid death; for in battle it is frequently evident that a man might escape death by laying down his arms, and throwing himself on the mercy of his pursuers. And there are many other devices in every danger, by which to avoid death, if a man dares to do and say every thing. But this is not difficult, O Athenians, to escape death, but it is much more difficult to avoid depravity, for it runs swifter than death. And now I, being slow and aged, am overtaken by the slower of the two; but my accusers, being strong and active, have been overtaken by the swifter, wickedness. And now I depart, condemned by you to death; but they condemned by truth, as guilty of iniquity and injustice: and I abide my sentence and so do they. These things, perhaps, ought so to be, and I think that they are for the best.

30. In the next place, I desire to predict to you who have condemned me, what will be your fate: for I am now in that condition in which men most frequently prophecy, namely, when they are about to die. I say then to you, O Athenians, who have condemned me to death, that immediately after my death a punishment will overtake you, far more severe, by Jupiter, than that which you have inflicted on me. For you have done this, thinking you should be freed from the necessity of giving an account of your life. The very contrary however, as I affirm, will happen to you. Your accusers will be more numerous, whom I have now restrained, though you did not perceive it; and they will be more severe, inasmuch as they are younger, and you will be more indignant. For, if you think that by putting men to death you will restrain any one from upbraiding you because you do not live well, you are much mistaken; for this method of escape is neither possible nor honourable, but that other is most honourable and most easy, not to put a check upon others, but for a man to take heed to himself, how he may be most perfect. Having predicted thus much to those of you who have condemned me, I take my leave of you.

31. But with you who have voted for my acquittal, I would gladly hold converse on what has now taken place, while the magistrates are busy and I am not yet carried to the place where I must die. Stay with me then, so long, O Athenians, for nothing hinders our conversing with each other, whilst we are permitted to do so; for I wish to make known to you, as being my friends, the meaning of that which has just now befallen me. To me then, O my judges,—and in calling you judges I call you rightly,—a strange thing has happened. For the wonted prophetic voice of my guardian deity, on every former occasion even in the most trifling affairs opposed me, if I was about to do any thing wrong; but now, that has befallen me which ye yourselves behold, and which any one would think and which is supposed to be the extremity of evil, yet neither when I departed from home in the morning did the warning of the god oppose me, nor when I came up here to the place of trial, nor in my address when I was about to say any thing; yet on other occasions it has frequently restrained me in the midst of speaking. But now, it has never throughout this proceeding opposed me, either in what I did or said. What then do I suppose to be the cause of this? I will tell you: what has befallen me appears to be a blessing; and it is impossible that we think rightly who suppose that death is an evil. A great proof of this to me is the fact that it is impossible but that the accustomed signal should have opposed me, unless I had been about to meet with some good.

32. Moreover we may hence conclude that there is great hope that death is a blessing. For to die is one of two things: for either the dead may be annihilated and have no sensation of any thing whatever; or, as it is said, there is a certain change and passage of the soul from one place to another. And if it is a privation of all sensation, as it were a sleep in which the sleeper has no dream, death would be a wonderful gain. For I think that if any one, having selected a night, in which he slept so soundly as not to have had a dream, and having compared this night with all the other nights and days of his life, should be required on consideration to say how many days and nights he had passed better and more pleasantly than this night throughout his life, I think that not only a private person, but even the great king himself would find them easy to number in comparison with other days and nights. If, therefore, death is a thing of this kind, I say it is a gain; for thus all futurity appears to be nothing more than one night. But if, on the other hand, death is a removal from hence to another place, and what is said be true, that all the dead are there, what greater blessing can there be than this, my judges? For if, on arriving at Hades, released from these who pretend to be judges, one shall find those who are true judges, and who are said to judge there, Minos and Rhadamanthus, Æacus and Triptolemus, and such others of the demigods as were just during their own life, would this be a sad removal? At what price would you not estimate a conference with Orpheus and Musæus, Hesiod and Homer? I indeed should be willing to die often, if this be true. For to me the sojourn there would be admirable, when I should meet with Palamedes, and Ajax son of Telamon, and any other of the ancients who has died by an unjust sentence. The comparing my sufferings with theirs would, I think, be no unpleasing occupation. But the greatest pleasure would be to spend my time in questioning and examining the people there as I have done those here, and discovering who among them is wise, and who fancies himself to be so but is not. At what price, my judges, would not any one estimate the opportunity of questioning him who led that mighty army against Troy, or Ulysses, or Sisyphus, or ten thousand others, whom one might mention, both men and women? with whom to converse and associate, and to question them, would be an inconceivable happiness. Surely for that the judges there do not condemn to death; for in other respects those who live there are more happy than those that are here, and are henceforth immortal, if at least what is said be true.

33. You, therefore, O my judges, ought to entertain good hopes with respect to death, and to meditate on this one truth, that to a good man nothing is evil, neither while living nor when dead, nor are his concerns neglected by the gods. And what has befallen me is not the effect of chance; but this is clear to me, that now to die, and be freed from my cares, is better for me. On this account the warning in no way turned me aside; and I bear no resentment towards those who condemned me, or against my accusers, although they did not condemn and accuse me with this intention, but thinking to injure me: in this they deserve to be blamed.

Thus much however I beg of them. Punish my sons, when they grow up, O judges, paining them as I have pained you, if they appear to you to care for riches or any thing else before virtue, and if they think themselves to be something when they are nothing, reproach them as I have done you, for not attending to what they ought, and for conceiving themselves to be something when they are worth nothing. If ye do this, both I and my sons shall have met with just treatment at your hands.

But it is now time to depart,—for me to die, for you to live. But which of us is going to a better state is unknown to every one but God.

INTRODUCTION TO THE CRITO.

It has been remarked by Stallbaum that Plato had a twofold design in this Dialogue; one, and that the primary one, to free Socrates from the imputation of having attempted to corrupt the Athenian youth; the other, to establish the principle that under all circumstances it is the duty of a good citizen to obey the laws of his country. These two points, however, are so closely interwoven with each other, that the general principle appears only to be illustrated by the example of Socrates.

Crito was one of those friends of Socrates who had been present at his trial and had offered to assist in paying a fine, had a fine been imposed instead of the sentence of death. He appears to have frequently visited his friend in prison after his condemnation, and now, having obtained access to his cell very early in the morning, finds him composed in a quiet sleep. He brings intelligence that the ship, the arrival of which would be the signal for his death on the following day, is expected to arrive forthwith, and takes occasion to entreat Socrates to make his escape, the means of which were already prepared. Socrates thereupon, having promised to follow the advice of Crito, if after the matter had been fully discussed it should appear to be right to do so, proposes to consider the duty of a citizen towards his country, and having established the divine principle, that it is wrong to return evil for evil, goes on to shew that the obligations of a citizen to his country are even more binding than those of a child to its parent or a slave to his master, and that therefore it is his duty to obey the established laws, at whatever cost to himself.

At length Crito admits that he has no answer to make, and Socrates resolves to submit himself to the will of Providence.

CRITO;

OR

THE DUTY OF A CITIZEN.

-------

SOCRATES, CRITO.

_Socr._ Why have you come at this hour, Crito? Is it not very early?

_Cri._ It is.

_Socr._ About what time?

_Cri._ Scarce day-break.

_Socr._ I wonder how the keeper of the prison came to admit you.

_Cri._ He is familiar with me, Socrates, from my having frequently come hither; and he is under some obligations to me.

_Socr._ Have you just now come, or some time since?

_Cri._ A considerable time since.

_Socr._ Why then did you not wake me at once, instead of sitting down by me in silence?

_Cri._ By Jupiter, Socrates, I should not myself like to be so long awake and in such affliction. But I have been for some time wondering at you, perceiving how sweetly you slept; and I purposely did not awake you, that you might pass your time as pleasantly as possible. And indeed I have often before throughout your whole life considered you happy in your disposition, but far more so in the present calamity, seeing how easily and meekly you bear it.

_Socr._ However, Crito, it would be disconsonant for a man at my time of life to repine because he must needs die.

_Cri._ But others, Socrates, at your age have been involved in similar calamities, yet their age has not hindered their repining at their present fortune.

_Socr._ So it is. But why did you come so early?

_Cri._ Bringing sad tidings, Socrates; not sad to you, as it appears, but to me and all your friends sad and heavy; and which I, I think, shall bear worst of all.

_Socr._ What tidings? Has the ship[6] arrived from Delos, on the arrival of which I must die?

-----

Footnote 6:

See the Phædo, s. 1.

-----

_Cri._ It has not yet arrived; but it appears to me that it will come to-day, from what certain persons report who have come from Sunium[7], and left it there. It is clear, therefore, from these messengers, that it will come to-day, and consequently it will be necessary, Socrates, for you to die to-morrow.

-----

Footnote 7:

A promontory at the southern extremity of Attica.

-----

2. _Socr._ But with good fortune, Crito: and if so it please the gods, so be it. I do not think, however, that it will come to-day.

_Cri._ Whence do you form this conjecture?

_Socr._ I will tell you. I must die on the day after that on which the ship arrives.

_Cri._ So they say[8] who have the control of these things.

-----

Footnote 8:

The Eleven.

-----

_Socr._ I do not think, then, that it will come to-day, but to-morrow. I conjecture this from a dream which I had this very night, not long ago; and you seem very opportunely to have refrained from waking me.

_Cri._ But what was this dream?

_Socr._ A beautiful and majestic woman, clad in white garments, seemed to approach me, and to call to me and say, “Socrates, three days hence you will reach fertile Phthia[9].”

-----

Footnote 9:

See Homer’s Iliad, l. ix. v. 363.

-----

_Cri._ What a strange dream, Socrates!

_Socr._ Very clear, however, as it appears to me, Crito.

3. _Cri._ Very much so, as it seems. But, my dear Socrates, even now be persuaded by me, and save yourself. For, if you die, not only a single calamity will befal me, but besides being deprived of such a friend as I shall never meet with again, I shall also appear to many who do not know you and me well, when I might have saved you, had I been willing to spend my money, to have neglected to do so. And what character can be more disgraceful than this to appear to value one’s riches more than one’s friends? For the generality of men will not be persuaded that you were unwilling to depart hence, when we urged you to it.

_Socr._ But why, my dear Crito, should we care so much for the opinion of the many? For the most worthy men, whom we ought rather to regard, will think that matters have transpired as they really have.

_Cri._ Yet you see, Socrates, that it is necessary to attend to the opinion of the many. For the very circumstances of the present case shew that the multitude are able to effect not only the smallest evils, but even the greatest, if any one is calumniated to them.

_Socr._ Would, O Crito, that the multitude could effect the greatest evils, that they might also effect the greatest good, for then it would be well. But now they can do neither; for they can neither make a man wise, nor foolish; but they do whatever chances.

4. _Cri._ So let it be then. But answer me this, Socrates; are you not anxious for me and other friends, lest, if you should escape from hence, informers should give us trouble, as having secretly carried you off, and so we should be compelled either to lose all our property, or a very large sum, or to suffer something else beside this? For, if you fear any thing of the kind, dismiss your fears. For we are justified in running this risk to save you, and, if need be, even a greater than this. But be persuaded by me, and do not refuse.

_Socr._ I am anxious about this, Crito, and about many other things.

_Cri._ Do not fear this, however; for the sum is not large on receipt of which certain persons are willing to save you, and take you hence. In the next place, do you not see how cheap these informers are, so that there would be no need of a large sum for them? My fortune is at your service, sufficient, I think, for the purpose: then if, out of regard to me, you do not think right to spend my money, these strangers here are ready to spend theirs. One of them, Simmias the Theban, has brought with him a sufficient sum for the very purpose. Cebes, too, is ready, and very many others. So that, as I said, do not through fears of this kind hesitate to save yourself, nor let what you said in court give you any trouble, that if you went from hence you would not know what to do with yourself. For in many places, and wherever you go, men will love you: and if you are disposed to go to Thessaly, I have friends there who will esteem you very highly, and will ensure your safety, so that no one in Thessaly will molest you.

5. Moreover, Socrates, you do not appear to me to pursue a just course in giving yourself up when you might be saved; and you press on the very results with respect to yourself which your enemies would press and have pressed in their anxiety to destroy you. Besides this, too, you appear to me to betray your own sons, whom, when it is in your power to rear and educate them, you will abandon, and, as far as you are concerned, they will meet with such a fate as chance brings them, and, as is probable, they will meet with such things as orphans are wont to experience in a state of orphanage. Surely one ought not to have children, or one should go through the toil of rearing and instructing them. But you appear to me to have chosen the most indolent course; though you ought to have chosen such a course as a good and brave man would have done, since you profess to have made virtue your study through the whole of your life; so that I am ashamed both for you and for us who are your friends, lest this whole affair of yours should seem to be the effect of cowardice on our part; your appearing to stand your trial in the court, since you appeared when it was in your power not to have done so, the very manner in which the trial was conducted, and this last circumstance, as it were a ridiculous consummation of the whole business, your appearing to have escaped from us through our indolence and cowardice, who did not save you, nor did you save yourself, when it was practicable and possible, had we but exerted ourselves a little. Think of these things, therefore, Socrates, and beware, lest, besides the evil _that will result_, they be disgraceful both to you and to us; advise then with yourself, though indeed there is no longer time for advising, your resolve should be already made. And there is but one plan; for in the following night the whole must be accomplished. If we delay, it will be impossible and no longer practicable. By all means, therefore, Socrates, be persuaded by me, and on no account refuse.

6. _Socr._ My dear Crito, your zeal would be very commendable were it united with right principle; otherwise, by how much the more earnest it is, by so much is it the more sad. We must consider, therefore, whether this plan should be adopted or not. For I not now only, but always, am a person who will obey nothing within me but reason, according as it appears to me on mature deliberation to be best. And the reasons, which I formerly professed, I cannot now reject, because this misfortune \.bn 035.png has befallen me; but they appear to me in much the same light, and I respect and honour them as before; so that if we are unable to adduce any better at the present time, be assured that I shall not give in to you, even though the power of the multitude should endeavour to terrify us like children, by threatening more than it does now, bonds and death, and confiscation of property. How, therefore, may we consider the matter most conveniently? First of all, if we recur to the argument which you used about opinions, whether on former occasions it was rightly resolved or not, that we ought to pay attention to some opinions, and to others not; or whether, before it was necessary that I should die, it was rightly resolved, but now it has become clear that it was said idly for argument’s sake, though in reality it was merely jest and trifling. I desire then, Crito, to consider, in common with you, whether it will appear to me in a different light now that I am in this condition, or the same, and whether we shall give it up or yield to it. It was said, I think, on former occasions, by those who were thought to speak seriously, as I just now observed, that of the opinions which men entertain some should be very highly esteemed and others not. By the gods, Crito, does not this appear to you to be well said? For you, in all human probability, are out of all danger of dying to-morrow, and the present calamity will not lead your judgment astray. Consider then: does it not appear to you to have been rightly settled, that we ought not to respect all the opinions of men, but some we should and others not? Nor yet the opinions of all men, but of some we should and of others not? What say you? Is not this rightly resolved?

_Cri._ It is.

_Socr._ Therefore, we should respect the good but not the bad?

_Cri._ Yes.

_Socr._ And are not the good those of the wise, and the bad those of the foolish?

_Cri._ How can it be otherwise?

7. _Socr._ Come then, how again were the following points settled? Does a man who practises gymnastic exercises, and applies himself to them, pay attention to the praise and censure and opinion of every one, or of that one man only who happens to be a physician or teacher of the exercises?

_Cri._ Of that one only.

_Socr._ He ought, therefore, to fear the censures and covet the praises of that one, but not those of the multitude.

_Cri._ Clearly.

_Socr._ He ought, therefore, so to practise and exercise himself, and to eat and drink, as seems fitting to the one who presides and knows, rather than to all others together.

_Cri._ It is so.

_Socr._ Well, then, if he disobeys the one, and disregards his opinion and praise, but respects that of the multitude and of those who know nothing, will he not suffer some evil?

_Cri._ How should he not?

_Socr._ But what is this evil? whither does it tend, and on what part of him that disobeys will it fall?

_Cri._ Clearly on his body, for this it ruins.

_Socr._ You say well. The case is the same too, Crito, with all other things, not to go through them all. With respect, then, to things just and unjust, base and honourable, good and evil, about which we are now consulting, ought we to follow the opinion of the multitude, and to respect it, or that of one, if there is any one who understands, whom we ought to reverence and respect rather than all others together? and if we do not obey him, shall we not corrupt and injure that part of ourselves which becomes better by justice, but is ruined by injustice? Or is this nothing?

_Cri._ I agree with you, Socrates.

8. _Socr._ Come then, if we destroy that which becomes better by what is wholesome, but is impaired by what is unwholesome, through being persuaded by those who do not understand, can we enjoy life when that is impaired? And this is the body we are speaking of, is it not?

_Cri._ Yes.

_Socr._ Can we then enjoy life with a diseased and impaired body?

_Cri._ By no means.

_Socr._ But can we enjoy life when that is impaired which injustice ruins, but justice benefits? Or do we think that to be of less value than the body, whatever part of us it may be, about which injustice and justice are concerned?

_Cri._ By no means.

_Socr._ But of more value?

_Cri._ Much more.

_Socr._ We must not, then, my excellent friend, so much regard what the multitude will say of us, but what he will say who understands the just and unjust; the one, even truth itself. So that at first you did not set out with a right principle, when you laid it down that we ought to regard the opinion of the multitude with respect to things just and honourable and good, and their contraries. However, some one may say, are not the multitude able to put us to death?

_Cri._ This, too, is clear, Socrates; any one might say so.

_Socr._ You say truly. But, my admirable friend, this principle which we have just discussed appears to me to be the same as it was before[10]. And consider this moreover, whether it still holds good with us or not, that we are not to be anxious about living, but about living well.

-----

Footnote 10:

That is to say, the principle which we had laid down in former
discussions, that no regard is to be had to popular opinion, is still
found to hold good.

-----

_Cri._ It does hold good.

_Socr._ And does this hold good or not, that to live well and honourably and justly, are the same thing?

_Cri._ It does.

9. _Socr._ From what has been admitted, then, this consideration arises, whether it is just or not, that I should endeavour to leave this place without the permission of the Athenians. And should it appear to be just, we will make the attempt; but if not, we will give it up; but as to the considerations which you mention, of an outlay of money, reputation, and the education of children, beware, Crito, lest such considerations as these in reality belong to these multitudes, who rashly put one to death, and would restore one to life, if they could do so, without any reason at all. But we, since reason so requires, must consider nothing else than what we just now mentioned, whether we shall act justly in paying money and contracting obligations to those who will lead me hence, as well they who lead me as we who are led hence, or whether in truth we shall not act unjustly in doing all these things. And if we should appear in so doing to be acting unjustly, observe that we must not consider whether from remaining here and continuing quiet we must needs die, or suffer any thing else, rather than whether we shall be acting unjustly.

_Cri._ You appear to me to speak wisely, Socrates; but see what we are to do.

_Socr._ Let us consider the matter together, my friend; and if you have any thing to object to what I say make good your objection, and I will yield to you; but if not, cease, my excellent friend, to urge upon me the same thing so often, that I ought to depart hence, against the will of the Athenians. For I highly esteem your endeavours to persuade me thus to act, so long as it is not against my will. Consider, then, the beginning of our enquiry, whether it is stated to your entire satisfaction, and endeavour to answer the question put to you exactly as you think right.

_Cri._ I will endeavour to do so.

10. _Socr._ Say we, then, that we should on no account deliberately commit injustice, or may we commit injustice under certain circumstances, under others not? Or is it on no account either good or honourable to commit injustice, as we have often agreed on former occasions, and as we just now said? Or have all those our former admissions been dissipated in these few days; and have we, Crito, old men as we are, been for a long time seriously conversing with each other, without knowing that we in no respect differ from children? Or does the case, beyond all question, stand as we then determined? whether the multitude allow it or not, and whether we must suffer a more severe or a milder punishment than this, still is injustice on every account both evil and disgraceful to him who commits it? Do we admit this, or not?

_Cri._ We do admit it.

_Socr._ On no account, therefore, ought we to act unjustly.

_Cri._ Surely not.

_Socr._ Neither ought one who is injured to return the injury, as the multitude think, since it is on no account right to act unjustly.

_Cri._ It appears not.

_Socr._ What then? Is it right to do evil, Crito, or not?

_Cri._ Surely it is not right, Socrates.

_Socr._ But what? To do evil in return when one has been evil-entreated, is that right or not?

_Cri._ By no means.

_Socr_. For to do evil to men, differs in no respect from committing injustice.

_Cri._ You say truly.

_Socr._ It is not right, therefore, to return an injury, or to do evil to any man, however one may have suffered from him. But take care Crito, that in allowing these things, you do not allow them contrary to your opinion. For I know that to some few only these things both do appear and will appear to be true. They then to whom these things appear true, and they to whom they do not, have no sentiment in common, and must needs despise each other, while they look to each other’s opinions. Consider well then, whether you coincide and think with me; and whether we can begin our deliberations from this point, that it is never right either to do an injury, or to return an injury, or when one has been evil-entreated to revenge one’s-self by doing evil in return; or, do you dissent from and not coincide in this principle? For so it appears to me both long since and now; but if you in any respect think otherwise, say so and inform me. But if you persist in your former opinions, hear what follows.

_Cri._ I do persist in them and think with you. Speak on then.

_Socr._ I say next then, or rather I ask; whether when a man has promised to do things that are just, he ought to do them, or evade his promise?

_Cri._ He ought to do them.

11. _Socr._ Observe then what follows. By departing hence without the leave of the city, are we not doing evil to some, and that to those to whom we ought least of all to do it, or not? And do we abide by what we agreed on as being just, or do we not?

_Cri._ I am unable to answer your question, Socrates: for I do not understand it.

_Socr._ Then consider it thus. If while we were preparing to run away, or by whatever name we should call it, the laws and commonwealth should come and, presenting themselves before us, should say: “Tell me, Socrates, what do you purpose doing? Do you design any thing else by this proceeding in which you are engaged, than to destroy us, the laws, and the whole city as far as you are able? Or do you think it possible for that city any longer to subsist and not be subverted, in which judgments that are passed have no force, but are set aside and destroyed by private persons?” What should we say, Crito, to these and similar remonstrances? For any one, especially an orator, would have much to say on the violation of the law, which enjoins that judgments passed shall be enforced. Shall we say to them that the city has done us an injustice and not passed a right sentence? Shall we say this, or what else?

_Cri._ This, by Jupiter, Socrates.

12. _Socr._ What then if the laws should say: “Socrates, was it not agreed between us that you should abide by the judgments which the city should pronounce?” And if we should wonder at their speaking thus, perhaps they would say, “Wonder not, Socrates, at what we say, but answer, since you are accustomed to make use of questions and answers. For come, what charge have you against us and the city, that you attempt to destroy us? Did we not first give you being? and did not your father through us take your mother to wife and beget you? Say then, do you find fault with those laws amongst us that relate to marriage as being bad?” I should say, “I do not find fault with them.” “Do you with those that relate to your nurture when born, and the education with which you were instructed? Or did not the laws, ordained on this point, enjoin rightly, in requiring your father to instruct you in music and gymnastic exercises?” I should say, rightly. Well then: since you were born, nurtured, and educated through our means, can you say, first of all, that you are not both our offspring and our slave, as well you as your ancestors? And if this be so, do you think that there are equal rights between us, and whatever we attempt to do to you, do you think you may justly do to us in turn? Or had you not equal rights with your father, or master, if you happened to have one, so as to return what you suffered, neither to retort when found fault with, nor when stricken to strike again, nor many other things of the kind; but that with your country and the laws you may do so; so that if we attempt to destroy you, thinking it to be just, you also should endeavour as far as you are able, in return to destroy us, the laws, and your country, and in doing this will you say that you act justly, you who, in reality, make virtue your chief object? Or are you so wise as not to know that one’s country is more honourable, venerable and sacred, and more highly prized both by gods and men possessed of understanding, than mother and father, and all other progenitors, and that one ought to reverence, submit to, and appease one’s country, when angry, rather than one’s father, and either persuade it or do what it orders, and to suffer quietly if it bids one suffer, whether to be beaten, or put in bonds; or if it sends one out to battle there to be wounded or slain, this must be done, for justice so requires, and one must not give way, or retreat, or leave one’s post; but that both in war, and in a court of justice, and every where, one must do what one’s city and country enjoins, or persuade it in such manner as justice allows: but that to offer violence either to one’s mother or father is not holy, much less to one’s country? What shall we say to these things, Crito? That the laws speak the truth or not?

_Cri._ It seems so to me.

13. _Socr._ “Consider, then, Socrates,” the laws perhaps might say, “whether we say truly that in what you are now attempting you are attempting to do what is not just towards us. For we, having given you birth, nurtured, instructed you, and having imparted to you and all other citizens all the good in our power, still proclaim, by giving the power to every Athenian who pleases, when he has arrived at years of discretion and become acquainted with the business of the state, and us, the laws, that any one, who is not satisfied with us, may take his property and go wherever he pleases. And if any one of you wishes to go to a colony, if he is not satisfied with us and the city, or to migrate and settle in another country, none of us, the laws, hinder or forbid him going whithersoever he pleases, taking with him all his property. But whoever continues with us after he has seen the manner in which we administer justice, and in other respects govern the city, we now say, that he has in fact entered into a compact with us, to do what we order, and we affirm that he who does not obey is in three respects guilty of injustice, because he does not obey us who gave him being, and because he does not obey us who nurtured him, and because, having made a compact that he would obey us, he neither does so nor does he persuade us if we do any thing wrongly, though we propose for his consideration, and do not rigidly command him to do what we order, but leave him the choice of one of two things, either to persuade us, or to do what we require, and yet he does neither of these.