Socrates - On his Sentence to Death

399 B.C.
"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
anything 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 anything 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 anyone
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 everything.
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. 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 prophesy, 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 anyone from upbraiding you because you do not
live well, you are much mistaken. For this method of escape is neither
possible nor honorable, but that other is most honorable 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. 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 anything wrong; but
now, that has befallen me which ye yourselves behold, and which anyone
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
anything.
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. 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 anything 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 anyone, 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 a 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, Aeacus 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 Museus, 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 anyone 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. 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 toward 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 anything
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."
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