Early in his defense, Socrates attributes his poor reputation to “a certain kind of wisdom” (25). By that, he means the wisdom to acknowledge his own ignorance—and, importantly, the ignorance of others. This conclusion stems from Socrates’s efforts to determine why the oracle at Delphi told Chaerephon there was no one wiser than Socrates. In testing this theory—which, if Socrates’s piety is to be believed, must be true in his mind—he engages all the most prominent men in Athens in conversation, only to find that they are not wise at all. This in itself is not enough to prove that Socrates is wiser; Socrates continues to admit his lack of wisdom. Yet while neither man knows anything of value, Socrates’s acknowledgement of his own ignorance places him above those prominent Athenians who believe themselves to be paragons of wisdom. As Socrates explains, “[S]o I am likely to be wiser than he to this small extent, that I do not think I know what I do not know” (26). This ignorance is also shared by poets and artisans, Socrates claims. The poets, he says, “do not compose their poems with knowledge, but by some inborn talent and by inspiration, like seers and prophets who also say many fine things without any understanding of what they say” (27). Artisans, meanwhile, possess more knowledge than most Athenians, but only in very narrow areas of study. Yet their success in their specific field blinds them to their ignorance on other matters, according to Socrates.
On one level, this is a rhetorical trick designed to brand Socrates’s accusers—all prominent men of Athens—as fools. At the same time, the statement contextualizes Socrates’s poor reputation as a consequence of sheer resentment on the parts of Meletus, Anytus, and Lycon, as opposed to more legitimate grievances about the defendant’s impiety or his complicity in the crimes of the Thirty Tyrants. Finally, these ruminations on wisdom allow Socrates to maintain a level of humility—albeit ironically—even as he vouches for the oracle’s contention that he is the wisest man in Athens.
Yet beyond the role these conclusions on the nature of wisdom play in buttressing Socrates’s defense, they also reflect the cornerstone of the defendant’s philosophy and philosophical technique. In Apology Socrates famously claims, “[T]he unexamined life is not worth living for men” (41). His implication is that humans must continually interrogate their actions and assumptions, which can only be done in good faith if individuals acknowledge that their wisdom is imperfect at best. This lies at the heart of what would later be labeled “the Socratic method,” by which a teacher instructs by engaging in an argumentative dialogue with the student. By interrogating the student’s logic and drawing out the often false assumptions undergirding that logic, Socrates teaches students to reflexively question their wisdom as part of the process of living. To illustrate this for the jury, Socrates aggressively interrogates Meletus, exposing his ignorance by drawing out contradictory assumptions surrounding Socrates’s alleged impiety.
In addition to constantly examining one’s life and assumptions, a second cornerstone of Socrates’s philosophy is the importance of personal integrity. For Socrates, his integrity is represented by his daimonion, a lesser deity that prohibits him from unethical or immoral behavior. He further argues that while an individual’s sense of morality is often reflected in a just society’s laws, this is not always the case. There are moments, as when Socrates refused orders by the Thirty Tyrants to retrieve Leon of Salamis for an unjust execution, that demand civil disobedience on the part of the citizen. Socrates also practiced civil disobedience, rooted in his own integrity, prior to the reign of the Thirty Tyrants, when he was the lone voice of dissent on the matter of executing six generals who abandoned their doomed troops at the Siege of Myteline. Thus, Socrates’s integrity transcends political systems, complicating scholastic efforts to determine if Socrates supported democracy or oligarchy.
Rather, Socrates’s experiences suggest that integrity is not conducive to life as a public servant. His civil disobedience when serving under the Thirty Tyrants might have cost him his life had the oligarchy not crumbled shortly thereafter. As Socrates puts it bluntly in his defense, “A man who really fights for justice must lead a private, not a public, life if he is to survive for even a short time” (36). Unwilling to serve as a politician or accept payment as a teacher—another restriction rooted in his integrity—Socrates is in deep poverty by the time of his trial. Nevertheless, he refuses to compromise on these points, as living a good, moral life is more important to him than money.
Key to living this moral life is Socrates’s belief that his purpose is to serve as a gadfly on Athens’ body politic—a nuisance that nevertheless pushes the city-state toward greatness. For that reason, Socrates refuses to beg the jury for forgiveness; doing so would constitute a tacit admission that his work as a gadfly-philosopher was morally wrong. Along those same lines, Socrates rejects the possibility of exile or abandoning his work as a philosopher, as either would represent a dereliction of his holy duty to educate the people of Athens.
Socrates holds true to these stances even though he is fairly certain they will result in his execution. At numerous points in his defense, he makes plain his willingness to die rather than compromise his moral integrity, telling Meletus, “You are wrong, sir, if you think that a man who is any good at all should take into account the risk of life or death; he should look to this only in his actions, whether what he does is right or wrong, whether he is acting like a good or bad man” (32). Taking this a step further, Socrates claims that his death will only accelerate Athens’s long-overdue interrogation of its moral and political identity. After receiving his death sentence, he tells the jury that his death will galvanize others to continue his work: “You did this in the belief that you would avoid giving an account of your life, but I maintain that quite the opposite will happen to you. [...] You are wrong if you believe that by killing people you will prevent anyone from reproaching you” (42). Thus, there is a component of intentionality and calculation to Socrates’s willingness to die rather than compromise his integrity, in that doing so will make him a martyr for his cause.
Socrates’s efforts to persuade his audience he is innocent of wrongdoing are a failure. The jury convicts him and sentences him to die for his alleged crimes of impiety and the corruption of youths. Yet given the importance Plato places on documenting Socrates’s defense for posterity, Apology is an act of persuasion targeted at a larger audience beyond the 500 jurymen of Athens—an audience made up of future generations. Viewed through this lens, Socrates’s defense is a powerfully persuasive exercise in logic and rhetoric.
The largest section of Socrates’s defense involves his cross-examination of Meletus, one of his three accusers. This interrogation is a classic example of the Socratic method, in which Socrates poses a series of seemingly innocuous and easily answerable questions. Yet while each individual query seems straightforward, the cumulative effect of the questioning is to draw out the logical flaws in Meletus’s assumptions. This occurs at two key intervals: first, when Socrates fools Meletus into acknowledging that no man would knowingly corrupt those closest to him because doing so would cause harm to come to that individual; and second, when he maneuvers Meletus into contradicting himself regarding the charge of impiety. Having manipulated Meletus into admitting that the defendant believes in spirits and demigods, Socrates jumps on this to contend that anyone who believes in such things must also believe in the gods, arguing, “Does any man who does not believe in horses believe in horsemen’s activities? Or in flute-playing activities but not flute-players?” (31).
Aside from the Socratic method, Socrates uses other forms of logic to refute the charges. For example, he characterizes his supposed crimes as a function of a holy task set before him by the oracle at Delphi to educate and enlighten the people of Athens. Moreover, his claims that he has no wisdom aside from the ability to draw out the ignorance of others suggests that the flaws in reasoning lie not with his own arguments but with those of his accusers. Socrates also skillfully frames his death sentence as a logical inevitability, given his refusal to cease practicing philosophy combined with the Athenian elite’s refusal to hear it. Thus, he welcomes death no matter what form it takes, in that it will exonerate him to future generations by highlighting the lengths he will go to preserve his integrity.
It is also important to note that unlike other Platonic dialogues featuring Socrates, Apology is predominantly a monologue. Thus, aside from the cross-examination of Meletus, the work exists as a rare explanation of Socrates’s methods of logic and rhetoric, as well as a showcase of these techniques.
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By Plato