“That he makes them worse, with his teaching.
He leads his pupils into evil ways.”
“That’s not true! He teaches me, and I’m not corrupted!
He talks to me about ἀρετή, about my soul.
He taught me, just because I’m a slave,
I don’t have to be slavish!
He makes me ashamed to tell lies. How can that be corrupt?
He has ἀρετή! And he’s the wisest man in Athens!”
Now, hear me out! I have a reputation for being wise. What kind of wisdom? Human wisdom, I suppose. And here is my witness: the god Apollo and his Oracle at Delphi. But what the priestess at Delphi said was not that I am wise, but that there was no one wiser.
When I heard about this, I thought, Why does the Oracle speak in riddles? How can there be no man wiser than Sokrates? Because I am truly aware that I don’t know anything, great or small.
— I was almost yelling at Phaistus.
Menon would have slapped my face.
“Listen to me, Pyrrhos. I’ve nothing against Sokrates.
I know he’s been a friend to you; you love him like a father —
but he’s made fools of powerful men,
and they hate him.”
“What powerful men? Who are they?”
“A man named Meletus, a second-rate poet —
I’ve seen him; he’s got a nose like a beak.
And Lycon, he’s a skilled speaker. But they’re only tools.
It’s Anytus who hates Sokrates most.
Sokrates taught his son,
and the boy rebelled against his father.
Anytus has hated him for years. It’s not just Anytus —
The city remembers Alkibiades.”
Anytus was Menon’s friend.
I remembered the day I drew the square —
he was there that day. He spoke to Sokrates —
there was a threat in his voice.
He didn’t like Sokrates, even then.
There was another name, one I hadn’t heard.
“Who was Alkibiades?”
“A rich man, and a general. He’s dead now,
but Sokrates loved him. That’s nothing;
all Athens fawned over Alkibiades.
Myself, I favor women,
but I never saw a man so beautiful
or so false. Alkibiades betrayed this city,
joined forces with the Spartans,
fought with our enemies,
yes, and dishonored the gods!
He and Sokrates were as different as fire and water,
but they were thick as thieves.
He was corrupt. I believe Sokrates
tried to teach him self-control,
but no one could teach wisdom to that man.
Some people still blame Sokrates.”
“That’s not fair!”
“I never said it was.
But over the years he’s become a nuisance.
Sokrates asks too many questions,
and he asks them of powerful men.
Only a fool pokes a hornet’s nest.”
I’ve spent my whole life in search of wisdom. At first, I sought out statesmen and sages so that I could learn from them, but when I questioned them closely, I found that they didn’t know what they were talking about. They seemed wise to other people — and they seemed wise to themselves! But they weren’t. I came away from them thinking that in one way at least, I was better off than they were: I knew I knew nothing.
I realized with alarm that my questions were making me unpopular. But I had to persist in my search for truth. The lover must follow the beloved.
My hunt for wisdom next led me to question the poets: great poets such as Homer are known to be wise. But when I questioned the poets, I discovered that their poems were given to them by the gods. They were like seers: when they were chanting and composing their verses, they were inspired. But once they stopped singing, the god left them, and they couldn’t explain their own work. They didn’t know anything. But they thought they did!
Then I went to the craftsmen. I don’t know how to make a shoe, or glaze a pot, and these men did — and they understood the things they knew. When I pressed them, they could answer my questions! But when it came to larger matters — the most important things in life — they were as ignorant as I am, and they didn’t know it. Because they understood shoes, or pots, or armor, they believed themselves wise, and in this they were mistaken.
So it seems to me that only the god is wise. And what the Oracle was saying is: The wisest of you human beings is the one who, like Sokrates, has recognized that he is worthless when it comes to wisdom.
“He’s not a fool. He’s interesting. He makes me laugh.
He doesn’t brag about the things he knows —
he’s always saying what he doesn’t know!
Even though he has a daimon — ”
“That’s another thing. A daimon.
Other men don’t have daimons.
You pray to the gods, and you sacrifice;
you go to the festivals;
you bury your dead with honor;
you obey the law;
you believe what other men believe.
That’s enough. If a man has a daimon,
he ought to keep it to himself.”
I also stand accused of not recognizing the gods of the city, but of believing in my own daimon instead. It is true I have a daimon, a spirit that guides me. But such spirits are born of the gods. To say I believe in my daimon, but don’t believe in the gods, is like saying that a man believes in mules, but not in donkeys or horses.
Over the years, I’ve become the target of hostility, and hostility of a bitter and lasting kind. Even so, I try to find wisdom and to seek out ἀρετή. I believe the god commands me to seek these things — so I go all over the city, trying to find someone who is wise. If I find someone who thinks he knows something when he doesn’t, I point it out.
Now, young men — especially rich young men, because they have time on their hands — like to follow me about and listen to me ask questions. They are delighted when I point out that someone is not as wise as he thinks he is, and they try to imitate me. This leads other people to say I corrupt the young.
“What will
