Socrates calls up Meletus to question him, a procedure allowed in Athenian trials.[15] “Don’t you consider it of the utmost importance that the youth should be as good as possible?” he asks.
“I do,” answers Meletus.
“Well, now, tell these people who makes them better? It’s clear that you know because you care so much. Having discovered who corrupts them, namely me, you bring me up on charges. So come, speak and inform them who it is who makes them better.”
Silence.
“You see, Meletus, that you remain silent and have nothing to say. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, and isn’t this evidence enough of what I’m saying, that you don’t care one bit? But tell me, sir, who does make the young people better?”
“The laws.”
“That’s not what I’m asking, sir, but what man, who knows, among other things, the laws?”
“These jurors, Socrates.”
“What do you mean, Meletus? These jurors are able to teach the young people and make them better?”
“Yes.”
“All, or only some of them?”
“All.”
“Wonderful, by Hera. You’ve given us a wealth of benefactors. What about the audience? Do they make them better or not?”
“They too.”
“How about the members of the Council?”
“The councilors too.”
“But not the members of the Assembly? Do they corrupt the youth? Or do they too make them better?”
“They too.”
“Then every single citizen of Athens makes them virtuous except me, and I alone corrupt them. Is that your view?”
“It most certainly is.”
Now that he has got Meletus out on a limb, Socrates invokes the Craft Analogy (see ch. 8.3*) he had alluded to in the conversation he reported with Callias. Don’t we all know that, for instance in the case of horses, only a few people make them better, namely the horse trainers? How can it be that the whole diverse population of Athens is competent to teach the youth proper behavior, with only one exception? Socrates draws the conclusion that Meletus has given no thought to the question of educating the young.[16]
Socrates now opens another line of questioning. Don’t the wicked harm those around them, while the good benefit them? Meletus agrees. Does anyone wish to be harmed rather than benefited? No. “Come then. Do you accuse me of corrupting the youth and making them worse, on purpose or not?”
“On purpose, I say.”
“What, Meletus? Are you so much wiser at your age than I am at mine, that you know the bad invariably do bad to those nearest them, while the good do good? Have I arrived at such a degree of ignorance that I don’t know that if I make any of my companions worse, I risk receiving harm from him, and I commit this great wrong on purpose, as you say? I don’t believe you Meletus, nor do I think any man does. Rather, either I do not corrupt the youth, or if I do, I do so unwittingly, so that you speak falsely in either case.”[17]
Here Socrates seems to us to be most unconvincing. Surely many bad people do evil on purpose. But according to Socrates’ moral psychology, people always act for the good. The train of reasoning he introduces here should dissuade anyone who knows it from harming an associate: if I make him worse, he will become a wicked person and likely do bad to me and everyone else. Hence, harming an associate is bad for me, and I will avoid harming him. Socrates espouses this view before Protagoras and his associates (see ch. 6.2*) and consistently advocates it throughout the Socratic dialogues (see below, ch. 30*). He seems to hold that deep down we all know that no one does wrong willingly. However counter-intuitive his view is, it is one of the pillars of Socratic theory.
Again, Socrates points out, Meletus (whose name happens to mean ‘Caring’)[18] doesn’t care at all about the youth. “Nevertheless, tell us, how do you say I corrupt the youth, Meletus? Or perhaps it’s obvious from the indictment you composed that you say I do so by teaching them not to believe in the gods the city recognizes, but in other new deities. Don’t you mean that I corrupt them by these teachings?”
“Yes indeed, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“So concerning these gods we’re speaking about, explain more clearly to me and these gentlemen. I’m not clear about whether you mean I teach the existence of gods—in which case I do believe in the existence of gods and I’m not guilty of being a complete atheist—not, however, the gods of the city, but others, and this is what you accuse me of, believing in other gods. Or do you claim I don’t believe in gods at all, and I teach this to others?”
“The latter, that you don’t believe in gods at all.”
Socrates asks, don’t I believe the Sun and Moon are gods, like others? No, Meletus replies, he thinks the sun is a stone and the moon made of earth. Socrates points out that these are the doctrines of Anaxagoras, as anyone can tell by reading the book of the natural philosopher. But, Socrates suggests, Meletus is really contradicting himself. “Is there any man who believes in the existence of human matters but does not believe in humans? … Is there anyone who doesn’t believe in horses but believes in horseback riding? Or who doesn’t believe in flute-players but believes in flute-playing? … Is there anyone who believes in divine matters but doesn’t believe in divinities?”
“No.”
“… So you claim that I believe and teach the existence of divine matters, whether new or old, but in any case I believe in divine matters according to your statement, and you swore to this in your indictment. But if I believe in divine matters, then there is every reason, I suppose, for me to believe in divine beings, isn’t there? There is. (Well, I assume you agree, since you don’t answer.) Don’t we consider the divine beings (daimones) to be either gods or offspring of the gods?”
“Yes.”
“If then I believe in divine beings, as you say, if the divine beings are a kind of god, this is why I contend that you are riddling and playing games: you claim I don’t believe in gods but again believe in them, since I believe in divine beings. If the divine beings are certain illegitimate offspring of the gods either from nymphs or some other beings, as they are said to be, what man would believe in the offspring of the gods, but not in the gods? It would be no less absurd than believing in offspring of horses and asses, namely mules, but not believing in horses and asses.”[19]
This concludes Socrates’ cross-examination of his accuser. In a deft series of questions Socrates has led Meletus down the primrose path to absurdity and self-contradiction, in a refutation that Aristotle particularly admired.[20] Meletus is no match for Socrates. Socrates has revealed that the accuser misinterprets his own accusation as a charge of atheism, when it could not possibly be construed as such. Socrates has also shown that Meletus has not even thought superficially about what it means to corrupt the youth.
But one thing Socrates has not done is to deny the accusation of impiety. If he would just make an open confession of faith, he might reassure the jury of his bona fides as a religious man. But he does not. He focuses on what Meletus believes about Socrates. But what does Socrates believe? If he won’t say, what is he hiding? We have seen a hint of his beliefs in the Euthyphro (previous chapter) and he will give further hints in his present speech. But he never commits himself to a credo. As almost everywhere in the dialogues, Socrates hides behind a comic mask and examines others without ever quite revealing himself. His main accuser has been exposed as a tyro. But the suspicion of impiety, and hence of being a bad influence on his young followers, still clings to Socrates.
[15].Harrison 1968-1971, 2: 138, citing examples.
[16].Plato Apology 24c-25c.
[17].Plato Apology 25c-26a.
[18].Socrates pursued this line of inquiry because, as he said to Meletus, “you care so much” (melon ge soi, Apology 24d).
[19].Plato Apology 26b-27e.
[20].Aristotle Rhetoric 1419a8-12.