“Wherefore, if all sense is utterly extinguished, and if death is like that sleep which sometimes is so undisturbed as to be even without the visions of dreams—in that case, O you good Gods! what gain is it to die? Or what length of days can be imagined which would be preferable to such a night? And if the constant course of future time is to resemble that night, who is happier than I am?
“But if on the other hand, what is said be true, namely, that death is but a removal to those regions where the souls of the departed dwell, then that state must be more happy still to have escaped from those who call themselves judges, and to appear before such as are truly so—Minos, Rhadamanthus, Aeacus, Triptolemus—and to meet with those who have lived with justice and probity!
“Can this change of abode appear otherwise than great to you? What bounds can you set to the value of conversing with Orpheus, and Musaeus, and Homer, and Hesiod? I would even, were it possible, willingly die often, in order to prove the certainty of what I speak of. What delight must it be to meet with Palamedes, and Ajax, and others, who have been betrayed by the iniquity of their judges!
“Then, also, should I experience the wisdom of even that king of kings, who led his vast troops to Troy, and the prudence of Ulysses and Sisyphus: nor should I then be condemned for prosecuting my inquiries on such subjects in the same way in which I have done here on earth.
“And even you, my judges, you, I mean, who have voted for my acquittal, do not you fear death, for nothing bad can befall a good man, whether he be alive or dead; nor are his concerns ever overlooked by the Gods; nor in my case either has this befallen me by chance; and I have nothing to charge those men with who accused or condemned me but the fact that they believed that they were doing me harm.”
In this manner he proceeded. There is no part of his speech which I admire more than his last words:
My first attempt at reading Plato’s Apology ended up with me tossing the book aside, convinced that Socrates was just an arrogant and cranky old man. Now while some people do indeed choose to become opinionated and bitter, I slowly learned that we also like to apply such dismissive labels to those who make us feel uncomfortable about our own ignorance.
To this day, I know I am only going through the motions if reading about Socrates does not make me question myself to the core. I still have the kneejerk response, “What nonsense!” Then I realize how my hostility arises from a failure to reflect openly and honestly about my human nature.
Surely it is ridiculous not to fear death? And then to compound the error by claiming it might even be of benefit?
I have not thought very clearly about what it means to live; perhaps I have drifted back into the old habits of reducing my worth to a mere survival, or to a gratification that comes from continued consumption. I have forgotten that I was made to know and to love, that wisdom and virtue are my first calling.
Would it somehow be better if I traded my understanding for a longer life? Would it really be preferable to pursue concupiscence at the expense of conscience? When I look within myself, as Socrates demands, I see how and why I get myself mixed up.
Where the good life is measured by the excellence of the soul, to which the body is only in service, dying loses its sting.
If it is the complete destruction of consciousness, like a dreamless slumber, then I can consider it a closure to my efforts, a relief from my time on the watch.
If it is a transition to some other state, then it is but an opportunity to continue to grow, perhaps in the privileged presence of those who have gone before me.
Either way, whether the story ends or the story goes on, what matters for me is how well I have played my part. It makes no difference if I appear in a brief scene or in every act. More or less in quantity is not to be confused with a greatness of quality; what has happened to me is subordinate to what I have done.
I have a number of phrases that are branded into my brain, and so I can readily turn to them in times of trouble. One of them is from the passage of the Apology above, though I have memorized the slightly different Jowett translation:
Know of a certainty, that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death. He and his are not neglected by the gods; nor has my own approaching end happened by mere chance.
For some reason, I then further associate it with a verse from a different tradition of wisdom:
What does the Lord require of you, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?
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