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Athens, 399 B.C.E. The philosopher Socrates has been accused of
corrupting the youth of the city, of not believing in its gods and
introducing new gods, and of making the weaker argument appear stronger.
In Plato's dialogue Apology, Socrates presents his defense, proposes what
he believes to be a suitable punishment after having been found guilty (his
"counter-assessment"), and then addresses a few final words to the jury
after they have sentenced him to death. In this essay, I will demonstrate
that Socrates' peroration following his conviction serves as a critique of
democracy by highlighting the things that make it run: passions, the
strongest one being a desire not to know. Note that he does this not by
overtly examining democracy at large, but by taking the jury as a microcosm
of democracy and examining it.
First of all, let us go back to before Socrates was sentenced to death. During his defense and counter-assessment, he puts forth what he believes to be the functions of a jury, claiming that "[i]t is not the purpose of a juryman's office to give justice as a favor to whoever seems good to him, but to judge according to the law, and this he has sworn to do," (35c) and pointing out to them directly that their task is "to concentrate your attention on whether what I say is just or not, for the excellence of a judge lies in this[.]." (18a) He presents his case in keeping with these ideas, stating the facts and giving logical explanations for his actions, expecting the jury to use reason and come to the conclusion that what he says is indeed just, and thus acquit him.
However, this is clearly not what happens. Socrates is found guilty and is sentenced to death. How could this be? The answer he finds to this is that the jury did not make its decision based on the reason upon which Socrates had called - otherwise, its members would have seen the justice in his argument. If not reason, then, it must have been its opposite: passion.
Perhaps you think that I was convicted for lack of such words as might
have convinced you[.]. Far from it. I was convicted because I lacked
not words but boldness and shamelessness and the willingness to say to
you what you would most gladly have heard from me, lamentations and
tears[.]. (38d-e)
Socrates had refused to pander to the emotions of the jury, claiming that such actions were unworthy of him: "Neither I nor any other man should, on trial or war, contrive to avoid death at any cost." (39a) It is easy, he says, to turn around and grovel before your enemies, begging for mercy, but it is something Socrates would never do, preferring by far to remain logical and prevail upon justice - despite the consequences: "I would much rather die after this kind of defense than live after making the other kind." (38e)
The knowledge that the jury operates on passions rather than reason begs the question of which emotion drove them in their actions. Socrates puts it this way: "You did this in the belief that you would avoid giving an account of your life." (39c) Socrates believes that he was put to death not because he did anything illegal per se, but because he had been challenging Athenian citizens to see the truth about their lives, their beliefs, their actions. He had been relentlessly questioning them, and they had become afraid of what his probing might uncover in them. It was fear, then - the fear of having to face up to themselves and to their lives, the fear of knowing themselves and their lives.
However, putting him to death will not be the end of it for them.
There will be more people to test you, whom I now held back, but you
did not notice it. They will be more difficult to deal with as they
will be younger and you will resent them more. You are wrong if you
believe that by killing people you will prevent anyone from
reproaching you for not living in the right way. To escape such tests
is neither possible not good, but it is best and easiest not to
discredit others but to prepare oneself to be as good as possible.
(39d)
Socrates is saying that in upholding the truth, in upholding justice, he is right, and even if all the jurymen in all of Athens voted in favour of sentencing him to death for that, it would not make him wrong. His principles will not die with him, because they transcend him and they transcend the power of the jury, whether or not its members choose to abide by them. They should, clearly, in order to lead a good life and succeed in their duties as jurymen, thereby deserving that title. And if they don't, they will be "condemned by truth to wickedness and injustice" (39b) and should not be called jurymen, for they will have failed in fulfilling their purpose.
It is clear that the jury operated on the basis of their emotions, more specifically their fear of knowing the truth. But now the question is how this applies to democracy on a larger scale, what it means.
Socrates demonstrates that the voting members of a democratic body are subject to emotions that will influence their decisions. This means that their vote was not necessarily cast reasonably with a thought for what was just, but possibly in a passionate, ignorant and unjust manner. The democratic process, however, does not distinguish between the two - both kinds of vote are counted as equal to each other. The result of this is that if a person - an election candidate, for instance - is more able than his opponent to tap into the emotions of the voting population, it is highly likely that he will be victorious, regardless of whether or not he is just or intelligent.
Regardless, also, of whether or not the person in question is telling the truth. Socrates has shown that the members of a democratic system do not appreciate being faced with the reality behind their firm beliefs. The fact is that all too often, these certainties are founded on nothing but emotions, but to strip everything away and actually face this fact would be to admit to ignorance and thus to invalidate one's own vote. Nobody wants to do this, nobody wants to be told that they lack knowledge and are unfit to participate in the democratic process. The person with a real eye on winning the vote of the majority will realize this, and refrain from saying or doing anything that will bring this truth to light. Therefore, they remain in the accessible, understandable realm of emotions.
Socrates' fate was put in the hands of a jury, a democratic body whose modus operandi is the same as any larger scale democratic body. He was convicted by them, and sentenced to death. His fatal flaw was that he appealed to their reason, asking them to put aside their emotions and see that what he was accused of doing was for the best. This was a hopeless endeavour from the start; the emotion he was asking them to forget was one of the most powerful - fear. They were afraid of what Socrates' questioning might unveil in them: namely, their ignorance of what they claim to know. Admitting to their ignorance would be admitting to being inferior and thus deserving no part in the democratic process.
In the end, however, it is made clear that fundamental principles such as justice and truth rise above all the rest. They must be adhered to, as Socrates does throughout his trial and even on the eve of his execution, in the dialogue Crito. Failures in democracy have no bearing on their supremacy.