minds of the young by a splendid plea for free discussion. This is the
most valuable section of the Apology; it is as impressive to-day as
ever. I think the two principal points which he makes are these—

(1) He maintains that the individual should at any cost refuse to be
coerced by any human authority or tribunal into a course which his own
mind condemns as wrong. That is, he asserts the supremacy of the
individual conscience, as we should say, over human law. He represents
his own life-work as a sort of religious quest; he feels convinced that
in devoting himself to philosophical discussion he has done the bidding
of a super-human guide; and he goes to death rather than be untrue to
this personal conviction. “If you propose to acquit me,” he says, “on
condition that I abandon my search for truth, I will say: I thank you, O
Athenians, but I will obey God, who, as I believe, set me this task,
rather than you, and so long as I have breath and strength I will never

[34] cease from my occupation with philosophy. I will continue the
practice of accosting whomever I meet and saying to him, ‘Are you not
ashamed of setting your heart on wealth and honours while you have no
care for wisdom and truth and making your soul better?’ I know not what
death is—it may be a good thing, and I am not afraid of it. But I do
know that it is a bad thing to desert one’s post and I prefer what may
be good to what I know to be bad.”

(2) He insists on the public value of free discussion. “In me you have a
stimulating critic, persistently urging you with persuasion and
reproaches, persistently testing your opinions and trying to show you
that you are really ignorant of what you suppose you know. Daily
discussion of the matters about which you hear me conversing is the
highest good for man. Life that is not tested by such discussion is not