As for me, men of Athens, I would indeed be far from justified if, at this moment, I seemed to you bolder than in the perils I faced before the generals you gave me as commanders at Potidaea, at Amphipolis, and at Delium, where I fought and, like the others, ran the risk of death. But the difference, in truth, is that there I went into danger to save you, believing it permitted and right; this time, the god orders me to lead the life of a philosopher, examining myself and examining others. And it would have seemed to me neither just nor pious to act otherwise. For the fear of death, men of Athens, is in reality nothing but thinking oneself wise without being so: it is believing oneself to know what one does not know. For no one knows whether death is not the greatest of all goods for man; and yet we fear it as if we knew well that it is the greatest of evils. But is this not the most shameful ignorance, that of believing one knows what one does not know? As for me, perhaps this is what distinguishes me from other men, and precisely this: that if I claimed to know more, it would be precisely to have enough wisdom not to think oneself wise when one is not. And so, concerning death, one thing at least is certain: it cannot possibly be an evil, if there is nothing to fear in what lies beyond, or if it is complete annihilation. Therefore, in the place where I now stand, I could escape death by obedience, though it would still have been possible for me to resist; but I should be doing nothing just, and I should feel nothing but shame. Wherever one stands, it is always better to endure all things than to flee by dishonorable means.

Men of Athens, by killing me you will not do what you believe: you will not prevent me from living badly, but from living well. If you were to say to me: "Socrates, we no longer believe you now; we no longer wish for your company, but go, and try to please us by speaking differently," and if you did not cease to press me, I would answer: "Men of Athens, I respect and love you, but I shall obey the god rather than you, and while I breathe and have the strength, I shall not cease to philosophize, to exhort you and to instruct anyone of you I meet, saying to him, as usual: Man, you who are an Athenian, citizen of the greatest city and the most renowned for wisdom and strength, are you not ashamed to care so much for heaping up money, fame, and honors, while caring nothing for intelligence, truth, and your soul, that is, for making it the best it can be?" And if one of you contested this, saying he does care, I would not let him go at once, nor go myself, but I would question him, examine him, refute him. And if this seemed to me, as to others, unlike my usual conduct, I would not change my ways, even if I had to die many times over.

Do not believe either, men of Athens, that another life will spare you the reproaches I have made. No city, indeed, can receive a man who never ceases to harm those who received him, and the true citizen must strive to correct those who brought him forth. I render you two services: that of refusing to do wrong, and that of reproaching you when you do wrong. As for me, if I had to be judged by you all, and had to die not once but many times, I would not change; for I know I have never wronged anyone, and that I have never written nor spoken anything but what is just and good.

But the time has indeed come for us to depart, I to die, you to live. Which of us goes toward the better lot, no one knows clearly, except the god. As for me, men of Athens, in truth the moment has come when we must part, I to go toward death, you to continue your life; and which of us two faces the better destiny, that is hidden from all, except from the god.

It is therefore with perfect justice that the greatest of goods for man is to converse every day about virtue and all that you have heard me discuss, examining myself and others. For a life without examination is not worth living.