Philosophy: A Very Short Introduction

all to some extent philosophers, and that therefore some philosophy would feel very near home. Here is an example—from ancient Greece.
Just one word before we start. There is a standard method for referring to passages in Plato’s texts, one that works whichever edition and translation you are using. It actually goes back to the pagination of a Renaissance edition published in 1578, and is known as Stephanus numbering (from the Latin name of the editor, Henri Estienne). Any modern edition of Plato will show it, either in the margin, or at the top of the page. I shall be using it throughout this chapter.
The first page or so (43a–44b) sets the scene. Crito mentions that he is well in with the warder. Socrates says that at his age you shouldn’t complain too much about having to die. But then Crito opens his campaign of persuasion. He starts—as one well might—by telling Socrates how much his friends value him, and then implies that Socrates might care to return the compliment: his friends’ reputation is at stake—if he stays in prison and dies people will think that they weren’t prepared to go to the expense of buying his escape.
Now a lot of very different points are raised very quickly (and left half dealt with—Crito is not written like a well-constructed lecture, but much more like a real conversation). Socrates responds by saying that one shouldn’t bother about what ‘people’ think; the opinion that should matter to us is that of reasonable people with a clear view of the facts. ‘We can’t afford to take that line,’ says Crito, ‘majority opinion is too powerful.’ ‘On the contrary,’ Socrates replies, ‘as regards what really matters the majority don’t have much power at all.’ And what really matters, apparently, is whether one is wise or foolish (44d).
I suspect that this idea will strike many readers as a rather strange one. What does Socrates mean by wisdom, that it should be the only thing that really matters? We should keep that question in mind, and keep an eye open for anything later in the dialogue that might shed light on it. Crito just lets it go, and goes back to the earlier issue of the consequences for Socrates’ friends. Is Socrates thinking that his friends will be in danger of reprisals if he escapes? Yes, it seems that he is (and he returns to emphasize the risk to them at 53a/b). This of course quite neutralizes Crito’s argument: no point in appealing to the bad effects on your friends if you don’t do something, when the effects on them if you do are likely to be at least as bad.
Crito, understandably quite wound up, now makes a longer speech (45a–46a) in which he fires off all his remaining ammunition in an emotional and haphazard sort of way. Socrates shouldn’t think of the risk to his friends, or the expense—anyway, the expense won’t be all that great. Nor should he bother about the fact that escape into exile would mean going back on things he said at his trial. (We shall soon see, at 46b–46d and 52c, that this cuts no ice whatever with Socrates, for whom being consistent, true to himself and his reasons for acting, is a very important value.)
Next, Crito goes on, Socrates is acting wrongly in giving up his life when he could save it, and so falling in with his enemies’ wishes. Crito doesn’t tell us whether he thinks that for Socrates to give up his life when he could save it would be wrong just because it means success for his enemies, or whether it is an intrinsically wrong thing to do—as some have thought suicide intrinsically wrong—or for some other reason again. Which of these he has in mind actually makes quite a difference to what he is saying, but he is in no state for precise thinking. Now seriously overheating, he first accuses Socrates of showing no concern for his children, then of showing a lack of courage (45d). (Considering the courage required for what Socrates actually does intend to do, the latter charge seems particularly absurd—the one about his children Socrates will deal with later.) Running out of steam, Crito now returns to his complaint about the damage to Socrates’ friends’ reputations, begs Socrates to agree with him, and comes to a stop.
In his distress and anxiety Crito has become pretty offensive in his last couple of paragraphs. But this Socrates overlooks, with a kind remark about Crito’s warm feelings, and takes control of the dialogue. The thinking immediately becomes slower and calmer, and better organized. He returns to the first point Crito made—the one about reputation—and asks whose opinion we should respect, those of the wise or the foolish, those of the many or those of the expert? Crito trots along giving the obvious answers, the way his discussion-partners usually do when Socrates gets into gear. So in this case we shouldn’t be listening to the majority, but to someone who understands what it is to be just, to act rightly, to live well or as one should. Otherwise we shall damage our souls, as we would have damaged our bodies by listening to the majority rather than the doctor in a matter of physical health. The crucial question is whether it is right for Socrates to try to escape—all this stuff about money, reputations, and bringing up children is of no real consequence (48c).
Let’s just pause for a moment. One thing we should not do is read philosophy uncritically. Isn’t there a whiff of moral fanaticism about what Socrates is now saying? What damage to his soul exactly? And why should it be so frightful? And if his friends’ reputations and his children’s upbringing are on the line, mightn’t he be prepared to risk a little damage to his soul? After all, he wouldn’t think much of anyone who wasn’t prepared to risk physical injury for the sake of friends and family. Admittedly, we have been