The Wise Man Socrates

Plato presents Socrates as an integrated, essentially unambivalent individual who stood clearly for some values and clearly against others. Then, as now, such personal clarity—strong sense of direction and purpose—were attractive to young people (or to anyone else) confused about who they are or want to be. Then, as now, Socrates' consistent respect for justice, integrity, courage, temperance, decency, beauty, and balance was especially appealing in a cultural climate of dizzy excesses, crass materialism, and cutthroat competition for money, power, and prestige. In a complex, sophisticated society in which old values were under siege, the simplicity and clarity of an individual with Socrates' obvious abilities were intriguing, even when they were upsetting. Socrates' guiding motto of "Know thyself" has been challenging to people all over the world and in all historical periods. Socrates struggled with one of the great problems of our time: Who am I? How can I discover my true identity? How shall I live? Socrates was universally acknowledged to be "extraordinarily ugly."© Cengage Learning® Many are ruined by admirers whose heads are turned by the sight of a pretty face; many are led by their strength to attempt tasks too heavy for them, and meet serious evils; many by their wealth are corrupted, and fall victims to conspiracies; many through glory and political power have suffered great evils. — Socrates Against the popular notion of his time (and ours), Socrates taught that beauty and goodness should be determined by usefulness and fitness of function rather than by mere appearance or personal feelings of delight. An interesting illustration of this can be found in his own appearance. Socrates was universally acknowledged to be "extraordinarily ugly"—so ugly, in fact, that he fascinated people. His most notable physical features were a broad, flat, turned-up nose, protruding, staring eyes, thick, fleshy lips, and a belly that he himself characterized as "a stomach rather too large for convenience" and that he elsewhere announced plans to "dance off." His friends compared him to a satyr or an electric eel, whose penetrating questions stunned his listeners, "shocked" them into higher awareness.

Socrates made his appearance serve him well. His humorous references to it reflect his good nature and modesty, as well as his hierarchy of values. If, as he taught, the true self is not the body but the soul (psyche), and if virtue implies excellence of function, then the appearance of the body is less important than how well it functions. True beauty is inner beauty—beauty of spirit and character. In Plato's Gorgias, Socrates says that we cannot know whether a person is happy just because his external condition is attractive to us. He insists that happiness, like goodness, is a matter of inner qualities: Then doubtless you will say, Socrates, that you do not know that even the Great King is happy. Yes, and I shall be speaking the truth; for I do not know how he stands in point of interior formation and justice. Why, does happiness entirely consist of that? Yes, by my account, Polus; for a good and honorable man or woman, I say, is happy, and an unjust and wicked one is wretched. This nineteenth-century sculpture of Socrates teaching in the Agora shows the contrast between Socrates' inner beauty and outer ugliness. The Granger Collection, NYC—All rights reserved. Don't think Socrates was a prude. He was not. He was tempted by physical attractiveness, but he governed his life according to "true beauty and goodness," preferring a good and beautiful soul to a pleasing body that housed a lesser self. Philosophical Query One of my college friends resembled Socrates. I first noticed him in the cafeteria. I thought he was one of the most unfortunate-looking persons I had ever seen. He knew some acquaintances of mine, and so I eventually met him. I initially felt uncomfortable even being around him because of his looks, I'm sorry to say. But, slowly I discovered an intelligent, funny, kind, strong, and courageous man. Over the years of our friendship, I lost the capacity to see him as ugly. Sadly, the converse has been true in my experience as well. A beautiful or handsome countenance that belongs to a slothful or self-centered or shallow or cruel person over time becomes less handsome or beautiful to me. Have you noticed this pattern in yourself? Analyze it, if you have. An informative and humorous passage from Chapter 5 of Xenophon's Symposium illustrates how Socrates could incorporate philosophy into anything, even joking around with friends. Socrates is engaged in a good-natured "beauty contest" with a handsome young man named Critobulus. Critobulus has challenged Socrates to use his famous question-and-answer method (we'll look at this shortly) to prove that Socrates is "more beautiful" than Critobulus. Critobulus: All right, but which of our noses is the more beautiful? Socrates: Mine, I should say, if the gods give us noses to smell with, for your nostrils point to earth, but mine are spread out widely to receive odours from every quarter. Critobulus: But how can a snub nose be more beautiful than a straight one? Socrates: Because it does not get in the way but allows the eyes to see what they will, whereas a high bridge walls them off, as if to spite them. Critobulus: As for the mouth, I give in, for if mouths are made for biting you could take a much larger bite than I. Socrates: And with my thick lips don't you think I could give a softer kiss? Critobulus: By your account I seem to have a mouth uglier than an ass's. ... I give up. Let's put it to the vote, so that I may know as quickly as possible the forfeit I have to pay. When the votes were counted, Socrates lost unanimously, prompting him to accuse Critobulus of bribing the judges. For Deeper Consideration As you read about Socrates, take seriously the possibility of encountering a truly wise individual—not just a "sort of wise" person or a "really smart" person, but a person who fits the description of a wise person discussed in this chapter. How do you think you would fare in such an encounter? Would it be "enjoyable"? How can those of us who are not wise recognize and evaluate the truly wise? Is recognizing wisdom different from, say, recognizing strength, in that the recognition of strength does not require being strong, whereas the recognition of wisdom might require at least a modicum of wisdom? Be on the lookout for Socrates' solution to this puzzlement.

Socrates was usually barefoot and apparently had only one tattered coat, about which his friends joked. His enemies accused him of being "unwashed," and even his friends admitted that it was a surprise to see Socrates freshly bathed. One of his most noted characteristics was hardiness, reflected in remarkable self-control, or temperance. Temperance in this sense means indifference to both the presence and absence of material pleasures; it does not mean total abstinence from pleasure or extreme asceticism. In Xenophon's Memorabilia, Socrates put it like this: You seem, Antiphon, to imagine that happiness consists in luxury and extravagance. But my belief is that to have no wants is divine; to have as few as possible comes next to the divine; and as that which is divine is supreme, so that which approaches nearest to its nature is nearest to supreme. [emphasis added] Socrates' self-control included indifference to fear. During a battle at Delium, he is said to have been the last Athenian soldier to give way before the advancing Spartans. In the Potidaean military campaign, Socrates is reported to have walked about barefoot on the icy winter ground of Thrace, dressed as he customarily was back home. In Plato's Symposium, Alcibiades claims that this irritated the other soldiers, who, bundled and muffled against the fierce winter with their feet wrapped in felt and sheepskin, thought Socrates was trying to humiliate them. In Xenophon's Memorabilia, Socrates talks about self-control and self-discipline with his friend Euthydemus. He uses the term incontinence in its original sense to mean lack of self-control, especially concerning appetites and passions. Socrates argues that self-control—not self-indulgence and weakness of will—leads to pleasure. Lack of self-control, he asserts, prevents us from the finest expressions of pleasure in eating, drinking, resting, and making love. If we gratify every urge as soon as it arises, we must often settle for fast food, cheap drink, sleeping all day, and crude sexual encounters. We will be little more than animals. Without self-control, we have no hope of learning how to moderate ourselves and our lives:

When Socrates prayed, he asked only for "good gifts, for the gods know best what things are good." According to Diogenes Läertius, Socrates' style of arguing was sometimes so intense that his opponents frequently attacked him with their fists or tore his hair out, "yet he bore all this ill-usage patiently." When Alcibiades offered Socrates a large site on which to build a house, he replied, "Suppose, then, I wanted shoes and you offered me a whole hide to make a pair, would it not be ridiculous of me to take it?" Socrates used to say that he most enjoyed the food that was least in need of seasoning and the drink that made him feel the least desire for another drink, adding that he was as the gods because he had few wants. When someone asked Socrates whether he should marry or not, the sophos replied, "Whichever you do you will repent it." When Socrates invited some rich men to dinner, his wife Xanthippe said she was embarrassed by the meal she had prepared. "Never mind," he said. "If they are reasonable they will put up with it, if they are good for nothing, we shall not trouble ourselves about them." When someone said, "Socrates, you are condemned by Athens to die," he responded, "So are you, by nature." "The delights of learning something good and excellent, and of studying some of the means whereby a man knows how to regulate his body well and manage his household successfully, to be useful to his friends and city and to defeat his enemies—knowledge that yields not only very great benefits but very great pleasures—these are the delights of the self-controlled; but the incontinent have no part in them. For who should we say has less concern with these than he who has no power of cultivating them because all his serious purposes are centered in the pleasures that lie nearest?" "Socrates," said Euthydemus, "I think you mean that he who is at the mercy of the bodily pleasures has no concern whatever with virtue in any form?" "Yes, Euthydemus," said Socrates. Part of Socrates' appeal comes from the fact that he had many of the same desires as the rest of us. They may even have been more intense. So we respond to the effort he must have exerted to keep all his appetites and passions under strict control. His philosophical searching was, consequently, based on a full involvement with life. It was not the product of a withered, passionless mentality. Nor was it based on a naive goody-goody view of the human condition. Socrates knew and loved life at its fullest, wrestling with it and challenging others to join his "enduring quest." Philosophical Query What do you think of Socrates' views on self-control? Does the current concern with healthy diets, exercise, and so on seem to be in line with what Socrates thought, or are we, perhaps, overdoing it or acting from love of beauty, not self-control? Discuss.

Socrates was, after all, quite an optimist. He was convinced that knowledge would make us good. The social qualities of the dialectic are predicated on the belief that by working together, two or more honest, well-meaning, and reasonable people can move steadily from ignorance to virtue (goodness and happiness). Wherefore, O judges, be of good cheer about death, and 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. ... — Socrates Asclepius was the Greek god of healing. To this day, his symbol, the snake-entwined caduceus, is still associated with medicine. Why do you think Socrates' last words acknowledged a debt of gratitude to this god? Of what "disease" was Socrates being cured?©Istockphoto.com/Ladida Although Socrates was probably correct in his belief that no normally reasonable person willingly does himself harm, he was surely wrong in his rejection of the possibility of weakness of will. His limited knowledge of the complexities of human psychology prevented him from recognizing what is a very common experience for most of us: We lack the will to do the good we know or to resist the bad that tempts us. Jesus' oft-quoted line that "the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak" probably comes closer to our experiences than does Socrates' intellectualistic optimism.

Although Socrates was probably correct in his belief that no normally reasonable person willingly does himself harm, he was surely wrong in his rejection of the possibility of weakness of will. His limited knowledge of the complexities of human psychology prevented him from recognizing what is a very common experience for most of us: We lack the will to do the good we know or to resist the bad that tempts us. Jesus' oft-quoted line that "the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak" probably comes closer to our experiences than does Socrates' intellectualistic optimism. Perhaps the best way to approach the seeming paradoxes of Socrates' rejection of the weak will and insistence that virtue is knowledge lies in not imposing contemporary values on the ancient sophos. Socrates' love of wisdom was rare in his own day, and his indifference to money, property, and prestige flies in the face of the values many of us devote our lives to (or seem to, at any rate). The common counterexamples used to show that we often know what is good but choose what we know is bad (smoking, acts of malice, dishonesty) are only counterexamples when we separate knowledge from wisdom. If by "know the good," we mean, for example, to understand cognitively that smoking leads to impaired health and that lying corrupts our character, then it is possible to know the good and do the bad. But if by "know the good" we mean to value and love the soul, then perhaps Socrates is correct. Perhaps we choose to smoke or to lie in ignorance of their qualitative effects on our souls. We might also find Socrates' ideas difficult to accept because—like the Sophists and many Greeks of his time—we grant primacy to the external physical and social world rather than to the soul. We more easily recognize harm to our reputations and physical health than we do harm to our souls. Using the physical and deductive sciences as our paradigms of knowledge can make it difficult to recognize even the possibility of wisdom. By professing his ignorance, Socrates has achieved a kind of immortality. He is one of the few great philosophers to whom people of many cultures, eras, abilities, and interests have looked for wisdom. The Socratic mission has not ended. Socrates' power to provoke, challenge, and awaken lives on.

Among Socratic teachings, the most persistent command was "Know thyself." The significance to Socrates of this command is underscored by the fact that he stressed its importance to his life and mission during his Apology. Facing the end of a long life, Socrates uttered one of the most famous statements in the history of ideas: "The unexamined life is not worth living." By this he meant, among other things, that a life devoid of philosophical speculation is hardly a human life. That is, it is incomplete; it is not fully functioning and so lacks virtue or excellence. Socrates believed that the human psyche is the essence of humanness. To him, the psyche was a combination of what we think of as the mind and soul: consciousness, the capacity to reason, and the ability to reflect, known as reflective thinking. Giovanni Reale says: As has recently come to light, no one prior to Socrates had understood by soul what Socrates understood by it, and after Socrates the whole of the West. ... the soul for Socrates was identified with our consciousness when it thinks and acts with our reason and with the source of our thinking activity and our ethical activity. In short, for Socrates the soul is the conscious self, it is intellectual and moral personhood. If, as they say, I am only an ignorant man trying to be a philosopher, then that may be what a philosopher is. — Diogenes

An unexamined life is a life that takes the psyche for granted. An unexamined life is, in a sense, an unconscious life. It is lived on the minimal level: Thinking never rises above practical concerns; desires are rarely pondered; custom, habit, and unquestioned beliefs substitute for reflection and assessment. Consequently, it is possible for a very intelligent, materially successful individual to live an unexamined life. The examined life does not produce all the answers. Instead, it results in a life devoted to knowing more, a life in which progress means shedding false beliefs, a life in which pretense is continually reduced. The examined life is lived in conscious awareness of the human condition; it is not merely spent in an uncritical attempt to satisfy various needs and desires. Philosophical Query Do some informal research among your friends to get a sense of some contemporary conceptions of the soul. Compare and contrast what you discover with Socrates' conception of the psyche. How might a person's conception of the soul influence his or her response to the issue of the unexamined life?

The fundamental Socratic imperative "Know thyself" takes on special significance in light of Socrates' view that human beings always seek what they believe to be their own welfare and cannot deliberately do otherwise. In the Gorgias, Socrates points out that when people do what appear to be bad or distasteful things, it is always with some ultimate good in mind: So it is for the sake of the good that people do all these [distasteful] actions? Yes, it is. And we have admitted that when we act for any purpose, we do not desire the action itself but the object of the action? Yes. Then we do not desire . . . these [distasteful] actions themselves; but if they are advantageous, we desire to do them; and if they are harmful, we do not. For we desire what is good . . . but things that are neither bad nor good we do not desire, nor things that are bad either. For Socrates, the good or harm in question is always determined by what benefits or harms the soul. In order to seek my soul's welfare I have to know myself. And in order to know myself, I have to know what kind of thing I am. Without this knowledge, I cannot know what is really good for me. In the Protagoras, Socrates reinforces his conviction that no one knowingly does evil:

For no wise man, I believe, will allow that any human being errs voluntarily, or voluntarily does evil or base actions; but they are very well aware that all who do evil and base things do them against their will. Philosophical Query Do you agree that no one knowingly does evil? Explain. You might want to read the box about the Ring of Gyges in Chapter 3 before you answer.

As presented by Plato, the harmony between Socrates' life and teachings transformed him from a truth-seeker into a sage and from a sage into a paradigm of the teacher-as-more-than-sage. Pierre Hadot says: There were several reasons for the fact that my research on the sage as a model gradually became fixed upon Socrates. In the first place, I found in him a figure who exercised a widespread influence of the greatest importance on the entire Western tradition. Secondly, and most importantly, the figure of Socrates—as sketched by Plato, at any rate—had it seemed to me one unique advantage. It is the portrait of a mediator between the transcendent ideal of wisdom and concrete human reality. It is a paradox of highly Socratic irony that Socrates was not a sage, but a "philo-sopher": that is, a lover of wisdom.

For reasons that remain controversial to this day, Socrates' "electric shock" effect on Athens resulted in his indictment, conviction, and execution as a traitorous blasphemer. Speaking for the last time as a public figure, on trial for his life, the seventy-year-old philosopher repeated what he had always insisted: "I neither know nor think that I know." As we learn more about Socrates' teachings and teaching method, let's see if we can gain some understanding of how it came to pass that a philosopher who insisted, under threat of death, that his wisdom consisted of knowing that he did not know still stands as the archetypal wise man in Western philosophy.

Of what value is smartness of speech? Opposing a man with the mouth excites anger. — Confucius As you read the following extended passage from the Republic, look for examples of irony (and sarcasm). Reflect on Thrasymachus' accusations against Socrates and his method. Study Socrates' responses. Note how Socrates manages to draw Thrasymachus into his preferred question-and-answer process—in spite of Thrasymachus' apparent awareness of the dialectic's effects and his own strong assertions that he will not participate. Be alert for the possible psychological consequences that might result from an encounter with Socrates. (And add some zest to your reading by mentally picturing the two protagonists: the volatile, stylish, younger, stronger, hotheaded Thrasymachus and the confident rumpled old master of the cross-examination.) As our drama opens, Socrates is describing Thrasymachus' impatient interruption of a discussion Socrates was having with a man named Polemarchus: Socrates is guilty of rejecting the gods acknowledged by the state and of bringing in strange deities; he is also guilty of corrupting the youth. — Indictment brought against Socrates I think that all men have a choice between various courses, and choose and follow the one which they think conduces most to their advantage. — Socrates And this, O men of Athens, is the truth and the whole truth; I have concealed nothing, I have dissembled nothing. And yet, I know that my plainness of speech makes them hate me, and what is their hatred but a proof that I am speaking the truth? — Socrates Several times in the course of the discussion Thrasymachus had made an attempt to get the argument into his own hands, and had been put down by the rest of the company, who wanted to hear the end. But when Polemarchus and I were done speaking and there was a pause, he could no longer hold his peace; and, gathering himself up, he came at us like a wild beast, seeking to devour us. We were panic-stricken at the sight of him. He roared out to the whole company: What folly, Socrates, has taken possession of you all? And why, like crybabies, do you so meekly defer to one another? I say that if you really want to know what justice is, you should not only ask but answer, and you should not claim victory just because you have refuted an opponent, but because you have your own answer. For there are many who can ask questions yet cannot answer them. And I will not have you say that justice is duty or advantage or profit or gain or interest, for this sort of nonsense will not do for me. I must have clearness and accuracy. I was panic-stricken at his words, and could not look at him without trembling. Indeed I believe that if I had not already noticed his growing anger, I would have been struck dumb . . . Thrasymachus, I said, with a quiver, don't be hard upon us. Polemarchus and I may have been guilty of a little mistake in the argument, but I can assure you that the error was not intentional. If we were cooperating in a search for gold, you would not be accusing us of "meekly deferring to one another," and in so doing harming our chances of finding it. Why, when we are looking for justice, a thing more precious than gold, do you say that we are weakly yielding to one another and thus not doing our utmost to get at the truth? Nay, my good friend, we are most willing and anxious to get at the truth, but the fact is that we cannot. If we are unable to find it, people like you, who know all things, should pity us and help us and not be angry with us.

How characteristic of Socrates! he replied, with a bitter laugh;—that's your ironical style! Did I not foresee—have I not already told you, that whatever Socrates was asked he would refuse to answer, and would instead try irony or any other shuffle, in order that he might avoid answering? . . . But what if I give you a better and different definition of justice, he said, than any of these? What do you deserve to have done to you? Done to me? Why, as best becomes an ignorant man, I must learn from the wise. That is what I deserve to have done to me. What, and no payment! a pleasant notion! I will pay when I have the money, I replied. Don't worry about money, Socrates, said Glaucon. And you, Thrasymachus, need be under no anxiety about money, for we will all make a contribution for Socrates. Yes, he replied, and then Socrates will do as he always does, refuse to answer himself, and twist and pull to pieces someone else's answer. Why, my good friend, I said, how can I answer when I do not know, and when I so freely admit that I do not know. Even if I did have some faint notions of my own, I have been told by you, a man of authority, not to utter them. That being so, it makes much more sense for you—someone who professes to know—to tell what he knows. Will you, then, kindly answer, for the edification of Glaucon and company, and of myself? Glaucon and the rest of the company joined in my request and Thrasymachus, as all could see, was quite eager to speak, for he thought that he had an excellent answer and would distinguish himself by giving it. But at first he made a show of insisting that I do the answering. Eventually, he consented to answer, proclaiming: Behold the wisdom of Socrates! He refuses to teach, instead pretending to learn from others without ever saying thank you. That I learn from others, I replied, is quite true, but that I am ungrateful I deny. Money I have none, and therefore I pay in praise, which is all I have. And I am eager to praise any one who appears to me to answer well, as you will soon find out, for I have no doubt that you will answer well. Listen, then, he said: I proclaim that justice, or what is right, is nothing else but whatever is in the interest of the stronger party. And now why do you not praise me? But of course you won't. Before I can praise you, I must first understand you, I replied. Justice, you say, is the interest of the stronger party. What, Thrasymachus, is the precise meaning of this? You cannot mean to say that because Polydamas, the athlete, is stronger than we are, and finds the eating of beef conducive to his bodily strength, that eating the same things he does is equally good for we who are weaker than he is, and so his athlete's diet is right and proper for us? That's abominable of you, Socrates. You take my words in the sense which is most damaging to my argument. Not at all, my good sir, I said. I am trying to understand you, and I wish that you would be a little clearer. Well, he said, have you never heard that forms of government differ, that there are tyrannies and democracies and aristocracies? Yes, I know. And the government is the ruling power in each state? Certainly. And the different forms of government make laws with a view to their own particular interests—democracies make democratic laws, tyrannies make tyrannical laws, and aristocracies make aristocratic laws. And these laws, which are made by the ruling classes for their own interests, are the "justice" which they deliver to their subjects, and the rulers punish anyone who breaks their laws for being unjust. And that is what I mean when I say that in every kind of state there is the only one principle of justice, and that principle is to further the interest of the government, of the ruling class. And because the government is supposed to have power, the only reasonable conclusion is that everywhere there is one principle of justice: justice is that which is in the interest of the strongest party. ... Consider further, most foolish Socrates, that the just man is always a loser in comparison with the unjust. First of all, in private contracts, wherever an unjust man is a partner of a just man and the partnership is dissolved, the unjust man always comes out ahead and the just man comes out behind. Secondly, consider their dealings with the State. When there is an income tax, the just man will pay more and the unjust man will pay less on the same amount of income. And when there is anything to be received the just man gains nothing and the unjust man gains much. Observe also what happens when they hold office. There is the just man neglecting his private affairs and perhaps suffering other losses, and getting nothing out of public office, because he is just. Moreover he is hated by his friends and acquaintances for refusing to help them out in unlawful ways. But all this is reversed in the case of the unjust man. I am speaking . . . of injustice on a large scale where the advantages of being unjust are more apparent . . . People censure injustice because they are afraid that they may be the victims of it—not because they would not like to get away with it. And thus, as I have shown, Socrates, injustice, when practiced on a sufficient scale, has more strength and freedom and mastery than justice, and, as I said from the first, justice is the interest of the stronger party, whereas injustice is the profit and interest of oneself. . . . Now I understand you, I said. Whether you are right or not I will try to discover. But let me remark, that in defining justice you have yourself used the word "interest," one of the words you forbade me to use. It is true, however, that in your definition the words "of the stronger" are added. A small addition, you must allow, he said. Great or small, never mind about that. We must first enquire whether what you are saying is the truth. Now we are both agreed that justice is interest of some sort, but you go on to say "of the stronger." About this addition I am not so sure, and must therefore consider further. Proceed. I will; and first tell me, do you admit that it is just for subjects to obey their rulers? I do. But are the rulers of states absolutely infallible, or are they sometimes liable to err? To be sure, he replied, they are liable to err. Then in making their laws they may sometimes make them rightly, and sometimes not? True. When they make them rightly, they make them agreeably to their interest; when they are mistaken, contrary to their interest; you admit that? Yes. And the laws which they make must be obeyed by their subjects, and that is what you call justice? Doubtless. Then justice, according to your argument, is not only obedience to the interest of the stronger but the reverse? What is that you are saying? he asked. Only what you are saying. Consider: Have we not admitted that the rulers may be mistaken about their own interest in what they command, and also that to obey them is justice? Has not that been admitted? Yes. Then you yourself acknowledge that justice is not the interest of the stronger party when the stronger party unintentionally commands things to be done which injure it. In such a case, O wisest of men, is there any escape from the conclusion that the just act is not what is in the interest of the rulers—the stronger party—but what, on the contrary, is against the interest of the stronger party? Philosophical Query Statistically, poorer, less-educated people make up a disproportionate segment of our prison population. Just how relevant to Thrasymachus' position is it that white-collar and celebrity criminals are often punished less severely than are poor or obscure defendants? Other studies suggest that physically attractive job candidates are most likely to be hired. Have you ever noticed how some students seem to get by mostly on cleverness and charm? Should we draw conclusions about the nature of justice from these cases or just chalk them up to the way things sometimes go? Try to separate our lip-service moral values from those we practice. Try to separate a storybook conception of life from a realistic one. Are moral realists onto something or not? Explain.

When Socrates was probably in his thirties, his friend Chaerephon went to the Oracle at Delphi with a question: Is anyone wiser than Socrates? The Oracle was believed to have the gift of prophecy. Either through divine guidance or cleverness, it gave this famous, ambiguous reply: No man is wiser than Socrates. This can be taken to mean either (a) Socrates is the wisest man in Athens, or (b) even though Socrates is not very wise, he is as wise as anybody gets. The first interpretation makes Socrates unique. The second makes him an exemplar of the human condition. The Oracle at the Temple of Apollo at Delphi was a priestess thought to deliver messages from Apollo while sitting on a tripod placed over a crevice in the floor, from which gases escaped. In a semi-trance, the Oracle delivered cryptic utterances such as "No man is wiser than Socrates." © iStock.com/Anthro Socrates took the Oracle's reply quite seriously, claiming that it was the turning point in his life. His first reaction to hearing the god Apollo's reply was confusion:

I said to myself, What can the god mean? and what is the interpretation of his riddle? for I know that I have no wisdom, small or great. What then can he mean when he says that I am the wisest of men? And yet he is a god, and cannot lie; that would be against his nature. After long consideration, I thought of a method of trying the question. I reflected that if I could only find a man wiser than myself, then I might go to the god with a refutation in my hand. I should say to him, "Here is a man wiser than I am; but you said I was the wisest." Accordingly I went to one who had a reputation of wisdom, and observed him—his name I need not mention; he was a politician whom I selected for examination—and the result was as follows: When I began to talk with him, I could not help thinking that he was not really wise, although he was thought wise by many, and still wiser by himself; and thereupon I tried to explain to him that he thought himself wise, but was not really wise; and the consequence was that he hated me, and his enmity was shared by several who were present and heard me. So I left him, saying to myself, as I went away: Well, although I do not suppose that either of us knows anything really beautiful and good, I am better off than he is—for he knows nothing, and thinks that he knows; I neither know nor think that I know. In this . . ., then, I seem to have slightly the advantage of him. Then I went to another who had still higher pretensions to wisdom, and my conclusion was exactly the same. Whereupon I made another enemy of him, and of many others besides him. What point could Socrates have been making? Clearly—it seems—Socrates possessed some kind of knowledge, if not wisdom. Just as clearly—it seems—he must have believed in his own ignorance, since he alluded to it on many occasions. If we allow for an element of irony in Socrates' language, it then becomes likely that Socrates was challenging our notions of wisdom and knowledge. To certain sorts of people, Socrates' statements will remain clouded, perhaps beyond comprehension. Among them are young people whose "minds have not conceived at all" or older ones whose thoughts are already so firmly set that they can see only a phony technique used to avoid answering questions. Such people cannot conceive of their own ignorance. They are firmly convinced that they know everything important. To the Sophists, Socrates' use of craftily faked ignorance was merely a clever psychological ploy to keep them off balance and on the spot. It's this sort of thing that made Thrasymachus so angry. Given that the Socratic method employs guided questions, we can reasonably conclude that Socrates does have some ideas about the general direction the search for answers will take and the adequacy of certain lines of analysis but refuses to reveal them in dogmatic form. Socrates' ignorance was part of his whole mission, which he saw as bringing home to others their own intellectual needs. Once that was accomplished, they were invited to join the search for truth using the dialectical method of question-and-answer. The essence of the Socratic method is to help us realize that, although we thought we knew something, in fact we did not. Socrates may also have been sharing his own honest doubt. Even if he knew more than he let on, which is likely, he was probably more aware of the uncertain nature and limits of knowledge (his own included) than many of us are. In this, he seems wiser than the average person in two ways. First, many of us tend to think that we know much more than we do. Second, all human knowledge is tentative and limited: We are not gods, though we sometimes act as if we were. For Deeper Consideration Socrates said that the unexamined life is not worth living for a human being. Does that strike you as a reasonable assertion? Is there any way to know whether an unexamined life is worth living except by examining it? In other words, can we make any reasonable claims about the quality of an unexamined life—or an unexamined anything? Consider the possibility that Socrates has something up his sleeve when he talks about this.

Perhaps the best way to glimpse the power of Socratic ignorance is to look once more to the Apology, this time where Socrates makes tantalizing statements regarding his merely human wisdom: I dare say, Athenians, that some of you will reply, "Yes, Socrates, but what is the origin of these accusations which are brought against you; there must have been something strange which you have been doing? All these rumours and this talk about you would never have arisen if you had been like other men: tell us, then, what is the cause of them, for we should be sorry to judge hastily of you." Now I regard this as a fair challenge, and I will endeavour to explain to you the reason why I am called wise and have such evil fame. Please to attend then. And although some of you may think that I am joking, I declare that I will tell you the entire truth. Men of Athens, this reputation of mine has come of a certain sort of wisdom which I possess. If you ask me what kind of wisdom, I reply, wisdom such as may perhaps be attained by man, for to that extent I am inclined to believe that I am wise; whereas the persons to whom I was speaking have a superhuman wisdom, which I may fail to describe, because I have it not myself; and he who says I have, speaks falsely, and is taking away my character. The Socratic distinction between "human wisdom" and "more-than-human wisdom" is a powerful one. Buddha made a similar point in his intriguing discussion of "questions not tending toward edification" (discussed in Chapter 1). If I had engaged in politics, I should have perished long ago . . . for the truth is, that no man who goes to war with you or any other multitude, honestly striving against the many lawless and unrighteous deeds which are done in a state, will save his life; he who will fight for the right, if he would live even for a brief space, must have a private station and not a public one. — Socrates

In his effort to understand why the god said no one was wiser than he, Socrates discovered how easy it is to become deluded by our own special skills. The modern tendency to compartmentalize rather than integrate our lives, combined with the respect we have for specialized skills and knowledge, might make us especially susceptible to this delusion. Modern media of all forms offer an endless array of individuals expressing their "insights" and "discoveries" in all areas of life. Psychologists discuss morals, entertainers lecture on food additives, preachers propose legislation, all sorts of people write books generalizing from their own limited experience to the human condition. And what are we to make of the proliferation of blogs, tweets, YouTube rants, anonymous online commenting, and #hashtag philosophizing posted by self-identified experts on current affairs, politics, theology, music, health—every conceivable field of human endeavor? They—and we—seem to assume that if you have a degree, sell lots of books, get rich, have a television or radio show, or become famous, then you must know what you're talking about no matter what you're talking about. Things haven't changed: At last I went to the artisans, for I was conscious that I knew nothing at all, as I may say, and I was sure that they knew many fine things; and here I was not mistaken, for they did know many things of which I was ignorant, and in this they certainly were wiser than I was. But I observed that even the good artisans fell into the same error as the poets—because they were good workmen they thought that they also knew all sorts of high matters, and this defect in them overshadowed their wisdom; and therefore I asked myself whether I would like to be as I was, neither having their knowledge nor their ignorance, or like them in both; and I made answer to myself and to the oracle that I was better off as I was. This inquisition has led to my having many enemies of the worst and most dangerous kind, and has given occasion to many calumnies. And I am called wise, for my hearers always imagine that I possess the wisdom which I find wanting in others; but the truth is, O men of Athens, that God only is wise; and by his answer he intends to show that the wisdom of men is worth little or nothing; he is not speaking of Socrates, he is only using my name by way of illustration, as if he said, He, O men, is wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that his wisdom is in truth worth nothing. And so I go about the world, obedient to the god, and search and make enquiry into the wisdom of anyone, whether citizen or stranger, who appears to be wise; and if he is not wise, then in vindication of the oracle I show him that he is not wise; and my occupation quite absorbs me, and I have no time to give either to any public matter or interest or to any concern of my own, but I am in utter poverty by reason of my devotion to the god.

The combined portraits of Plato and Xenophon reveal Socrates as a master teacher, a man of unusual intellectual force, possessing an integrated self, whose charisma and personal power sprang from more than either mere intellect or personality. In other words, Socrates is a genuine archetypal individual, or, in a term coined by philosopher and psychologist Karl Jaspers (1883-1969), a paradigmatic individual. Jaspers applied the term to a special class of teachers, philosophers, and religious figures whose nature becomes a standard by which a culture judges the "ideal" human being. An archetypal or paradigmatic individual is a rare human being whose very nature represents something elemental about the human condition. "The historical reality of [the paradigmatic individual]," says Jaspers, "can be discerned only in [his] extraordinary impact on those who knew [him] and in [his] later echoes." In any encounter with an archetypal individual, the power or force of the whole person is galvanic. This power does not come from a rational argument. It is an experience that almost goes beyond words and cannot be ignored. It triggers not just personal but deep philosophical and spiritual responses in others. These human paradigms possess a timeless quality, according to Jaspers. They serve as archetypal images for their cultures and usually speak to other cultures as well. Although different cultures and eras produce different archetypes (Jaspers used as his examples Socrates, Confucius, Buddha, and Jesus), the archetypal individual's very nature demands a response: What is it to be a human being? What is most important? What is good? How should I live? Jaspers says: A radical change is experienced and demanded [by paradigmatic individuals]. They are stirred to their depths, by what we do not know. They express what there is no appropriate way of saying. They speak in parables, dialectical contradictions, conversational replies. ... Socrates seeks himself and his relation to other men. By his extreme questioning he arouses a real, living certainty that is not mere knowledge of something. He transcends the world without negating it. He forges total knowledge, total judgments, contenting himself with a nonknowledge in which truth and reality are actualized. [emphasis added]

In other words, Socrates continued to develop and grow as a person because of his philosophical search. He did not "fragment" himself into two parts, the thinker and the real person. He did not force himself to stick to a rigid theory. He responded anew to each experience. When Jaspers refers to "a nonknowledge," he means that Socrates always insisted that his "wisdom" lay in knowing what he did not know. (We'll look into this important concept shortly.) Because their very natures "demand response," paradigmatic individuals provoke extreme community reactions: Love and embrace them or reject and exclude them. The paradigmatic individual is more challenging and intense than the mere sage is. We saw in Chapter 2 that the sage was considered "strange" and "alien," atopos in Greek. But this kind of strangeness can be trivialized or dismissed as merely odd or eccentric. The paradigmatic individual may be just as "strange" as the sage, but in a manner that is more personally disturbing, more deeply unsettling to our everyday habits and values. Something about a paradigmatic teacher "shocks" us into a state of uncomfortable, reflective alertness. By actually or very nearly living up to principles that we, too, profess to see as worthy—and by living up to them with remarkable consistency and courage—the mere existence of a "human paradigm" provokes us into wondering how well our own lives reflect our beliefs. In other words, the life and teachings of the paradigmatic individual form a whole, a harmony that precludes the "safe distance" that exists between the lives of more ordinary teachers and their teachings. The paradigmatic figure invites us to close the gap by calling on us to live courageously and honestly according to articulated principles—without excusing ourselves. I found that the men in most repute were all but the most foolish; and that others less esteemed were really wiser and better. — Socrates For the most part, paradigmatic teachers stand in opposition to moral compromises to our integrity—however that is understood. But living without significant compromise is dangerous and perhaps wrong. In the first place, there is the risk that what appears to be integrity is, in fact, dogmatic rigidity, self-satisfied and self-righteous fanaticism. Then, too, by holding themselves to purportedly high standards, paradigmatic teachers step outside the "norm"—become estranged from the more modest or common standards and goals of the community. This "outsider" position is, itself, seen as a threat to conformity and group identity. This threat is amplified whenever a sage or prophet refuses to stop with mere questioning and throws down the gauntlet by living with fearless integrity. One contemporary educational philosophy actually advises teachers to admit their failings and "share" their weaknesses with their students to make it easier for the students to "relate" to the teachers. From a certain perspective, it does seem safer (easier) to admire the lessons of teachers who are "just like us." The shared weaknesses of teachers who are "just like us" protect us from feeling deeply challenged: We are not confronted by the power of the kind of teacher whose teaching is completely reflected in his or her being. By actually "living up to" their teachings, integrated teachers deny us the safety of believing that the standard is set too high to reach, the notion that no one really lives like that. Sometimes, we actually prefer the pastor who humbly admits to—and indulges in—a love of fine automobiles or sailboarding, willingly paid for out of the collection plate; the ethics professor who copies colleagues' new software and uses the schools equipment to play on the Internet; the psychology instructor who lectures while intoxicated and dates students (only "mature" students, of course); the activist professor whose passionate indictments of elitism or racism or sexism are simply virulent forms of the same "isms," only in reverse. "What an Extraordinary Effect His Words Have Had on Me" In Plato's Symposium, Alcibiades notes the staggering power of Socrates: . . . when we listen to you, or to someone else repeating what you've said, even if he puts it ever so badly, and never mind whether the person who's listening is man, woman, or child, we're absolutely staggered and bewitched. And speaking for myself, gentlemen, if I wasn't afraid you'd tell me that I was completely bottled, I'd swear on oath what an extraordinary effect his words have had on me—and still do if it comes to that. For the moment I hear him speak I am smitten with a kind of sacred rage . . . oh, and not only me, but lots of other men. . . . He makes me admit that while I'm spending time on politics I am neglecting all the things crying for attention in myself. So I just refuse to listen to him—as if he were one of those Sirens, you know—and get out of earshot as quick as I can, for fear he will keep me sitting listening till I'm positively senile. And there's one thing I've never felt with anybody else—not the kind of thing you'd expect to find in me, either—and that is a sense of shame. Socrates is the only man in the world that can make me feel ashamed. Because there's no getting away from it, I know I ought to do the things he tells me to, and yet the moment I'm out of his sight I don't care what I do to keep in with the mob. So I dash off like a runaway slave, and keep out of his way as long as I can, and the next time I meet him I remember all that I had to admit the time before, and naturally I feel ashamed. There are times when I'd honestly be glad to hear that he's dead, and yet I know that if he did die I'd be more upset than ever—so I ask you, what is a man to do? Plato, Symposium , 215D-16C, in Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns, eds., Plato: The Collected Dialogues , trans. Michael Joyce (New York: Pantheon, Bollingen Series 71, 1966), p. 567. So ingrained is contemporary suspicion of the possibility of healthy expressions of paradigmatic—or pretty much any other kind of—integrity, that I am uncomfortable writing this passage and listing these commonplace examples of apparent gaps between teachers and what they teach. So let's engage in a bit of sophisticated, contemporary snarkiness for a moment: The historical Socrates was probably not such a fine fellow, anyway. Plato probably just invented him to get back at the Sophists (Chapter 3). Once we grow up, we see through these romanticized, Sunday-school-type heroes. Nobody could really live like Socrates today. But what if. ... Philosophical Query Can you think of other paradigmatic individuals? Remember, a paradigmatic individual is more than a merely influential teacher, adviser, social reformer, or significant religious figure. Do you think that contemporary America, with its present encouragement of personal liberty and diversity combined with suspicion of even a hint of authoritarianism can produce archetypal philosophers? Or must each community or ethnic group have its own human paradigms? What qualities do you think a contemporary American sophos must possess?

A key element in keeping his pupils engaged, and calling attention to the importance of meaning, was Socrates' use of irony, a way of communicating on more than one level. An ironic utterance has at least two levels of meaning: the literal level, also known as the obvious level, and the hidden level, also known as the real level. As a rule, the two meanings are near opposites, as in the case of the sarcastic professor who writes on a woefully inadequate term paper: "Beautiful job! You've never done better!" By using words in unexpected ways, by meaning more than one obvious, surface-level thing, Socrates hoped to keep his listeners alert. Further, the use of irony underscored his belief that things are not always as they first appear, that there is a deeper meaning than may be apparent. Socrates used irony to keep his listeners on their toes and to avoid putting answers in their mouths. For instance, he begins his Apology (his defense at his trial) by referring to the persuasive abilities of his immediate accusers, who are Sophists. Of course, his remark is actually an ironic way of showing that these Sophists have not persuaded him of anything. His use of irony in his opening remarks gets the audience's immediate attention: How you, O Athenians, have been affected by my accusers, I cannot tell; but I know that they almost made me forget who I was—so persuasively did they speak; and yet they have hardly uttered a word of truth. But of the many falsehoods told by them, there was one which quite amazed me;—I mean when they said that you should be upon your guard and not allow yourselves to be deceived by the force of my eloquence. To say this, when they were certain to be detected as soon as I opened my lips and proved myself to be anything but a great speaker, did indeed appear to me most shameless—unless by the force of eloquence they mean the force of truth; for if such is their meaning, I admit that I am eloquent. But in how different a way from theirs! Well, as I was saying, they have scarcely spoken the truth at all; but from me you shall hear the whole truth: not, however, delivered after their manner in a set oration duly ornamented with words and phrases . . . at my time of life I ought not be appearing before you, O men of Athens, in the character of a juvenile orator—let no one expect it of me.

Ironic communication confuses those who are inattentive or not in on the hidden meaning. For instance, most members of Socrates' jury would have been familiar with his wranglings with Sophists and with sophistic emphasis on the arts of persuasion. A smaller group would have also responded to the irony of Socrates, whose life was devoted to following the command "Know thyself," forgetting who he was. Irony was both a crucial component of Socrates' method and a contributing factor to his ultimate trouble, because to many observers, Socrates' use of irony was just another sophistic trick. Philosophical Query See how many ironic references to Sophists you can find in the preceding passage from Plato's Apology.

Socrates' entire teaching mission centered on his conviction that we are our souls. That is, the "real person" is not the body but the psyche. Perhaps the most important passage in the Apology concerns Socrates' description of himself as a kind of "physician of the soul." In Socrates' sense, "seeking my own welfare" means "seeking the welfare of my soul." Note how in the following passage Socrates implies that he does indeed know something (that the most important thing is care of the soul) and that he views his whole public career as a teacher in light of his expanded notion of the self as the soul: It is fascinating to imagine encounters between Socrates and today's confident "sages" and professional advice-givers such as television talk-show host Dr. Phil. How do you think Dr. Phil (and other celebrity gurus) would fare with Socrates as a guest? Frederick M. Brown/Getty Images To pretend to know what you do not know is a disease. — Lao-tzu

Men of Athens, I honour and love you; but I shall obey God rather than you, and while I have strength I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of philosophy, exhorting any one whom I meet and saying to him after my manner: You, my friend,—a citizen of the great and mighty and wise city of Athens,—are you not ashamed of heaping up the greatest amount of money and honour and reputation, and caring so little about wisdom and truth and the greatest improvement of the soul, which you never regard or heed at all? And if the person with whom I am arguing, says: Yes, but I do care; then I do not leave him or let him go at once; but I proceed to interrogate and examine and cross-examine him, and if I think that he has no virtue in him, but only says that he has, I reproach him with undervaluing the greater, and overvaluing the less. And I shall repeat the same words to everyone I meet, young and old, citizen and alien, but especially to the citizens. ... For know that this is the command of the god; and I believe no greater good has happened to this state than my service to the god. For I do nothing but go about persuading you all, old and young alike, not to take thought for your persons or your properties, but first and chiefly to care about the greatest improvement of your soul. I tell you that virtue is not given by money, but that from virtue comes money and every other good of man, public as well as private. This is my teaching. Philosophical Query Compare Socrates' attitude toward the soul with your own—and with that of your religion, if you practice one. What do you see as the main differences? What are some advantages and disadvantages of Socrates' view? "Oh, the Pure Innocent Child!" Oh, tell me who was it first announced, who was it first proclaimed, that man only does nasty things because he does not know his own interests; and that if he were enlightened, if his eyes were opened to his real normal interests, man would at once cease to do nasty things, would at once become good and noble because, being enlightened and understanding his real advantage, he would see his own advantage in the good and nothing else, and we all know that not one man can, consciously, act against his own interests, consequently, so to say, through necessity, he would begin doing good? Oh, the babe! Oh, the pure innocent child! Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from the Underground , trans. Constance Garnett, in Existentialism from Dostoevsky to Sartre , ed. Walter Kaufmann (New York: New American Library, 1975), p. 67.

When Rabbi Bunam lay dying his wife burst into tears. He said: "What are you crying for? My whole life was only that I might learn how to die." — Martin Buber Socrates could not be executed on the day of the trial, as was customary, because the trial had lasted longer than usual, extending into late afternoon, the beginning of a holy period. Socrates was put in prison to await the end of the holy period, in this case about a month. While there, he continued to pursue his philosophical questions. He was offered the opportunity to escape, the officials going so far as to make it clear they would not stop him. He refused, and finally the holy period ended and word came that Socrates must die before sundown. A number of Socrates' friends visited him in prison on the last day of his life. He discussed the nature of the soul with them and told a mythical story about the soul's immortality. When his friend Crito asked how they should bury him, Socrates jokingly replied, "In any way you like; but you must get hold of me, and take care that I do not run away from you." Plato described what happened next: Then he turned to us and added with a smile: I cannot make Crito believe that I am the same Socrates who has been talking and conducting the argument; he fancies that I am the other Socrates whom he will soon see, a dead body—and he asks, How shall you bury me? And though I have spoken many words in the endeavour to show that when I have drunk the poison I shall leave you and go to the joys of the blessed. ... I shall not remain, but go away and depart; . . . I would not have [you] sorrow at my hard lot, or say at the burial, Thus we lay out Socrates, or, Thus we follow him to the grave or bury him; for false words are not only evil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil. Be of good cheer then, . . . and say that you are burying my body only, and do with that whatever is usual, and what you think best. Socrates went to bathe, while his friends talked about what he had said. Plato reported that his friends felt as if they were losing a father and would be orphans for the rest of their lives. After Socrates' bath, his children and the women of his household were brought in. When he finally sent the women and children away, it was close to sunset—the end of the day, by which time he was officially supposed to be dead. The jailer came in while he was talking and said that it was time.

Most condemned men resisted drinking the hemlock until late into the evening, getting drunk and putting off the inevitable for as long as they could, but Socrates asked that the poison be prepared and brought to him. Socrates' jailer noted how different Socrates was and, weeping, he thanked Socrates for talking with him and treating him as a friend. Crito begged him to delay, but Socrates said that there was nothing to be gained by it. Rather, there was much to lose by degrading himself. To evade and fear death would have made a mockery out of his entire life, for Socrates had long taught that death was not an evil. When the jailer returned with the cup, Socrates asked what he had to do and was told to just drink it and then walk around a bit. Plato's account continues: Socrates needed the hemlock, as Jesus needed the Crucifixion, to fulfill a mission. The mission left a stain forever on democracy. That remains Athens' tragic crime. — I. F. Stone Then raising the cup to his lips, quite readily and cheerfully he drank off the poison. And hitherto most of us had been able to control our sorrow; but now when we saw him drinking, and saw too that he had finished the draught, we could no longer forbear, and in spite of myself my own tears were flowing fast; so that I covered my face and wept, not for him, but for the thought of my own calamity in having to part with such a friend. Nor was I the first; for Crito, when he found himself unable to restrain his tears, had got up, and I followed; and at that moment Apollodorus, who had been weeping all the time, broke out in a loud and passionate cry which made cowards of us all. Socrates alone retained his calmness: What is this strange outcry? he said. I sent away the women mainly in order that they might not misbehave in this way, for I have been told that a man should die in peace. Be quiet then and have patience. When we heard his words we were ashamed, and refrained our tears; and he walked about until, as he said, his legs began to fail, and then he lay on his back, according to the directions, and the man who gave him the poison now and then looked at his feet and legs; and after a while he pressed his foot hard, and asked him if he could feel; and he said, No; and then his leg, and so upwards and upwards, and showed us that he was cold and stiff. And he felt them himself, and said: When the poison reaches the heart, that will be the end. He was beginning to grow cold about the groin, when he uncovered his face, for he had covered himself up, and said—they were his last words—he said: Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius [the god of healing]; you will remember to pay the debt? The debt shall be paid, said Crito; is there anything else? There was no answer to this question; but in a minute or two a movement was heard, and the attendants uncovered him; his eyes were set, and Crito closed his eyes and mouth. Such was the end . . . of our friend; concerning whom I may truly say, that of all the men of his time whom I have known, he was the wisest and justest and best. "Hemlock" Conine is the toxic component of the plant commonly known as hemlock. Hemlock is a coarse biennial plant that looks like a carrot or parsnip plant when young. Mature hemlock stands four to ten feet tall, has small white flowers, and has small grayish-brown fruit that contains seeds. Native to Europe and Asia, hemlock can be found in waste areas throughout the eastern United States, the Rocky Mountains, southern Canada, and the Pacific coast. Depending on the dose, initial symptoms can be vomiting, confusion, respiratory depression, even muscle paralysis. Other possible effects include salivating, thirst, double vision, loss of vision, slow heartbeat, seizures, burning sensations of mouth, throat, and abdomen, and kidney failure. Ultimately, hemlock poisoning results in paralysis of the skeletal muscles and intense, diffuse muscle pain. ... Source: POISINDEX®, Vol. 86, © 1974-1995 Micromedia Inc. Jacques-Louis David's 1787 painting The Death of Socrates is perhaps the most famous artistic depiction of that significant event. Does it reflect your conception of Socrates' death? Francis G. Mayer/Fine Art Value/Corbis Philosophical Query Although complex political reasons lay behind some of the animosity that led to Socrates' execution, it is likely that bad feelings of a deeper, more primitive nature were also important factors. Whatever reasons there may have been for prosecuting Socrates on capital charges, recall that he was seventy years old at the time of his trial. What is the significance of this fact? Why bother to try, convict, and execute a seventy-year-old man whose behavior had been remarkably consistent and publicly observed for perhaps fifty years? There was nothing new about Socrates. So what was it?

Before we look further into some specific Socratic doctrines, let's enrich our sense of the dialectic as an interpersonal philosophical method. We can do that by taking an extended look at the kind of dialectical exchange with a Sophist that Socrates became famous for: precisely the sort of explosive encounter that fueled his ambiguous reputation and contributed to the animosity between Socrates and certain Sophists. To some critics, Socrates' entire philosophical career was what vaudeville performers used to call a "shtick," a gimmick that gives a performer a recognizable identity to hide behind and a repertoire of predictable routines. Sophists and other critics saw him as an undemocratic elitist merely pretending to be a simple fellow, poor and modest, on a so-called quest for wisdom. According to this view, Socrates was a Sophist. From this perspective, his "Aw, shucks," seemingly meek demeanor was thought to be a ruse designed to set opponents up for the fall. That is, by lulling people into a false sense of security and trust, Socrates was able to catch them off guard and shock them with sneaky word tricks and leading questions. Whether there is merit to such a picture of Socrates is something you must wrestle with for yourself. Plato provides one of the most intriguing examples of the Socratic dialectic in action early in his masterpiece, the Republic (Chapter 5). The passage concerns a typical encounter between Socrates and a Sophist. Thrasymachus (c. 450 b.c.e.) is the kind of Sophist who is less interested in theories and philosophy than in political and social action. In Book I, section 3 of the Republic, Plato paints a vivid portrait of the volatile, aggressive style Thrasymachus used in confronting his opponents.

Socrates so confounded the brilliant and controversial general Alcibiades that Alcibiades said he would almost be happy to learn that Socrates was dead—and yet Alcibiades loved Socrates. Alcibides Reprimanded by Socrates, c.1780 (pastel on paper), Italian School, (18th century)/Private Collection/© Charles Plante Fine Arts/The Bridgeman Art Library International The Republic consists of a series of dialogues between Socrates and various individuals, chiefly about the nature of justice. By skillful questioning, Socrates reveals that conventional notions of morality are confused and muddle-headed. After Socrates has rejected a number of attempts to define justice, Thrasymachus literally bursts onto the scene. With energy and sarcasm, the Sophist categorically denies that any one moral standard can be equally applicable to rich and poor, strong and weak, superior and inferior. Thrasymachus goes well beyond Socrates' rejection of common conceptions of justice such as repaying debts or giving persons their due and substitutes unabashed self-interest for any other view of justice. He thereby transforms moral relativism into a hard-edged moral realism, contending that an unsentimental view of life shows quite clearly that might makes right. Whether we like it or not, according to Thrasymachus, the values that prevail in all areas of life—economic, political, racial, educational—reflect the interests of the strong. Certain values dominate not because they are in some absolute sense right but because they are the views preferred by the most powerful individual or group. And since nature rewards power, the powerful individual is always the superior individual, the "true individual," gloriously free in his or her indifference to the puny concerns of conventional morality. Reflecting Socrates' harsh opinion of moral realism, Plato portrays Thrasymachus as loud, offensive, and often on the verge of resorting to force. From the very start, we know we are in for an interesting experience as Thrasymachus disrupts the courteous, philosophical tone of the discussion.

Summary of Main Points

Socrates was the first major Western philosopher. He wrote no philosophy, and what we know of him comes chiefly from his pupils Plato and Xenophon. Socrates challenged the Sophist doctrines of relativism, moral realism, and might makes right. Socrates' teaching and life were so fully integrated that the force of his whole person galvanized others. Individuals of this sort are known as paradigmatic or archetypal individuals, rare human beings whose very nature represents something elemental about the human condition. Socrates perfected a style of philosophical inquiry known as the Socratic method or dialectic. Based on the assumption that the function of education is to draw the truth out of the pupil rather than "fill an empty vessel," Socratic dialectic consists of a series of guided questions that continually refine the ideas under scrutiny. Definitions are required for all key terms, and logical inconsistencies are brought to light and resolved. Socrates used irony to encourage active listening by his pupils and dialectical partners. An ironic utterance is a way of communicating that has at least two levels of meaning: the literal level, also known as the obvious level, and the hidden level, also known as the real level. Among Socratic teachings, the most persistent command was "Know thyself," meaning, among other things, that a life devoid of philosophical speculation is hardly a human life, because only philosophical reflection can help us discover what is real and important from the standpoint of the psyche, the uniquely human soul-mind. Acknowledgment of ignorance, Socrates taught, is a fundamental characteristic of the examined life. Socrates saw himself as a kind of "physician of the soul." He believed that the "real person" is not the body, but the psyche. For Socrates, human excellence (virtue) is a special kind of knowledge (techne) that combines technical understanding with the skill and character to apply that knowledge. According to Socrates, knowledge (wisdom) always produces behavioral results, because behavior is always guided by beliefs. This view is sometimes called intellectualism, the idea that no one knowingly does wrong. According to Socrates, there is no such thing as weakness of will: "To know the good is to do the good."

The Sophists claimed to be teachers of human excellence, with excellence meaning "excellence of function," or virtue (arete in Greek). Too often, however, the result, as we saw in Chapter 3, was might-makes-right moral relativism and a radical this-worldly egoism—in contrast to Socratic egoism, which centers on the soul as the true self. The Sophists looked outward for markers of well-being and success, whereas Socrates looked inward at character. Socrates believed that human excellence (virtue for short) is a special kind of knowledge that combines technical understanding with the skill and character to apply that knowledge. One of the words Socrates used for this kind of knowledge was techne, the Greek term for practical knowledge of how to do things. At various times, techne meant "art," "skill," "craft," "technique," "trade," "system," or "method of doing something." It is the root of English words such as technique, technical, and technology. Techne is knowledge of what to do and how to do it. It is knowledge of both means and ultimate ends. Plato accused the Sophists of developing persuasive skills (rhetoric) without acquiring a corresponding knowledge of what ought to be done or avoided—that is without knowledge of ultimate ends. For example, according to Socrates, a knowledgeable physician has both theoretical understanding and practical skill. Her techne is manifest by the fact that she makes her patients well. If she made them worse, we would conclude that she was not really a physician, that she lacked medical knowledge. Techne is not like merely cognitive knowledge of a cake recipe; it involves the skills needed to actually bake a good cake. According to Socrates, the Sophists' lack of techne was evident because their teachings made people worse. Their own pupils engaged in corrupt business practices and destructive political schemes. Sometimes the Sophists' pupils even attacked their teachers and tried to cheat them out of their tuition, as we saw in the case of Protagoras' Wager (Chapter 3). Thus, the Sophists lacked knowledge of human excellence, or virtue. Socrates believed that knowledge (wisdom) always produces behavioral results, because behavior is always guided by beliefs. For instance, if I believe that the glass of water in front of me is poisoned, I will not drink it—unless I also believe that dying will be better for me than living, given my present circumstances (say, terminal cancer of a painful sort). This rationalistic view that behavior is always controlled by beliefs about what is good and the means to that good is sometimes called intellectualism. Intellectualism emphasizes cognitive states (beliefs), whereas egoism emphasizes desires.

Socrates' intellectualism was part of his unusual claim that no one knowingly does wrong. According to Socrates, when we merely "admit" (state) that our choices are wrong, we are playing word games. To take an extreme example, a satanist who glories in "choosing" evil really believes in the superiority of what he is calling evil. Perhaps, according to Jews, Christians, or Muslims, what he is choosing is wrong, but to the satanist, it is really good. If he honestly believed (knew) that X was wrong (fatal to his soul), our hypothetical satanist could not choose X, according to Socrates. In other words, there is no such thing as true weakness of will. We are, implies Socrates, psychologically incapable of knowing what is good and not doing it. Conversely, we are psychologically incapable of doing what we really know (and believe wholeheartedly) will harm us. Socrates' simple psychology and intellectualism led him to the conviction that all evil is a form of ignorance, because no one knowingly wills harm to herself. For Socrates, knowledge of virtue is wisdom; it goes beyond theoretical understanding of justice or right and wrong and includes living justly, living honorably and well in the highest sense. In the following passage from the Meno, Socrates argues that virtue is wisdom and that all things "hang upon" wisdom: Socrates: The next question is, whether virtue is knowledge or of another species? Meno: Certainly. ... Socrates: Do we not say that virtue is good? . . . Meno: Certainly. ... Socrates: Then virtue is profitable? Meno: That is the only inference. ... Socrates: And what is the guiding principle which makes [things] profitable or the reverse? Are they not profitable when they are rightly used, and hurtful when they are not rightfully used? Meno: Certainly. Socrates: Next, let us consider the goods of the soul: they are temperance, justice, courage, quickness of apprehension, memory, magnanimity, and the like? Meno: Surely. Socrates: And such of these as are not knowledge, but of another sort, are sometimes profitable and sometimes hurtful; as, for example, courage wanting prudence, which is only a sort of confidence? When a man has no sense he is harmed by courage, but when he has sense he is profited? Meno: True. Socrates: And . . . whatever things are learned or done with sense are profitable, but when done without sense they are hurtful? Meno: Very true. Socrates: And in general, all that the soul attempts or endures, when under the guidance of wisdom, ends in happiness; but when she is under the guidance of folly, the opposite? Meno: That appears to be true. Socrates: If then virtue is a quality of the soul, and is admitted to be profitable, it must be wisdom or prudence, since none of the things of the soul are either profitable or hurtful in themselves, but they are all made profitable or hurtful by the addition of wisdom or folly; and therefore if virtue is profitable, virtue must be a sort of wisdom or prudence? To live is not itself an evil, as has been claimed, but to lead a worthless life is. — Diogenes Meno: I quite agree. ... Socrates: And is this not universally true of human nature? All other things hang upon the soul, and the things of the soul herself hang upon wisdom, if they are to be good; and so wisdom is inferred to be that which profits—and virtue, as we say, is profitable? Meno: Certainly. Socrates: And thus we arrive at the conclusion that virtue is either wholly or partly wisdom? Meno: I think that what you are saying, Socrates, is very true. Philosophical Query If all evil is ignorance, can we ever justly punish evildoers? Discuss.

Socrates was married to Xanthippe and had three sons. He was seventy years old at the time of his execution; his oldest son was not yet twenty, and the youngest was said to be a small child. We know relatively little of Socrates' home life, but Xanthippe probably had aristocratic connections. In the world, one cannot have it both ways. If he wants to maintain his good reputation, he must not think of pursuing status and wealth. But if he wants status and riches, he must bear in mind that it will be at the expense of his integrity. — Lie Zi Although he was probably apprenticed as a stonecutter or sculptor by his father, Socrates worked only now and then. He lived off a modest inheritance from his father, consisting of a house and some money, which his best friend Crito invested for him. And while he never took money for teaching (as the Sophists did), he occasionally accepted gifts from his wealthy friends and admirers.

Socrates' well-known contempt for indiscriminate social approval made it a simple matter for him to live comfortably without shoes and with an old coat. But what effect would Socrates' uncommon values have had on his wife and sons? Here was an obviously brilliant, physically powerful man who spent his time wandering about the marketplace asking philosophical questions all day. He seems to have had ample opportunity to eat and drink and mingle with the movers and shakers of Athens, yet he refused to seek political, social, or financial influence.

For most of his long life, Socrates was able to function as a critic-at-large, questioning Athenian values and occasionally annoying important and powerful people in the process. He acquired a mixed reputation, being viewed on the one hand as a harmless eccentric and on the other as a dangerous social critic and free-thinker—in short, a Sophist. Socrates' philosophic method consisted of raising question after question, calling into doubt cherished, often previously unchallenged, beliefs to see if they were worthy of allegiance. Many Athenians found this skeptical attitude undemocratic, disrespectful, and threatening; they preferred unwavering loyalty to the status quo and to conventional beliefs. To these citizens, the very process of questioning fundamental values was subversive, perhaps even traitorous. Either acquit me or not; but whichever you do, understand that I shall never alter my ways, not even if I have to die many times. — Socrates Socrates' status changed from mere annoyance to overt threat because of events associated with the bitter Peloponnesian Wars between Athens and Sparta. One of Socrates' students, Alcibiades, went to Sparta, where he advised the Spartans during the war. In some people's minds, as the teacher, Socrates was responsible for the student's act of betrayal. In ancient Athens, jurors voted with bronze disks. One type had holes in the round center tubing. The other type had a solid center tubing. Those with the hole indicated "guilty"; those without, "not guilty." Jurors cast them in urns to vote, placing their fingers over the cylinder in order to keep their vote secret. This is an illustration of an acquittal ballot uncovered in Athens. It measures two and one-half inches in diameter.Ivy Close Images /Landov Socrates further alienated himself from powerful Athenians when he resisted efforts to judge eight Athenian generals accused of poor military strategy as a group, rather than as individuals, as was their right under the Athenian constitution. Socrates was the one member of the Committee of the Senate of Five Hundred to refuse. The other 499 members initially agreed with Socrates' position but backed down when aggressive prosecutors threatened to add to the indictment the names of Committee members who refused to ignore the constitution. The threat worked, the generals were found guilty, and the six who were already in custody were executed on the same day. This is another example of Socrates' willingness to put his principles above all other considerations (including, perhaps, his family's well-being).

Sparta defeated Athens in 404 b.c.e. and set up a Commission of Thirty to form a new Athenian government. The Thirty turned out to be a ruthless dictatorship that executed supporters of the earlier Periclean democracy and greedily confiscated their property. The Thirty lasted about eight months before being removed from power by force. Unfortunately for Socrates, among the Thirty were his close friends Critias and Charmides. Once again, in the minds of many Athenians, Socrates was guilty of treason by association. Finally, resentment, distrust, and hostility against Socrates grew to such proportions that he was brought to trial for "not worshiping the gods of the state" and "corrupting the young." These were potentially capital offenses, and Socrates' prosecutor, Meletus, demanded death. At the time, it was customary for individuals charged with such crimes to submit to voluntary exile. Had Socrates chosen this option, there would have been no trial. Socrates, however, remained to answer his accuser before a jury of his peers. Athenian trials consisted of two parts. First, the jury determined whether the accused was guilty as charged. If guilty, the second stage of the trial determined the most appropriate punishment. Socrates' jury consisted of 501 members. There was no way such a large group could reasonably debate various penalty options, so if a defendant was convicted, the prosecutor proposed a penalty and the defendant proposed a counterpenalty. Then the jury voted once more, choosing one or the other. The hope was that both sides would be moderate in their demands. Socrates defended himself and was judged guilty by a rather close vote. The custom of the time was for those convicted to show some contrition. The greater the prosecutor's proposed penalty, the more remorse the condemned man was expected to express. In cases where death was demanded, the proposed counterpenalty was supposed to be stiff. It might include leaving Athens forever and giving up most or all of one's property as fines. Public humiliation was also part of the price of escaping death. Defendants were expected to tear at their clothes, roll on the ground, and throw dirt on themselves while crying and wailing. They would usually have their wives and children and friends cry and plead for their lives. An important function of the trial involved making peace with those one had offended. If you think that by killing men you can prevent someone from censuring your evil lives, you are mistaken; that is not a way of escape which is either possible or honorable; the easiest and the noblest way is not to be disabling others, but to be improving yourselves. This is the prophecy which I utter before my departure to the judges who have condemned me. — Socrates Instead of following custom, Socrates pointed out that it would be undignified at his age to grovel for a little more life. He refused to allow his friends and family to beg either. To make things even worse, he reminded the jury that many of them believed he was not guilty and had been falsely convicted. In this way, Socrates offered to redeem the jury. At one point, he mused that since he had given up opportunities to make money because he was trying to help others, he should perhaps be given free meals for the rest of his life. Ultimately, he made only a modest, inadequate concession to the jury by offering to let his friends pay a fine for him. His conviction did not upset him, for a divine sign had led him throughout: O my judges—for you I may truly call judges—I should like to tell you of a wonderful circumstance. Hitherto the divine faculty of which the internal oracle is the source has constantly been in the habit of opposing me even about trifles, if I was going to make a slip or error in any matter; and now you see there has come upon me that which may be thought, and is generally believed to be, the last and worst evil. But the oracle made no sign of opposition, either when I was leaving my house in the morning, or I was on my way to the court, or while I was speaking, at anything which I was going to say; and yet I have often been stopped in the middle of a speech. ... What do I take to be the explanation of this silence? I will tell you. It is an intimation that what has happened to me is good, and that those of us who think that death is an evil are in error. For the customary sign would surely have opposed me had I been going to evil and not to good. Though we cannot know the exact nature of Socrates' "divine sign," we know that he took it seriously. One result was that Socrates himself always had a clear sense of purpose, a vocation. At his trial he said, "My service to the god has brought me into great poverty." For Socrates, real beauty was beauty of soul, real riches were riches of soul. Socrates was poor only by conventional standards. By his own sense of things, his service to the god brought real riches rather than apparent ones.

Socrates argued that one of the chief reasons many people cannot think clearly is that they do not even know what they are talking about. Consequently, the first order of business is to define our terms. The early dialogues of Plato reveal a Socrates constantly pushing and searching for clearer and more precise definitions of key terms. Time after time he lures a confused individual from one muddled definition to another. Then, using skillful (some would even say loaded or leading) questions, he attempts to guide his "opponent" closer to the truth by allowing the opponent to experience the logical inconsistencies in his own stated positions. Socrates was so effective with this method of philosophical teaching and inquiry that it came to be known as the Socratic dialectic, also known as the Socratic method. Comedian Dennis Miller often uses a low-key version of Socratic inquiry to cross-examine callers to his radio talk show. The results can be revealing. Mario Tama/Getty Images The Socratic method begins with the assumption that the function of education is to draw the truth out of the pupil rather than "fill an empty vessel." In practice, it is a series of guided questions known as the dialectical method of inquiry. Claims are continually refined, definitions required for all key terms, logical inconsistencies brought to light and resolved. A vital aspect of Socratic teaching is the active involvement of the audience (pupils, listeners), hence the use of questions rather than straight lectures.

The dialectical process as Socrates practiced it was dynamic and hopeful. At worst, the participants learned that although they might not have found the answer, the meaning of justice, the good life, or courage, they were at least a bit clearer than before. At any rate, this was Socrates' experience—others were often angered and frustrated, if not humiliated, as their confusion and ignorance were exposed. Socrates believed that the truth was somehow in each of us. The teacher's role, then, isn't to put knowledge into an empty mind but to draw wisdom and clarity out of a disordered and confused soul. Just as a midwife does not herself give birth but, rather, aids the mother, Socrates claimed to aid others in giving birth to their own insights by drawing out what was already there. And just as a midwife is of no help until the mother has conceived a child, Socrates was of no help until the other person had conceived at least a sketchy idea. For Socrates, the most important order of business was to engage the other person. The Socratic method in full form is more than just questions and answers. It is a highly personal activity, guided by one who knows both the general direction of the inquiry (but not "the answers") as well as the nature and needs of the individual student. It works only if the other participant actively listens and responds.

You are about to meet socrates (c. 470-399 b.c.e.), one of the most powerful, intriguing, annoying, inspiring, widely known, and yet misunderstood figures in the history of philosophy. He has been called the greatest of philosophers and also the cleverest of Sophists. Stoics, Hedonists, and Cynics (each of whom we shall study in other chapters) have all claimed him as their chief inspiration and model. He was a pagan who is seen by many Jews and Christians as a man of God. His Holiness Tenzin Gyatso, the fourteenth Dalai Lama of Tibetan Buddhism, has expressed respect for him as an enlightened individual. Socrates claimed to have devoted his life to serving his country but was executed as a traitor. He attracted faithful and adoring admirers and was idolized by many young followers, yet the second charge at his trial was "corrupting the youth of Athens." Although he wrote no philosophy himself, he taught and inspired one of the two most influential philosophers in Western history, who in turn taught the other one: Plato and Aristotle. But I shall be asked, Why do people delight in continually conversing with you? I have told you already, Athenians, the whole truth about this matter: they like to hear the cross-examination of the pretenders to wisdom; there is amusement in it. — Socrates In his impressive book Socrates, the renowned classical scholar W. K. C. Guthrie says, "Any account must begin with the admission that there is, and always will be, a 'Socratic problem.'" In the first place, Socrates wrote nothing. (Or at least nothing philosophical. In Phaedo, Plato asserted that Socrates wrote a hymn to Apollo and versified some of Aesop's fables while in prison.) Our two main sources of information about Socrates are the dialogues of his most brilliant and famous pupil, Plato, and the anecdotes and memoirs of a less philosophical soldier, Xenophon. In addition, briefer references to Socrates appear in Aristotle, Aristophanes, and elsewhere. The "Socratic problem" is compounded because Socrates' philosophy was nearly inseparable from the way his whole personality was reflected in his spoken teachings and the conduct of his life. Guthrie says, "In spite of the most scientific methods, in the end we must all have to some extent our own Socrates, who will not be precisely like anyone else's."

What will your Socrates be like? Perhaps you too will be "stung" by the man who referred to himself as a gadfly (horsefly) sent by "the god" to keep his drowsy fellows alert. Perhaps you too will give birth to a brainchild with the aid of this ancient sophos (wise man) who claimed to "teach nothing" but merely to act as a "kind of midwife," helping others draw out the wisdom hidden within them. Or perhaps you too will be annoyed—even angered—at the sophistic arrogance and logical tricks of a dangerous enemy of conventional morality, democracy, and religion. These are just some of the documented reactions to Socrates. "The fact is," Guthrie says, "that no one was left indifferent by this altogether unusual character: everyone who has written about him was also reacting to him in one way or another." We can still get a basic picture of Socrates, however. For example, even though Plato and Xenophon present almost completely different views of him, we can treat their accounts as honest reflections of Socrates filtered through the minds and experiences of two completely different admirers. Neither account is "inaccurate" as much as incomplete and perhaps exaggerated. By comparing and evaluating various accounts of Socrates, we can get some idea of the man as well as his philosophy. So, let me introduce you to my Socrates.