Socrates 1

Life

Socrates, a lifelong resident of Athens, spent his days primarily pursuing philosophical discussion. He became famous for his sharp, witty questioning of anyone supposedly possessing wisdom—particularly distinguished citizens and other persons acquainted with philosophy. He saw himself as having a mission to serve as “the gadfly of the state,”—that is, as a biting, stinging annoyance, who betters the society by publicly challenging accepted but poorly reasoned ideas and the pretensions of the elite.

The discussions were intellectually enlightening and often entertaining; but they also could be embarrassing or offensive to persons of reputation whose answers failed to stand up to his serious questions. As a result, Socrates attracted both an array of followers and a flock of severe critics.

How he made a living is not clear. He never accepted fees for any philosophical discussion or teaching. He may have been a stone carver like his father Sophronicus, although he cannot have spent much time at this trade. Socrates himself had little interest in acquiring property or consumer goods. But he also was married, with three children. By his own account in the Apology, they lived in relative poverty.

(Historically, his wife Xanthippe was often portrayed as a shrew. Today, she might attract more respect and sympathy—as the long suffering wife of a poorly providing husband who was frequently absent

from the family while in pursuit of philosophical betterment for the state. There even may be spouses of current day philosophers who experience an affinity with Xanthippe’s plight!)

Socrates distinguished himself as a soldier in battles at Potidea (431) and Delium (424) during the first ten years of the Peloponnesian War between the City-States of Athens and Sparta. He also displayed firm character in noteworthy civic actions: (a) In 406, he was the only one (out of fifty) who refused intimidation and opposed the unconstitutional trying of eight generals, while serving as a member of the an Athenian Council; and (b) In 404/403, when an oligarchical group, the Commission of Thirty, usurped Athens’ democratic government, Socrates refused their order for him to arrest a prominent individual (who was subsequently arrested and killed by others).

Although a counter-revolution quickly overthrew the Commission of Thirty and restored democracy, these were turbulent times in Athens. The Peloponnesian War had been lost and democracy had been challenged. Most people did not see any need for a “gadfly”—particularly one who questioned the ability of persons in a democracy to rule virtuously. Moreover, Socrates had been a close friend of Alcibiades, a major general who fell into disgrace during the War. And two members of the Commission of Thirty, Critias and Charmides, were known as associates of Socrates.

Socrates was charged with worshipping gods other than those of the state and with corrupting the young. His noble but defiant defense at the trial did not convince the jury of 500 fellow Athenians (which split 280 to 220 for the conviction) and he was condemned to death in 399.

Savory Info

Socrates in the marketplace

In a gossipy report on the life of Socrates by the 3^rd century C.E. philosophical historian Diogenes Laertius, we find this snippet on Socrates’ attitude toward consumer goods in the marketplace: “Often when he looked at the multitude of wares exposed for sale, he would say to himself, ‘How many things I can do without!’”

Socrates and the Sophists

The leading teachers in Greek society at the time of Socrates were the Sophists. They claimed the ability to teach persons how to act in society and how to be successful in life. They particularly stressed skill in rhetoric, by which you could convince others to agree with you. For their teaching efforts, they expected and received fees.

The Sophists however were skeptical about the existence of any genuine knowledge that was more than a personal opinion.

Not surprisingly, Socrates too could give the appearance of being a Sophist. His followers looked up to him as a teacher. He seemed to accept his being wiser than everyone else, but only in so far as he recognized that he knew nothing (and hence that no one else knew anything either). And he was engaging in discussions where he exhibited great skill in argument.

Socrates however never charged fees and never claimed to teach anyone anything. He also was not a skeptic about knowledge. The purpose of his philosophical questioning was the acquiring of knowledge rather than convincing others to accept his own opinions.

Socrates in the Clouds

When the archly conservative comic poet Aristophanes wanted to satirize what he saw as the dangerous excesses of intellectuals in Athenian society, particularly Sophists, he portrayed Socrates (or, more exactly, what scholars take to be a caricature of Socrates) as the main character for his play, the Clouds. The Socrates character appears suspended in a basket (in the clouds?) above the stage. A potential student wants to learn the “unjust logic” that Socrates teaches; and “right logic” and “wrong logic” are discussants in the play. Aristophanes parodies Socrates’ question-and-answer method—reducing it mostly to inane issues, name-calling, and attempts to trip someone up on silly technicalities.

Socrates and His Divine Sign

Socrates’ method of philosophical inquiry through careful question-and-answer discourse is a model for reasoning in pursuit of knowledge. So it is surprising that he also claimed the presence of a divine sign or voice, going as far back as his childhood, that guided him in his actions. He asserts the claim in the Apology—without any supporting argument or analysis of the claim itself. He describes the divine sign as functioning negatively—warning him not to act or speak in some particular way rather than providing positive directions for his actions. In the Apology, he pointedly makes clear that his sign has not warned him against anything he has said in his own defense.

Socrates and Civil Disobedience

During the month between his trial and execution, Socrates had the opportunity to escape from prison. But he refused—asserting that he could not violate the laws of the state, even if those laws condemned him to death unjustly.

His justification occurs in Plato’s Crito. Socrates argues that the state and its laws have nourished him all his life and that he cannot withdraw his allegiance now, when he has abided by and benefited from the laws all this time.

His argument may seem to forbid any act of civil disobedience as a protest against an unjust law.

Socrates however is not just meekly obedient to the laws. At his trial, he pledged to continue his mission as a gadfly of the state if he was acquitted. So, presumably, he would have defied any order to cease his activities―thereby showing a willingness to engage in civil disobedience.

The resolution of the problem here makes an important point about the nature of civil disobedience. While Socrates may disobey a particular law, he submits to the ultimate judgment of the laws, including any punishment meted out. So a particular act of civil disobedience is not an attack on the rule of law in society.

There is a vast difference between the actions of U.S. civil rights demonstrators during the 1950s or 1960s and actions of members of the Ku Klux Klan. Both groups broke laws. But the civil rights demonstrators did so publicly, with a willingness to accept legal punishment, as a way of calling attention to unjust laws―whereas Klan members broke laws clandestinely to maintain white power, with no intention of being caught and punished.

Socrates and Knowledge as Recollection

Socrates described a doctrine that most people today find astounding: We acquire knowledge by recalling what we already knew in a previous life.

In Plato’s Meno (80 d-e), Meno presents a paradox: If we already possess knowledge, then we cannot search for it because we already know it; on the other hand, if we do not already possess knowledge, then we cannot search for it because we do not know what to look for.

Socrates circumvents the paradox by introducing a doctrine passed down by priests and priestesses and other wise persons: The soul, being immortal and participating in rebirth, can recollect what was learned in a previous existence. He then proceeds to demonstrate the doctrine (in a highly unconvincing manner) by questioning an uneducated slave boy about a geometrical relationship so that the boy is able to “recollect” what he already knew previously. The boy, through the questioning, eventually comes to understand the relationship correctly.

At the end of the discussion though (86 b-c), Socrates makes clear that he is not insisting on the truth of the doctrine. He only wants to insist that we always are better off searching for knowledge even if we presently do not know rather than surrendering to Meno’s paradox.

In Plato’s Phaedo (72e-76e), as one argument for the immortality of the soul, knowledge as recollection comes up (with stronger justification than that in the Meno) as a theory often mentioned by Socrates. But again at the end of the discussion (76d-e), Socrates stresses the hypothetical nature of the argument. If certain other conditions exist, then the argument involving the doctrine of recollection holds. And, while his other discussant, Simmias, finds the doctrine convincing, Socrates himself never certifies its truth.

Although the doctrine of knowledge as recollection is associated with Socrates and he apparently mentioned it enough to show that he found it interesting and useful in discussion, there are not adequate reasons to conclude that he strongly believed the doctrine, in my judgment.

The doctrine of knowledge as recollection however, stripped down, makes an important point consistent with Socrates’ functioning as the midwife of the soul: Acquiring knowledge is a process of self-enlightenment that develops within ourselves rather than coming from outside. This is the main point―regardless whether the self-enlightenment arises through recollection from a previous life, through development of innate predispositions, through some combination of innate predispositions with experience (including the directing questions of someone like Socrates), or through a person’s own interests and creativity.

Socratic Themes

These Socratic Themes lay out the core philosophical positions most often associated with Socrates.

I. Socrates' wisdom consists in knowing that he knows nothing.

When Socrates' enthusiastic follower Chaerephon asked the famous oracle at Dephi whether anyone was wiser than Socrates, he received the reply that no one was.

Socrates greeted the reply with a mixture of humility and irony—first expressing puzzlement that he could be the wisest person and then concluding that his wisdom must consist in knowing that he knows nothing.

As he relates in Plato's Apology, Socrates arrived at this conclusion by first seeking out supposedly wise persons among the notables of Athens and then questioning them in hope of finding someone wiser than himself. Although they claimed to be wise, his questioning usually showed them to be ignorant about what they claimed to know. He then could make sense of the oracle's reply: He did not know anything; yet he was wiser than others because he was aware of his own ignorance, whereas they were not.

It is hard however to accept that Socrates really believed that he knew nothing. Nearly anyone reading Plato's dialogues would conclude that Socrates was quite knowledgeable (and knowledge-claiming) with respect to the nature of rational inquiry, the current views of his time, and the requirements of a noble life.

For example, near the end of the Apology (41d), he says, "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; nor has my own approaching end happened by mere chance." These do not strike us as the words of someone claiming to know nothing.

Moreover, it is hard to see how “the unexamined life is not worth living,” if it never leads to knowing anything.

So, unless we want to view Socrates as merely a deceiving prankster or as a confused, old man, we need to attempt a more complex explanation.

Here is one way that we can make sense of his claim: Socrates still is searching for knowledge because what he already knows is insignificant in comparison with what he wants to know. In this sense of extreme incompleteness then, he knows nothing.

A second interpretation: Some scholars maintain that Socrates makes a distinction between two kinds of knowledge, for example, between expert and non-expert knowledge. Accordingly, when he claims to know nothing, he is referring to the rigorous standards of “expert knowledge,”—although he is not denying possession of ordinary, practical knowledge.

The best clue to his claim, in my judgment, lies in Socrates’ assumption that knowledge can be taught. In other words, it is a fundamental mark of knowledge that one who possesses it can teach it to others. (In Plato’s dialogue Meno, this assumption creates an enormous problem when it is agreed that virtue is knowledge but then Socrates and his fellow discussants cannot point successfully to any teachers of virtue.) Socrates does not claim the ability to teach what he knows to others; accordingly, he lacks the fundamental mark of possessing knowledge. In this sense, he knows nothing.

Hence his mission in life consists in trying to direct the search for knowledge rather than in exhibiting any knowledge of his own—which leads to the next Socratic theme.

II. Socrates functions as a midwife of the soul.

In the Theaetetus, Plato provides an intellectual portrait of Socrates as the midwife of the soul. Socrates’ mother Phaenarete had been a midwife and he has inherited the skill—except that he works with men rather than women and he tries to deliver healthy mental offspring rather than babies.

Socrates cannot give birth himself (that is, he can produce no knowledge of his own). Yet he is skilled (a) in making good judgments of what others can produce and (b) in asking the right questions to examine their thought. Even if the question-and-answer testing shows that their thoughts are mere “phantoms” or “wind eggs,” they benefit through the realization that they do not possess genuine knowledge.

Plato’s dialogues show how Socrates’ midwifery could offend people when the testing made clear their unwillingness to learn or their lack of qualifications for recognizing genuine knowledge. But the dialogues also show the power of this dialectical method of searching for truth. Plato himself incorporates Socrates’ question-and-answer testing into a much grander system for the pursuit of knowledge.

Socrates’ function as a midwife makes some important statements about the nature of education: (1) You cannot force persons to learn, if they are unable or unwilling; (2) You cannot pass knowledge on to others in the way you pour water into a cup (an analogy used early in Plato’s Symposium, at 175 d-e); (3) You educate by eliciting thoughts from the students themselves rather than by lecturing; and (4) In eliciting thoughts, you should begin with a recognition of student interests and capabilities.

Learning primarily becomes a process of self-enlightenment. There may be some place for lecturing as a means of passing on information. But deeper understanding requires active engagement and develops through the learner’s own abilities and interests. Hence discussion, led by a teacher who asks appropriate questions, provides the best means to advance learning.

III. Socrates seeks out universal, essential definitions.

Socrates’ first question in discussions usually was a request for a definition—on the ground that you could not use or apply anything until you knew clearly what you were talking about. For example, you cannot decide whether or not virtue can be taught until you know what virtue is.

Respondents almost invariably replied to Socrates’ request initially with a flood of examples. Thus, in Plato’s Meno, Meno initially defines virtue by listing the virtues of a man and the virtues of a woman and then suggests that there are also the virtues of a child, of an elderly man, of a free man, of a slave—as well as many other virtues.

Socrates however always seeks a definition that captures the common, or universal, element present in all the examples. If the examples are different yet still alike enough to retain a common term—for example, if the virtues of a man, a woman, and a child are different, yet still alike enough to be called “virtues”—then there must be some common nature that they share as virtues. So he presses Meno for a suitable universal definition that captures the essence of virtue itself. (Meno makes several attempts but never produces a suitable definition that can stand up to Socrates’ persistent questioning.)

IV. “No evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death.”

Being a good person is no absolute guarantee against the experience of pain or misery. Yet Socrates maintains that no evil ever befalls a good person. Clearly then, he does not reduce the meaning of “evil” to “the experience of pain or misery.”

We prefer not to experience pain. But for Socrates, the real evil in life is dishonor. That is why “A man who is good for anything ought not to calculate the chance of living or dying; he ought only to consider whether in doing anything he is doing right or wrong.” In a sense then, virtue should be its own reward, regardless of the consequences, because we have avoided dishonor.

Doing the right thing is the proper subject of concern. But focus on this concern can also work to make consequences better: If we try to live an honorable life, our awareness of this makes it less likely that we will be miserable and also less likely that we will be overwhelmed by painful experiences. It is this awareness that allows Socrates to accept his conviction and condemnation to death with such equanimity.

To this moral stand, Socrates adds the notion that we are “not neglected by the gods” (Apology, 41d). And he denies the tragedy of death by pointing out that it is either an eternal sleep or an opportunity to meet with souls better than ourselves (Apology, 40c-41c).

V. No one knowingly does evil; and virtue is knowledge.

Most people probably agree that persons commit acts they know to be wrong. (You may be able to come up with some examples from your own past actions!) This is a common view: Persons know what’s right; but their resolve to act rightly can surrender to some other desire. The objects of desire are varied—perhaps sex, cigarettes, a chunk of cheese, a drink, money, power. At any rate, desire can overpower knowledge.

Socrates views the matter differently.

He grants that persons can engage in bad actions. As Quote (4) earlier shows however, he denies that persons can choose knowingly and intentionally a bad act over a good one. Why would anyone choose a harm over a benefit?

Socrates argues that, at the time of an action, persons act only for what appears to be good for them. Due to their own ignorance, they may choose mistakenly—that is, their chosen apparent good may, in fact, be an evil. But their problem then is ignorance. They do not knowingly do evil.

Socrates’ position requires a reconstructed interpretation of the claim that desire overpowers knowledge. Instead of the desire overpowering what we know, Socrates maintains that the desire is part of the assessment of what we know. In other words, we do not first know what is right and then consider whether or not we will follow through on this knowledge in face of some contrary desire; rather the desire is one of the goods we knowledgeably consider in choosing what is right. For example, if I cheat others because of a desire for money, I recognize that desire as a worthwhile good—so much so that I follow through by cheating others.

According to Socrates’ view, a person with perfect knowledge of what is good would never engage in an evil act. And, more practically, the problem of acting rightly is best solved by overcoming ignorance.

In so far as virtuous action is right action and the possessor of virtue acts rightly, Socrates’ view leads to the further conclusion that virtue is identical with knowledge.

He often pointed out an odd inconsistency in persons’ judgments: In the area of virtue, they do not think that any expertise (special knowledge) is necessary and one person’s judgment can be just as good as another’s; but in every other endeavor—such as horsemanship, medicine, or the law—they presume that expertise is necessary to function rightly.

The Socratic Problem

Since Socrates wrote nothing of his own, we rely primarily on four ancient sources for an account of his character and thought: (1) The comic poet Aristophanes’ portrayal of Socrates in his play Clouds, (2) Dialogues by the military leader and historian Xenophon, (3) The dialogues of Plato, and (4) Some brief references to Socrates in the works of Aristotle. These sources provide differing views however. So there arises The Socratic Problem: the task of discovering an authentic account of what Socrates did and thought.

The solution here follows closely the currently prevailing view among scholars. You may want to check out the following sources: W. K. C. Guthrie, Socrates (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), pp. 5-57, taken from his A History of Greek Philosophy, Vol. III (1969); Hugh H. Benson, ed., Essays on the Philosophy of Socrates (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), pp. 3-6.

(1) Aristophanes

We generally dismiss Aristophanes’ portrayal of Socrates. The Clouds adds confirmation that Socrates was very well known in Athens, that he was famous for his question-and-answer discourses, and that he probably struck many people as an odd character―but little else.

Aristophanes is unreliable. He was a writer of comedies, with no special abilities or sympathy for philosophy. So he wanted to present a comic caricature, and Socrates―with his odd physical characteristics, his disinterest in the materially good life most people seek, and his preoccupation with creating intellectual turmoil through witty, challenging discussions―was an ideal subject.

Comedy, of course, can have serious purposes; and Aristophanes did have an axe to grind. He uses Socrates as a stand-in for all the philosophers and intellectual movements of the time that he viewed as being dangerous, particularly the Sophists.

(2) Xenophon

Xenophon was an associate of Socrates and also wrote Socratic dialogues. While the dialogues are much fewer and lack the philosophical depth and biographical detail of Plato’s, they offer a favorable portrait of Socrates.

One passage, from Xenophon’s Symposium (different from Plato’s dialogue of the same name) probably provides the most amusing exchange involving Socrates in any dialogue (a passage quoted by Guthrie, op. cit., pp. 67-68). The notably ugly Socrates shows that he is handsomer than Critobulus, who happens to be a handsome young man. Critobulus sets himself up by asserting that a thing is beautiful if it serves its desired function well or is naturally well adapted to serve our needs:

Socrates: Well then, what do we need eyes for?

Critobulus: To see with of course.

Socrates: In that case my eyes are at once proved to be more beautiful than yours, because yours only look straight ahead, whereas mine project so that they can see sideways as well.

Critobulus: Are you claiming that a crab has the most beautiful eyes of any animal?

Socrates: Certainly, since from the point of view of strength also its eyes are best constructed by nature.

Critobulus: All right, but which of our noses is more beautiful?

Socrates: Mine, I should say, if the gods gave 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 can take a much larger bite than I.

Socrates: And with my thick lips don’t you think I could give a softer kiss?

When the company votes on the issue though, they unanimously vote for Cristobulus as the handsomer of the two.

Xenophon revered Socrates and wanted to make clear that the Athenians unjustly put to death a man of great moral integrity and courage. Yet he also presents a blander Socrates, likely to engage in common sense moralizing rather than to be the stinging gadfly who aroused powerful enemies determined to silence him.

(3) Plato

Plato wrote more than twenty-five dialogues. Yet in the Seventh Letter (generally considered to be authentic), he asserted that he had never written any work laying out his own philosophy (341c). Socrates is the main speaker in most of the dialogues.

We might then form a simple inference: If Plato wrote nothing about his own philosophy and his admired teacher Socrates usually is the leading discussant in most of the dialogues, then the Platonic dialogues involving Socrates present an accurate account of his character and thought without any admixture of Plato’s own philosophy.

This however is too simple an inference.

Although an understanding of Plato’s philosophy may lie beyond the totality of his dialogues, it does not follow that the dialogues say nothing about his philosophy. It is quite possible that the dialogues present much of Plato’s philosophy, even if full understanding requires also going beyond the dialogues. This is the view generally taken by most scholars.

Moreover, the chronology of the dialogues (as scholars best construct it) indicates a transition―from close adherence to Socrates’ life and thought in the earliest dialogues to concluding dialogues where Socrates is even wholly absent. Plato’s dialogues then fall into three categories―early, middle, and late. The earliest dialogues present the most accurate account of Socrates; the middle ones retain Socrates as the main speaker and preserve the nature of his character, but also present views of Plato that Socrates never held; and the late dialogues add to Plato’s philosophical system, with Socrates usually playing a minor or non-existent role.

The earlier (so-called “Socratic”) dialogues include (among others) Apology, Crito, Euthyphro, Ion, Laches, Gorgias, Protagoras, and Meno (part of the listing in Benson, op. cit., p. 5). Two middle dialogues, Phaedo and Symposium, are often cited for important details about Socrates’ character and life.

The Apology (better titled, The Defense, to separate its content more clearly from our usual understanding of an “apology” today) probably was the first of Plato’s dialogues. It was written when Plato was closest, in time and thinking, to his revered teacher; and the dialogue asserts that Plato himself was present at the trial. Certifying his presence at the trial makes clear his awareness of what Socrates said as well as his responsibility to provide a relatively accurate account. Hence scholars consider it to be the most historically accurate of all the dialogues.

In a letter (Letter II), Plato refers to the Socrates of his dialogues as “embellished and modernized” (Post translation). [Other translations of the Greek use the phrases “Socrates beautified and rejuvenated” (in Copleston’s A History of Philosophy) and “Socrates become fair and young” (Bury translation).] Although the authenticity of the letter is questionable, I like the phrasing. It allows us to recognize the dialogues as representative of Socrates in important ways, without being held to taking accuracy of the accounts too literally. When we add this phasing to the early-middle-late chronology for the dialogues, we get a basis for constructing the real Socrates.

Reflecting on personal experience in writing several philosophical dialogues of my own, I presume that Plato’s dialogues are neater and more organized than any discussions that actually took place. When you author a dialogue yourself, you have complete control over the content and organization of the work―much more control than you have in ordinary conversations or even in leading a class discussion. So Plato may well have refined and sharpened Socrates’ arguments even in the earliest dialogues and then added new positions and arguments as his own thought developed further in the later dialogues.

(4) Aristotle

Although Aristotle says very little about Socrates in his own writings, his few comments are influential in separating the thought of Socrates from that of Plato. Because he studied for twenty years at Plato’s Academy, Aristotle was well situated to know the extent of Plato’s own thought and how it differed from Socrates’.

Aristotle (in Metaphysics, 987 b1-10) credits Socrates (a) with turning philosophical interests toward ethical questions rather than focusing on the study of nature and (b) with initiating the search for universal definitions. In addition, he treats the theory of Forms, or Ideas, (an important matter to be taken up in the presentation of Plato’s thought) as a Platonic rather than a Socratic doctrine.

From all this, you should understand why the search for the real Socrates focuses upon Plato’s dialogues but does not simply treat everything related to Socrates in the dialogues as historically authentic.

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