The Socratic Antidote to Unserious Times

I recently visited a student lounge and had a chance encounter with a friend of mine who studies philosophy. We quickly launched a conversation that wound its way to the issue of epistemology— that is, what we know and how we know it. My friend then told me with full confidence that the Truth did not exist. Their reason to study philosophy was then, to put it bluntly, to enjoy seeing different arguments fail. They seemed caught off-guard when I asked them: “if the truth does not exist, then is that proposition itself false?” So also did I tell them that I thought that philosophy was a tremendously important venture (and far more than a trivial pastime). In doing so, I seemed to propose to them something that few others had in the past: the idea of taking things seriously.

This anecdote illustrates the unfortunate fact that we live in unserious times. By this, I do not mean to say that what is happening on Earth is of little consequence—quite the contrary—but that we seem to have a culture of flippancy about life itself. Whether one notes my friend’s pursuit of a truth they don’t believe in, the internet tearing itself into pieces over Taylor Swift’s dating behavior, or the fact that we Americans lack the slimmest understanding of our own Constitution (says a University of Pennsylvania survey), the evidence all points to this fact. This flippancy is not at all harmless. While my friend “studies” philosophy, they lose priceless time; time spent online is time not spent living; our republic, which relies upon the wisdom of its citizens for spirit and direction, is now paralyzed. In sum, our decisions to be unserious incur costs of the gravest magnitude.

When I thought about how to address this problem, my thoughts led invariably back to the same man: Socrates, history’s greatest conversationalist and the father of Western philosophy. The documentation of his practices depicted (though perhaps also embellished by) his student Plato present a lifestyle and a methodology to dealing seriously with the most serious of things: life. This methodology is the Socratic Method. For the sake of convenience, I have distilled this method into three fundamental principles. By adhering to them, one may commit oneself to becoming a serious person.

1. Understand the Importance of Things.

The first step to serious living is to realize that living is important. Consequently, there are things that one encounters in life (though, God forbid, not everything) that are serious, too. According to Socrates in the Apology of Socrates, the most serious thing in life is the Good (agothos in Greek), which is the fount of virtue (aretē). And of course it is: when we consider the definition of “good,” which one might safely say is “that which you ought,” it makes perfect sense to prize it above all others. However any serious person must guard against two twin dangers: taking nothing seriously on one hand, and taking everything seriously on the other. In fact, these two things are the same. For values gain distinction relative to other values—that is, if we value everything equally, we value nothing at all. Instead, understanding the importance of things means recognizing the good where it is and not where it isn’t.

2. Perceive Your Knowledge Accurately

Too often in life do we encounter people who do not understand the extent of their own knowledge—whether it be one’s uncle at the Thanksgiving table explaining the secrets of life or my friend at the lounge claiming to know nothing at all. Neither of these people have a grip on what they know. Ordinarily, this isn’t an issue. After all, human life is plagued with uncertainty, and it’s incredibly rare for one to ever be able to make a decision with absolute confidence. Accepting uncertainty is the very foundation of the empirical sciences. But it is a huge issue when one pretends to have knowledge of the greatest thing of all: the Good. The Good isn’t something to be scientifically interacted with. It’s not permissible to accept ambiguities in its definition because it has intrinsic value. In the sciences, we are alright with an imperfect knowledge of chemicals and particles because we are not pursuing the knowledge of chemicals and particles for its own sake (excepting those who believe this knowledge to be Good). We do science for the sake of its fruits (chiefly utility). For what purpose would one accept an imperfect knowledge of the Good? That purpose would have to be itself Good, and thus the formulation makes no sense. So one should question one’s beliefs about the Good, starting from everyday scenarios. Why was it wrong for one’s waiter to double-charge? What principle of justice was violated? In what way is this principle of justice true for all people? Does one’s conclusion agree with one’s conscience? Quickly, one will begin to realize just how much knowledge one takes for granted.

But it bears repeating: one should not leap from assuming one knows everything to assuming that one knows nothing. Perhaps the worst mistranslation in the history of language occurred when the phrase “I know that I know nothing” was first attributed to Socrates. This was not something he ever claimed. Both of the two passages often cited for this—are 21d and 22d of the Apology—are qualified statements. Even if he did say such a thing, one should still consider the quote in the context of the broader dialogue. By doing so, one would quickly understand that Socrates was speaking of his knowledge of the Good. And, in this sphere of knowledge, Socrates’ statement would be true. Our opinions of the Good are fraught with unexamined contradictions. As a consequence, we have little real knowledge of it. But we are left with a number of logical tools to forge our path forwards. Take, for example, the law of non-contradiction: two opposite things cannot both be true at the same time in the same way. This is an incontrovertible truth. With these principles and others like it, we may cut a path to the light.

3. Do Not Pretend to Know What You Do Not

Coming to an awareness of one’s own ignorance is all well and good, but it is also important to do one’s part in helping others arrive at the same conclusion. In the past few years, much has been said about “Imposter Syndrome”—chronic feelings of inadequacy which arise upon entering a new academic environment. Whether it is appropriate to label this a syndrome or not, it is nevertheless true that these feelings are a direct result of a pretension to knowledge that one does not possess. One naturally feels self-conscious in new situations, so one makes an attempt to impress those around them. The others feel more insecure as a result, and thus they themselves pretend more intensely. It is a positive feedback loop that often intimidates students from ever trying their hands at the big questions. The solution is simple: one should stop pretending to know what one does not. If one is honest with others, they will learn to be honest in turn. When we are humble, we can actually begin to learn. Dispelling these pretensions of knowledge was what brought Socrates to trial and eventually death (a story told in the Apology). We do not have to replicate the ignorance of his enemies.

Thankfully, we are not wanting for a proper example of what this looks like in practice. Plato’s Socrates is an unrivaled model for Socratic thinking (go figure), and is thus worth studying for any serious person. Though, for those who lack the time to comb through the intricacies of Ancient Greek philosophy (and I feel you), UT’s own Ward Farnsworth has written a masterful book called The Socratic Method. It concisely describes the history and practice of the Socratic method in lucid English. I recommend it highly. And one should not be intimidated by the fact that one will never measure up to Socrates’ poise. In fact, Socrates himself didn’t measure up to Socrates’ poise. In his Second Letter, Plato claims that he wrote Socrates to be “young and beautiful”: an idealized version of what Socrates probably was really like as a teacher. This excuses our errors, but in no way allows us to therefore hold ourselves to a lower standard. Such a decision would be the epitome of unseriousness.