[The following is a (modified and condensed) excerpt from the portion of my first book “This Way to the Stars: An Introduction to Philosophy” that covers the father of Western Philosophy himself: Socrates.]
If we dust the modern Western mind for fingerprints, the largest imprint (with the exception of perhaps Jesus) belongs to Socrates—the man whose life and death hangs over not only all of philosophy, but whose spirit lives in universities all across country. Just ask every law student (including myself) who has folded beneath the weight of having their beliefs cross-examined by the “Socratic Method.”
Born in Athens around 470 B.C., Socrates never wrote anything down. So studying his life presents what is known as the Socratic problem: everything we know about him comes from secondary, sometimes conflicting, sources (particularly, those of his students Plato and Xenophon). But if we are to believe the figure of Socrates presented by his students, and find their areas of overlap, then we come away with the conviction that Socrates held two major beliefs (which informed the rest of what he taught): (1) the only life worth living is the examined one; and (2) wisdom, as food for the soul, is the only thing we ought to love; to everything else we ought to be indifferent.
Living the Examined Life
“Why are you doing what you’re doing?” Socrates might pester someone minding their own business in the Agora of Athens. “Is that how you ought to spend your days?” he might follow up. “How much of your life is spend doing things that don’t matter?”
With questions like these, irritating even the most patient person with considerations of justice and goodness, it’s no wonder why people called Socrates the gadfly. But Socrates wasn’t asking these questions to annoy people; he was trying to get individuals to awaken from the passive existence many default to (in his day just as now). To Socrates, “the unexamined life is not worth living,” and his lines of questioning were aimed at getting people to do the painful work of examining their lives and where they might stand to improve.
For Socrates, it was to this improvement of self through ruthless examination and questioning that one should dedicate their life. It was the development of self, rather than the fixation on material objects, that people should pursue:
I do nothing but go about persuading you all, old and young alike, not to take thought for your persons or your properties, but chiefly to care about the greatest improvement of the 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, and if this is the doctrine which corrupts the youth, I am a mischievous person.1
When asked, further, to sum up what all philosophical commandments could be reduced to, Socrates responded with the maxim: know thyself. Here, he wasn’t referring to mere knowledge about certain random facts about your past; he was concerned with knowing the inner psychological core of the self—what motivates you to act how you do, what patterns and programming have you picked up from your environment and how does it influence your actions, what insecurities trigger a reaction when attacked, how do you cope with stress, etc.
In some ways, we might say that Socrates resembled an early psychologist—advocating for a self-knowledge that was about awakening to the unconscious motivations in our lives in order to reclaim agency over the direction of our lives and, ultimately, live greater and more fulfilling lives as a result.
[…]
Uncompromised Soul
The second, and arguably most influential, belief held by Socrates was that the chief aim of life—and the key to eudaimonic happiness—is to live in alignment with one's soul. The reason he thought wisdom was the only thing we ought to love was because he believed wisdom was the one thing that no part of our soul would object to: “If the entire soul, then follows without rebellion the part which loves wisdom…”2 then perhaps wisdom is what we ought to dedicate our life to.
Socrates’ hope for his students was his hope for himself—he wanted to live a life that no part of his soul rebelled against (hoping that, by doing so, he would inspire others to do the same). For Socrates, it was something he was willing to perish in pursuit of:
For often in battle there is no doubt that if a man will throw away his arms, and fall on his knees before his pursuers, he may escape death, if a man is willing to say or do anything. The difficulty, my friends, is not in avoiding death, but in avoiding unrighteousness; for that runs deeper than death.3
In other words, Socrates would rather die than betray his soul. And what makes his legacy live strong to this day is that he would one day prove it. But before we get to his death, let’s set the context.
His first act of defiance came after fulfilling his military service during the Peloponnesian War (and distinguishing himself in three campaigns). Called to participate in the trial of six commanders accused of abandoning survivors of a shipwreck in order to pursue the defeated Spartan Navy, Socrates stood against outside pressures. Because while the law required separate trials for the generals, the public demanded a joint trial and capital punishment in the event of guilt. Socrates, alone, refused to accept this unconstitutional consolidation of the trials.
Socrates’ second act of authoritative defiance was on display after the arrest of Leon the Salaminian under false pretenses. When Socrates and four others were summoned and told by members of the oligarchy of the Thirty (which began ruling in 404 B.C.) to arrest Leon for execution, Socrates was the sole dissenter—choosing to risk the oligarchy’s wrath and retribution rather than participate in an unlawful arrest and crime.
With these two acts, word slowly spread of Socrates and his willingness to speak truth to power. As his reputation grew, he attracted great interest from the Athenian public and especially the Athenian youth. But such influence would not be allowed to stand. Sick of Socrates’ greatness, those in power grew jealous and ordered Socrates to be arrested and found guilty of corrupting the youths in Athens and “impiety” (that is, not believing in the gods of the state). As punishment, Socrates was sentenced to death and forced to commit suicide by ingesting poison—a mixture containing poison hemlock to be specific.
On his last day in prison, Socrates is visited by his friends, who offer him a chance to escape. But rather than flee to exile, Socrates elected instead to walk himself before the Senate. His reason for doing so is what hangs over all of philosophy today—an example of someone willing to speak the truth even if it leads to their death:
You have heard me speak at sundry times and in diverse places of an oracle or sign which comes to me, and is the divinity which Meletus ridicules in the indictment. This sign, which is a kind of voice, first began to come to me when I was a child; it always forbids but never commands me to do anything which I am going to do. This is what deters me from being a politician.4
Translation: “I have a voice which speaks to me on matters of the conscious. And when it tells me not to do something, I don’t do it. That’s what makes me stand out from other men.” Later, Socrates goes onto elaborate—explaining that the defense he is giving to the Athenian court has been approved by this inner divine voice:
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 as 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 when 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, but now in nothing I either said or did touching the matter in hand has the oracle opposed me. 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 a 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.5
Translation: “My inner voice declared that me dying in defense of the truth is good. And I’m not in the business of opposing it, so I am prepared to die.” With that, Socrates walked—head held high and soul safe—into the arms of death. His life, setting an example of virtue and courage that has transcended time, reminding us all:
It doesn’t matter what the press, politicians, other people say. It doesn’t matter what professional or parental pressures are placed on you or what the mass of men say. It doesn’t matter if the whole world decides something wrong is something right. Keeping your soul requires that you speak the truth always, even if it leads to your death. It requires that you stand up for what is right, no matter the odds or consequences. So when the world tells you to do something about which you have sincere objections, or tries to silence you with shame, your job is to plant yourself firm and send your roots deep—drawing strength from the reservoir of truth and responding ‘No.’ Because your soul is in your keeping alone.
Plato, Republic, 586e.
Plato, Apology.
Plato, Apology.
Plato, Apology.