Such phrases are technical and therefore tiresome to the lay mind, and hard to follow, yet you and I cannot get away from them. We are quite unable to rouse the ordinary man's attention in a way which will enable him to follow his own impressions and so arrive at admitting or rejecting this or that.
And therefore those of us who are at all cautious naturally give the subject up, when we become aware of this incapacity; while the mass of men, who venture at random into this sort of enterprise, muddle others and get muddled themselves, and end by abusing their opponents and getting abused in return, and so leave the field.
But the first quality of all in Socrates, and the most characteristic, was that he never lost his temper in argument, never uttered anything abusive, never anything insolent, but bore with abuse from others and quieted strife.
If you would get to know what a faculty he had in this matter, read the “Banquet” of Xenophon and you will see how many strifes he has brought to an end. Therefore, the poets too with good reason have praised this gift most highly:
“And straightway with skill he brought to rest a mighty quarrel."
And therefore those of us who are at all cautious naturally give the subject up, when we become aware of this incapacity; while the mass of men, who venture at random into this sort of enterprise, muddle others and get muddled themselves, and end by abusing their opponents and getting abused in return, and so leave the field.
But the first quality of all in Socrates, and the most characteristic, was that he never lost his temper in argument, never uttered anything abusive, never anything insolent, but bore with abuse from others and quieted strife.
If you would get to know what a faculty he had in this matter, read the “Banquet” of Xenophon and you will see how many strifes he has brought to an end. Therefore, the poets too with good reason have praised this gift most highly:
“And straightway with skill he brought to rest a mighty quarrel."
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.12
In one sense, philosophy can be very much like politics, because those who should practice it want nothing to do with it, while those who shouldn’t practice it are breaking down the door. When the humble amateur looks to the sophisticated professional, he sees only squabbling and self-promotion, tied up in ridiculously specialized language at the expense of any genuine human meaning.
And even the sophists will eventually grow tired of the spectacle, once they no longer find it gratifying, and then they turn their attention to more profitable endeavors. I think of the professors who were itching to become deans, or the priests who had set their eyes on a promotion to bishop.
I once had a teacher who was forever talking about the hidden motives of Socrates, the real reasons he would have conversations with his fellow Athenians.
“Isn’t he trying to inspire people to know themselves?”
“Well yes, but did this just grant him a psychological power over others, or was he also hoping to attain a more systemic form of political power? How did he intend to implement a radical transformation of social justice?”
It is tragic when the jargon of this or that “-ism” discourages us from a simple love of the true and the good.
For all the times I am frustrated by a Socratic dialogue, sometimes to the point of clenching my fists or tossing the book across the room, I never feel like he is trying to sell me on an ideology. I may not know exactly what he wants out of me, but I do know that he was acting in my best interests. If I am patient, and I don’t let my passions get the better of me, I am certain I will walk away with a sliver of insight, as well as a whole new set of questions.
Furthermore, on the most immediate level, I can’t recall a single moment when the old man got angry, or spouted insults, or allowed the tirades of others to knock him off balance. He did have a knack for the occasional sarcastic comment, though this usually helps me to become more critical of myself, despite the initial irritation and confusion.
Have I ever felt offended? Absolutely, and a part of the grueling process is to recognize how the degree of my outrage is a function of my own estimation, not of what anyone else has said or done. I have learned that there are wrongs, and then there are perceptions of wrongs, and the two will not always coincide.
Once, thanks to folks like Socrates, I have a fuller understanding of what actually constitutes benefit and harm, I am not so easily vexed. Even if Socrates only taught me that, it would still be a precious lesson.
I never had any teachers introduce me to Xenophon, so I had to discover his writing for myself. I am very glad I did, since they allowed me to think of Socrates independently from the perspective of Plato. They merely confirmed what I already suspected, that here was man I would be honored to have a discussion with, however much I might be pulling out my hair.
The best philosophical conversations have knocked me down instead of puffing me up, by leaving me with a sharp reminder that I am accountable for my own judgements, and only for my own judgments.
In one sense, philosophy can be very much like politics, because those who should practice it want nothing to do with it, while those who shouldn’t practice it are breaking down the door. When the humble amateur looks to the sophisticated professional, he sees only squabbling and self-promotion, tied up in ridiculously specialized language at the expense of any genuine human meaning.
And even the sophists will eventually grow tired of the spectacle, once they no longer find it gratifying, and then they turn their attention to more profitable endeavors. I think of the professors who were itching to become deans, or the priests who had set their eyes on a promotion to bishop.
I once had a teacher who was forever talking about the hidden motives of Socrates, the real reasons he would have conversations with his fellow Athenians.
“Isn’t he trying to inspire people to know themselves?”
“Well yes, but did this just grant him a psychological power over others, or was he also hoping to attain a more systemic form of political power? How did he intend to implement a radical transformation of social justice?”
It is tragic when the jargon of this or that “-ism” discourages us from a simple love of the true and the good.
For all the times I am frustrated by a Socratic dialogue, sometimes to the point of clenching my fists or tossing the book across the room, I never feel like he is trying to sell me on an ideology. I may not know exactly what he wants out of me, but I do know that he was acting in my best interests. If I am patient, and I don’t let my passions get the better of me, I am certain I will walk away with a sliver of insight, as well as a whole new set of questions.
Furthermore, on the most immediate level, I can’t recall a single moment when the old man got angry, or spouted insults, or allowed the tirades of others to knock him off balance. He did have a knack for the occasional sarcastic comment, though this usually helps me to become more critical of myself, despite the initial irritation and confusion.
Have I ever felt offended? Absolutely, and a part of the grueling process is to recognize how the degree of my outrage is a function of my own estimation, not of what anyone else has said or done. I have learned that there are wrongs, and then there are perceptions of wrongs, and the two will not always coincide.
Once, thanks to folks like Socrates, I have a fuller understanding of what actually constitutes benefit and harm, I am not so easily vexed. Even if Socrates only taught me that, it would still be a precious lesson.
I never had any teachers introduce me to Xenophon, so I had to discover his writing for myself. I am very glad I did, since they allowed me to think of Socrates independently from the perspective of Plato. They merely confirmed what I already suspected, that here was man I would be honored to have a discussion with, however much I might be pulling out my hair.
The best philosophical conversations have knocked me down instead of puffing me up, by leaving me with a sharp reminder that I am accountable for my own judgements, and only for my own judgments.
—Reflection written in 8/2001
IMAGE: Pietro Testa, Drunken Alcibiades Interrupting the Symposium (1648)
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