Socrates was not a “philosopher,” nor
yet a
“teacher,” but rather an “educator,” having for his function
to rouse, persuade and rebuke (Plato,
Apology). Hence, in examining his life’s work it is
proper to ask, not What was his philosophy? but What was his
theory, and what was his practice of education?
It is true that he was brought to his theory of education by the study of previous
philosophies, and that his practice led to the Platonic revival; but to
attribute to him philosophy, except in that loose sense in which philosophy is
ascribed to one who, denying the existence of such a thing, can give an
account of his disbelief, is misleading and even erroneous. Socrates' theory of education had for its basis a profound and
consistent skepticism; that is to say, he not only rejected the conflicting
theories of the physicists, of whom “some conceived existence as
a unity, others as a plurality;
some affirmed perpetual motion, others perpetual rest; some declared becoming
and perishing to be universal, others altogether denied such things, “but
also condemned, as a futile attempt to transcend the limitations of human
intelligence their, "pursuit of knowledge for its own sake.”
Unconsciously or more probably
consciously, Socrates rested his skepticism upon the Protagorean doctrine that
man is the measure of his own sensations and feelings; whence he inferred, not
only that knowledge
such as the philosophers had sought, certain knowledge of nature and its laws,
was unattainable, but also that neither he nor any other person had authority
to overbear the opinions of another, or power to convey instruction to one who
had it not.
Accordingly, whereas Protagoras and others, abandoning physical
speculation and coming forward as teachers of culture, claimed for themselves
in this new field power to instruct and authority to dogmatize, Socrates,
unable to reconcile himself to this inconsistency, proceeded with the
investigation of principles until he found a resting place in the
distinction between good and evil. While all opinions were equally true, of
these opinions which were capable of being translated into act, he
conceived, were as working hypotheses more serviceable than others. It was
here that the function of such a one as himself began.
Though he had neither
the right nor the power to force his opinions upon another, he might by a systematic interrogatory lead another to substitute a better opinion for
a worse, just as a physician by appropriate remedies may enable his patient to
substitute a healthy sense of taste for a morbid one. To administer such an
interrogatory and thus to be the physician of souls was, Socrates thought, his
divinely appointed duty; and, when he described himself as a “talker
“or” converser,” he not only negatively distinguished himself from those who, whether
philosophers or sophists, called themselves “teachers," but also positively indicated the method of question and
answer which he consistently preferred and habitually practiced.
That it was in this way that Socrates was brought to regard “dialectic,”
“question and answer,” as the only admissible method of education is no matter of mere conjecture. In
the review of theories
of knowledge which has come down to us in Plato’s
Theaetetus mention is made of certain “incomplete Protagoreans,”
who held that, while all opinions are equally
true, one opinion is better than another, and that the “wise man” is one who by his arguments causes good opinions to take the place
of bad ones, thus reforming the soul of the individual or the laws of a state
by a process similar to that of the physician or the farmer; and
these “incomplete Protagoreans” are identified with Socrates and the
Socratics by their insistence upon the characteristically Socratic
distinction between disputation and dialectic, as well as by other familiar
traits of Socratic converse. In fact, this passage becomes intelligible and
significant if it is supposed to refer to the historical Socrates; and by
teaching us to regard him as an “incomplete Protagorean” it supplies the
link which connects his philosophical skepticism with his dialectical theory
of education. It is no doubt possible that Socrates was unaware of the
closeness of his relationship to Protagoras; but the fact, once stated, hardly
admits of question.
In the application of the “ dialectical“ method two
processes are distinguishable: the destructive process, by which the worse
opinion was eradicated, and the constructive process, by which the better opinion was induced.
It was not mere “ignorance “ with which Socrates had to contend,
but “ignorance mistaking itself for knowledge” or “false conceit of
wisdom,“ a more stubborn and a more formidable foe, who safe so long as
he remained in his entrenchments, must be drawn from them, circumvented, and
surprised. Accordingly, taking his departure from some apparently remote
principle or proposition to which, the respondent yielded a ready assent, Socrates would draw from it an unexpected but
undeniable consequence which was plainly inconsistent with the opinion impugned.
In this way he brought his interlocutor to pass
judgment upon
himself, and reduced him to a state of doubt or perplexity. “Before I ever met you,” says Meno in the dialogue which
Plato called by his name, I was told that you spent your time in
doubting and leading others to doubt; and it is a fact that your witcheries
and spells have brought me to that condition; you are like the torpedo: as it
benumbs any one who approaches and touches it, so do you. For myself, my soul
and my tongue are benumbed, so that I have no answer to give you.”
Even if
as often happened, the respondent baffled and disgusted by the destructive process, at this point withdrew from the inquiry, he had, in
Socrates' judgment, gained something; for, whereas formerly, being
ignorant, he had supposed himself to have knowledge, now, being ignorant, he
was in some sort conscious of his ignorance, and accordingly would be for
the future more circumspect in action. If, however, having been thus convinced
of ignorance, the respondent did not shrink from a new effort, Socrates was ready to aid him
by further questions of a suggestive sort.
Consistent thinking with a view to
consistent action being the end of the inquiry, Socrates would direct the
respondent’s attention to instances analogous to that in hand, and so lead
him to frame for himself a generalization from which the passions and the
prejudices of the moment were, as far as might be, excluded. In this
Constructive process, though the element of surprise was no longer necessary,
the interrogative form was studiously preserved, because it secured at each
step the conscious and responsible assent of the learner.
Of the two processes of the dialectical method, the destructive
process attracted the more attention, both in consequence of its novelty and
because many of those who willingly or unwillingly submitted to it stopped short
at the stage of “perplexity.” But to Socrates and his
intimates the constructive process was the proper and necessary
sequel. It is true that in the dialogues of Plato the destructive process is
not always, or even often, followed by construction, and that in the
Memorabilia of Xenophon construction is not always, or even often, preceded by
the destructive process. There is, however, in this nothing surprising. On the
one hand, Xenophon, having for his principal purpose the defense of his
master against vulgar calumny, seeks to show by effective examples the
excellence of his positive teaching, and accordingly is not careful to
distinguish, still less to emphasize, the negative procedure. On the other
hand, Plato, his aim being not so much ‘to preserve Socrates' positive
teaching as rather by written words to stimulate the reader to self-scrutiny,
just as the spoken words of the master had stimulated the hearer, is compelled
by the very nature of his task to keep the constructive element in the
background, and, where Socrates would have drawn an unmistakable conclusion,
to confine himself to enigmatical hints.
For example, when we compare
Xenophon’s Memorabilia, with Plato’s Euthypliro, we note
that, while in the former the interlocutor is led by a few suggestive
questions to define “piety” as “the knowledge of those laws which are
concerned with the gods,” in the latter, though on a further scrutiny it
appears that “piety “is’ “ that part of justice which is concerned
with the service of the gods,” the conversation is ostensibly inconclusive.
In short, Xenophon, a mere reporter of Socrates' conversations, gives the
results’, but troubles himself little about the steps which led to them;
Plato, who in early manhood was an educator of the Socratic type, withholds
the results that he may secure the advantages of the stimulus.
What, then, were the positive conclusions to which Socrates carried his
hearers, and how were those positive conclusions obtained? Turning to Xenophon for an answer to Induction these questions, we
note (1) that the recorded conversations are concerned with practical
action, political, definition, moral, or artistic; (2) that in general there
is a process from the known to the unknown through a generalization, expressed or implied;
(3) that the generalizations are sometimes rules of conduct, justified by
examination of known instances, sometimes definitions similarly established.
Thus in Memorabilia, Socrates argues from the known instances of
horses and dogs that, the best natures stand most in need of training, and
then applies the generalization to the instance and discussion of men;
and he leads his interlocutor to a definition of “the
good citizen,” and then uses it to decide between two citizens for whom
respectively superiority is claimed. Now in the former of these cases the
process which Aristotle would describe as “example “ and a modern might regard as “induction” of an uncritical
sort sufficiently explains itself. The conclusion is a provisional assurance
that in the particular matter in hand a certain course of action is, or is
not, to be adopted.
But it is necessary to say a word of explanation about the
latter case, in which, the generalization being a definition, that is to say,
a declaration that to a given term the interlocutor attaches in general, a
specified meaning, the conclusion is a provisional assurance that the
interlocutor may, or may not, without falling into inconsistency, apply the
term in question to a certain person or act. Moral error, Socrates conceived,
is largely due to the misapplication of general terms, which, once affixed
to a person or to an act, possibly in a moment of passion or prejudice, too
often stand in the way of sober and careful reflection. It was in order to
exclude error of this sort that Socrates insisted upon its basis. By requiring a definition and the
reference to it of the act or person in question, he sought to secure in the
individual at any rate consistency of thought, and in so far, consistency of
action. Accordingly he spent his life in seeking and helping others to seek
“the what” or the definition, of the various words by which the
moral quality to actions is described, valuing the results thus obtained not
as contributions to knowledge, but as means to right action in the
multifarious relations of life.
While Socrates sought neither knowledge, which in the strict sense
of the word he held to be unattainable, nor yet, except as a means to right action, true opinion, the
results of
observation accumulated until they formed, not perhaps a system of
ethics, but at any rate a body of ethical doctrine. Himself blessed with a will so powerful
that it moved almost without friction, he fell into the error of ignoring its
operations, and was thus led to regard knowledge as the sole condition of well
doing. Where there is knowledge, that is to say, practical wisdom, the only knowledge which he recognized,
right action, he
conceived, follows of itself; for no one knowingly prefers what is evil; and,
if there are cases in which men seem to act against knowledge, the inference
to be drawn is, not that knowledge and wrongdoing are compatible, but that in
the cases in question the supposed knowledge was after all ignorance.
Virtue,
then, is knowledge, knowledge at once of end and of means, irresistibly
realizing itself in act. Whence it follows that the several virtues which are
commonly distinguished are essentially one. Piety, justice, courage
and temperance are the names which wisdom bears
in different spheres of action: to be pious is to know what is due to the
gods; to be just is to know what is due to men; to be courageous is to know
what is to be feared and what is not; to be temperate is to know how to use
what is good and avoid what is evil. Further, in as much as virtue is knowledge,
it can be acquired by education and training, though it is certain that one's soul has by nature a greater
aptitude than another for such acquisition.
But, if virtue is knowledge, what has this knowledge for its object? To this
question Socrates replies, Its object is the Good. What, then, is the Good? It
is the useful, the advantageous. Utility, the immediate utility of the individual, thus
Theory becomes the
measure of conduct and the foundation the Good of all moral rule and legal
enactment. Accordingly, each precept of which Socrates delivers himself is
recommended that obedience to it will promote the comfort, the advancement, the
well being of the individual; and Prodicus' apologue of the Choice of Heracles, with its commonplace offers of worldly
reward, is accepted as an adequate statement of the motives of virtuous
action.
Of the graver difficulties of ethical theory Socrates has no
conception, having, as ft would seem, so perfectly absorbed, the lessons of
what Plato calls political virtue, that morality has become with him a
second nature, and the scrutiny of its credentials from an external
standpoint has ceased to be possible. His theory is indeed so little
systematic that, whereas, as has been seen, virtue or wisdom has the Good for
its object, he sometimes identifies the Good, with virtue or wisdom, thus
falling into the error which Plato perhaps with distinct
reference to Socrates, ascribes to certain cultivated thinkers. In
short, the ethical theory of Socrates, like the rest of his teaching, is by
confession unscientific; it is the statement of the convictions of a
remarkable nature, which statement emerges in the course of an appeal to the
individual to study consistency in the interpretation of traditional rules of
conduct.