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A Mini-Course
in The Philosophy of Socrates and
Plato
These mini-courses study the growth of
philosophy after its emergence in the early Greek
Schools, and traces the development of philosophic
thought from Socrates to its relatively full
expression in the magnificent synthesis of
Aristotle in the 4th century B.C. Also discussed is
the retrogression of philosophy after Aristotle.
Part I discusses the philosophy of Socrates and
Plato. Part II discusses the philosophy of
Aristotle. Part III discusses the course of
philosophy after Aristotle.
Part I of The Development of Philosophy is
divided into three Sections:
- Section 1: The Essential Question
- Section 2: Theories of Socrates
- Section 3: Theories of Plato
Section 1:
The Essential Question
It is useless to employ human reason in the
quest of truth unless it can be known beyond doubt
or quibble that the mind is capable of attaining
truth and holding it with certitude. Man cannot
attain to all truth, for the scope of the
intellect, while tremendous, is not infinite. But
there is a vast domain of truth which man is
competent to investigate and within which is
natural mental powers can bring him to unwavering
certitude. If this fact be not recognized at the
outset, no development of philosophy is possible.
Without a recognition of human power capable of
knowing things with certitude, philosophy
becomes silly vaporizing and the baseless
fabrication of a dream. Therefore, the essential
question of philosophy is the critical
question, that is, the question of the value
and extent of the human knowing-power; the question
of knowledge, truth, and certitude as available to
man's natural and unaided efforts.
When Socrates came upon the scene, in the 5th
century B.C., the ability of man to know things
for certain was being cast into doubt by the
Sophists.
The doctrine of these teachers was
skepticism, that is, the doctrine that man
cannot be certain of anything and that all his
knowledge is valueless or, at best, of dubious
value.
It is, of course, impossible to formulate a
direct proof by reason for the reliability of
reason. Such a proof would involve the fallacy of
"begging the question," that is, assuming at the
outset the point to be established by the proof.
Nor is a proof necessary. A proof is always a
careful and methodical unfolding of a thing which
is complicated; it is a simplifying; it is a
bringing to light and evidence what is not evident
in itself. But when a thing is simple to begin
with, no simplifying is called for. When a thing is
uncomplicated, no unfolding of complications is
possible. When a thing is self-evident, external
evidence is not needed. One does not need a lighted
lamp to discover the noonday sun. One does not
demand proof that the eyes can see. One simply
beholds the sunlight and uses one's eyes. That a
man can think, and think things out by putting two
and two together, is as direct and evident an
experience as seeing with the bodily eyes in
daylight. Proof is neither possible nor
necessary.
Still it is possible to formulate an
indirect proof of the self-evident truths of
man's existence and man's ability to think and by
thinking to arrive at certitude and reliable
knowledge. Such proof is found in the impossible
and self-contradictory character of the opposed
doctrine called skepticism. For skepticism
is the total paralysis of philosophy; it is, as
G.K. Chesterson once remarked, "the suicide of
thought." Like suicide, it is an insane thing.
Skepticism asserts that it is certain that nothing
is certain. It uses reason to show that there is no
use using reason. The skeptic cannot speak without
affirming his own existence as a certain fact,
without affirming certain meaning in the words he
utters, without affirming the certain existence of
those to whom he speaks, without affirming the
truth of his own theory that no truth of theory is
possible. Therefore, the skeptic has no recourse
but to remain forever silent.
Socrates did not pause to analyze the error of
the skeptical Sophists. To their doubts and denials
he opposed a human and manly acceptance of the
power of man's mind to attain truth and to hold it
with certitude. This he took for granted, as every
sane man must. Starting with this premise, he
developed his philosophy of the critical
question, giving his theory of knowledge, its
character, its value, its purpose. He tied in his
studies of the critical question with the
ethical question, and, to some extent with
the psychological question and the
theological question. But the main mark and
characteristic of Socrates' philosophy is that it
is critical and ethical; it deals
with human knowing and with virtue, and indeed it
brings these two things together in one. In much
this theory is erroneous, but it marked a splendid
step forward in the development of true philosophy
(or true speculation), and it was a needed brake
upon the ruinous course of the Sophists.
Section 2:
Theories of Socrates
Socrates (picture)
lived from 469 to 399 B.C. He has left us no
writings, and it is likely that he wrote nothing to
leave. He taught only orally, and his teachings
have come down to us through the writings of his
pupils, Plato and Xenophon. Thus our "sources" are
secondary, since only a man's own writings
are primary sources of his teachings. But
these secondary sources are, in the present case,
reliable.
Socrates felt a divine call to teach and to
improve the lives of men. Teaching was for him a
religious duty. He recognized the fact that no
improvement in men's lives and morals is possible
without a solid philosophy of knowledge. For why
speak of duties to men who cannot be sure of
anything, and hence cannot certainly know that they
have duties at all? Why talk of morals if there is
no reliable knowledge that moral exist or are
desirable? So intimate indeed is the relation of
knowledge to right living that Socrates declared
that knowledge is virtue. He maintained that
to know thoroughly what is right is to make the
doing of wrong impossible.
Now, Socrates must have known very well that we
often act in contradiction to our knowledge. With
the poet Ovid, he must have had experience of
"seeing and approving the better things, yet doing
the worse." Nor did he excuse sin and crime as the
product of sheer ignorance. No, he held that
when a man knows thoroughly and realizes all the
implications of what he knows he cannot act in
such a way as to make practical denial of his
knowledge.
Yet Socrates stressed the knowing-power too
strongly. He should have stressed freewill as well.
Man's mind is not like the all-embracing daylight.
What a person knows, in full setting, with all
implications clearly evident, is not present to the
casual mental glance as a wide and varied landscape
is present to the glance of the eye. The human mind
is, in its action, rather like a narrowly focussed
spotlight which throws its light on one small space
and leaves many available areas in darkness. And
the hand beyond the spotlight, turning it this way
or that, to take in this consideration or to omit
that other, is the freewill. Whatever proposed
course of action is illuminated by the spotlight of
the mind has aspects of attractiveness and aspects
of unattractiveness, and the mind dwells on
whichever of these two things the will decides it
shall consider. No matter how good an object of
consideration may be, the will can focus the mind
on features of it that are unattractive and
repellent. And no matter how bad an object may be,
the will may turn the light of the mind upon some
real or apparent phases of it that are attractive.
Hence, sin is possible, even when the sinner "knows
better." To put this technically: "Man is capable
of objectively indifferent judgments."
Perhaps Socrates stressed knowledge so strongly
because he earnestly wished to root out the
pernicious error of the Sophists who made knowledge
of no value at all. At all events, he did make
knowledge the one thing necessary for man's mental
and moral well-being. And he held that of all
knowledge knowledge of self is the core and
the essence. "Know thyself!" was the summary of his
teaching.
Why should a person strive to know himself?
Because, said Socrates, all knowledge is in
him as planted seeds are in the earth. He must
labor, as the gardener labors with hoe and
waterpot, to bring this germinal knowledge to
birth, growth, fruitfulness.
Is this latent knowledge inborn in the
mind? It is not certain that Socrates held this
doctrine (innatism). If he did, he was
utterly wrong, for all natural knowledge is
acquired; it begins with the action of the
senses on the bodily world around us; from
sense-findings the mind or intellect arises to
knowledge that is quite beyond the reach of the
senses, and forms ideas or concepts, judgments, and
reasonings. But perhaps Socrates did not teach
innatism. He may have taught that the see-knowledge
with which the mind is endowed was implanted by the
action of the senses upon the material and sensible
universe. Whatever he taught about the origin of
knowledge, it is clear that he held that the
finished product is to be worked out of the mind
itself.
How shall a person set to work to bring to
fruitfulness, -- that is, to clear, certain,
scientific understanding, -- the seed-knowledge of
the mind? By following the Socratic Method.
This method consists of two processes, the (a)
ironic and the (b) maieutic.
(a) When a youth came to Socrates for
instruction, the great teacher would receive him
with every mark of respect, and would ask him
questions, seeming to be himself a pupil rather
than a teacher. Invariably the newcomer would grow
expansive under this treatment, and presently he
would begin to "show off." Now, the questions of
Socrates seemed innocent, but they were most
shrewdly put. Sooner or later the overconfident
newcomer would involve himself in contradictory
answers. Again and again he would be led into
conflicting and impossible statements. Socrates
would gently point out this distressing state of
affairs, and before long the poor victim would be
forced to make shamefaced admission that he did not
know what he was talking about. This was what
Socrates was working for. The confession of
ignorance is, he taught, the first essential
step in the work of achieving knowledge of self.
Thus far the Socratic irony. It cleared and
loosened the mental soil.
(b) Then came the maieutic process, that
is, the process of "bringing to birth" the ideas
and judgments of the mind. This process amounted to
study and discussion, -- "dialogue," it was called.
If, for example, the question "What is virtue?" was
posed for his students, Socrates would use, if
necessary, the ironic process to disabuse the
pupils' minds of hazy, inept, inadequate
preconceptions. Then he would call for examples of
virtue. He would require a pupil to explain why he
had named each example virtue. He would
institute comparison of example with example,
noting similarities and differences. At length, the
pupils would be prepared to formulate a clear and
precise definition of virtue. Now, once a
person can clearly define a thing, he knows
that thing. Thus, by the maieutic process, is
knowledge "brought to birth."
This method of working out a concept by studying
various instances or examples is known as the
inductive method or simply as
induction. Socrates is rightly regarded as
"the father of induction."
The concepts or ideas worked out by the maieutic
process are used by the mind in forming
judgments and arriving at conclusions by
reasoning. Such judgments and reasonings,
said Socrates, are unchangeably true; they
constitute science; they are known with
certitude. Thus did Socrates contradict the
doubts and denials of the Sophists with a ringing
assertion of the possibility of achieving truth,
certitude, science.
We see, in all this, that Socrates was concerned
with the critical question; we also notice that
this question is intimately bound up in the
Socratic system with the ethical question, since
Socrates held that knowledge is virtue.
Dealing directly with the ethical question,
Socrates says that man is made for happiness, and
that happiness is the fruit of goodness, that is,
of virtuous living. And, since knowledge is virtue,
and is to be attained by striving to develop the
contents of the mind, man's great moral effort must
be directed to knowledge, especially
self-knowledge. "Gnothi s'auton, Know
thyself!" was the constant cry of Socrates.
As to the theological question, it is fairly
clear that Socrates believed in one Supreme God.
But for the sake of avoiding political troubles, --
which came upon him notwithstanding, -- he
conformed to the polytheistic practices of his
times.
On the cosmological question, it is likely that
Socrates taught the production of this world out of
eternal matter, and that he regarded the
world as the best that could possibly be made
(cosmological optimism). On both scores he
was wrong. He did not identify the world with God
(pantheism), but held that God is present
everywhere in the world, ruling it in all things
(divine providence and government).
Discussing the psychological question, Socrates
held that man has a soul which is distinct from the
body. The human soul, he taught, is like God
inasmuch as it is simple (that is, not made
of parts), immortal, and endowed with
understanding and memory. It seems, however,
that Socrates failed to realize that the cause of
the soul's immortality is its spirituality.
It will be noticed, too, that Socrates failed to
mention freewill as a faculty of the soul,
and one that makes it like to God. And he mentions
understanding and memory as though they were two
faculties, whereas they are one; the intellectual
memory is but one function or service of the
understanding (i.e., the intellect) itself.
What Socrates taught about the union of soul and
body in man, is not clear. He may have held, as did
Plato later, that the soul is in the body as
a hand is in a glove; that is, he may have taught a
merely accidental union of soul and body.
The truth is that soul and body in man are
substantially united; soul and body
constitute a single substance, the human
substance.
Such in briefest outline were the teachings of
Socrates. Despite incompleteness and errors, these
theories constitute a developing philosophy
which is immeasurably superior to anything
accomplished by thinkers of preceding ages.
The fame of Socrates as a teacher and his
widening influence over minds, especially the minds
of the young, brought him to the unfavorable notice
of the politicians. These fine gentlemen managed to
have him condemned to death. He drank the deadly
hemlock in the year 399. B.C.
In passing, we must contradict the sentimental
opinion that the suicide of Socrates was a noble
deed. If it were not for the artistic and touching
account of it we have from the pen of Plato, we
should probably never think of it as something fine
and full of dignity. Suicide is never noble. It is,
in itself, a contemptible and a cowardly deed. Of
course, Socrates, despite his magnificent mind, was
under the sway of pagan opinion and custom; without
doubt he regarded the taking of his life as a thing
justified and even necessary in the circumstances.
We make no attempt to fix his personal guilt. We
simply point out the truth of sane ethics that a
man may never take his life by direct means. No man
may justly be compelled to be his own executioner.
Even if he be willing to spare the hangman an ugly
job, he may not kill himself. For it is manifestly
an unnatural thing (and hence contrary to natural
law) for a man to take his own life, even if that
life be forfeit.
One final word. While Socrates was wrong in
identifying knowledge and virtue, he deserves the
highest praise for his efforts to put ethics on a
reasoned basis, and to show that many things are
good or bad in themselves. He made moral science
more than a set of rules of etiquette, or a program
of whims, or a code of fads, or a list of likes and
dislikes. A great many of our modern intellectuals
would do well to ponder and to imitate this notable
Socratic effort.
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