Chapter Seven: Socrates

Boy, do I have a lot to say about this chapter.  Socrates was a heck of a guy.  Apparently most people found his neverending questions and his Socratic irony to make him a gadfly.  I had no idea what a gadfly was so I looked it up, and basically, he was seen as annoying.  That makes me wonder, if I had met Socrates, would I have thought him annoying?  Would I have acted like I knew everything and embarrassed myself?  Chances are I would have.  Let’s be honest, we all have those egotistical moments where we think we are really on top of things and we know our stuff.  It gets worse as we are put in positions of power, and suddenly have others telling us how great and wise we are.  How often do we really say, “I don’t know” when asked a question?  How often do we make something up or claim that the question is dumb or undeserving of an answer?  It seems  like the amount of the latter scenario is greater.  Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t always like to admit I don’t know things.  I don’t like to be caught as being wrong, because it’s embarrassing.  I’ve gotten a lot better about admitting when I’m wrong because I’ve realized we can’t be expected to know everything.  We aren’t perfect.  In fact, Socrates was well aware that he knew NOTHING. 

And he’s absolutely right.  We don’t know anything for certain.  Everything we “know” was made up and fed to us by someone else.  Sure, a lot of it is backed with evidence and makes sense, but that doesn’t mean we know it.  So, I’m going to be honest and make the step towards admitting a problem right now.  I don’t know anything.  Nothing I say or feel or think is for certain.  It can change, and it can be proven wrong.  I’m only human, and I cannot lean on my own understanding for things, because I DON’T understand everything.  Man, is that hard to think about.  Challenging everything you know is just that… a challenge. I really envy the way Socrates was brave enough to accept that challenge.

This chapter also mentions that questions are much more dangerous than answers.  When we are young and learning about the world, we are full of questions.  Nobody looks down on us for it or says our questions are stupid, because we don’t know any better.  But as we grow up, there’s this illusion that we suddenly know better.  We suddenly know enough not to ask “stupid, obvious questions”.  Who came up with that idea?!  I’m the kind of person who has lots of questions.  But I’m also the person usually too afraid to ask them.  I’m the quiet one in class who doesn’t raise her hand.  I have questions but I’m afraid that people will judge me if I voice them.  It’s much more dangerous than answering, because answers are what I’ve been taught and “know”.  So what did I use to do? I ignored my questions, and moved on.  That’s it. 

That’s why my new years resolution this year was to ask questions.  This was even before I started this philosophical journey.  And I love asking questions.  I’ve realized that asking questions is what gets me even more interested and engaged in a topic.  Maybe that’s why philosophy is so amazing to me!  I can ask all the questions I want.  Honestly, I feel like sometimes I learn more through formulating a question than receiving the answer.  A questioning mind is a working mind.  Anyway, I just really connected with Socrates’ idea of asking instead of lecturing. 

There was another idea in this chapter that  I really responded to.  It says that humans basically have two options: pretend we know everything or ignore all our questions and abandon hope of ever learning answers. A few months ago, when I was still in the habit of ignoring questions, I may have been one of the second options.  But it was different when I read that line.  That line, that idea of only having two options… It actually seriously bothered me!  I remember saying aloud “Why”?  Why does it have to be one or the other?  Why can’t we continue searching for answers?  Why should we just give up?  No way.  And then I sat back, surprised.  It’s amazing how quickly some of my ideas are changing.  I was once content to wonder things but then not pursue them.  Not anymore!  Now I want to ask questions, I want to wonder, and I want to voice that wonder.  Maybe it’s crazy but I think anyone can be a philosopher, if only they open themselves up to the wonder.  By accepting the fact that I know nothing, but refusing to give up, I can learn the ways of Socrates.  I can be a philosopher too.  In fact, I am. 

So here’s my oath.  I, Kyla Parkins, accept that I know nothing for certain, but I will try to always keep my sense of wonder, and ask questions, and never be content with waving my curiosity away. J