Socratic Midwifery

 One of the ancient Greek philosophers that I have learned a lot from is Socrates. I know that my leanings toward him are due to some extent to the fact that I identify with his lifestyle: living simply and listening, rather than lecturing. He was very critical of the Sophists, who he regarded as pompous orators, because they used rhetorical methods to persuade their listeners to their way of thinking. Socrates was adamant that he was not wise and was not interested in impressing anyone with his erudition. Instead, his skill was to question his interlocutors—using Socratic dialog—to draw from them their innate insights. He helped them to realize truths that they then owned, rather than force upon them his knowledge.

In a dialog with a young man named Theaetetus, Socrates one day explained why he used this form of dialog. Theaetetus was complaining about how difficult it was to learn this way. It made his head hurt. Socrates replied that this was an appropriate sensation, because his student was feeling the pangs of labor, as something within his head was trying to be born.

He told his student that he is like a midwife. His dialog may indeed be driving his interlocutors to their wits' end, because he is helping them birth understanding. While midwives attend to the bodies of their patients, he is attending to their souls. Just as the most accomplished midwives were once mothers themselves, because their own experiences of giving birth helped them to empathize with a mother in labor, Socrates, as an old man, had the experience to understand the struggles of his students.

He explained that his goal was to assure them that what comes from the minds of the youths he dialogs with is true and not false notions. In fact, Socrates claimed that the gods compelled him to birth ideas, rather than teach. No, he did not deem himself wise—just one who births wisdom from others. Thus, the gods allowed his students to astound themselves, through Socrates' birthing dialogs; they did not learn from Socrates, but from themselves.

So the Socratic midwifery process is intended to be painful—just as childbirth comes with pain. He might well have been the first teacher to tell his students, “No pain, no gain.” (I doubt that rhymes as well in ancient Greek.)

Eudaemonia Endeavors

The ancient Greek philosophers wrote a lot and argued a lot about how one should live a good life. The topic was and is quite controversial, because there is much disagreement on what is meant by the good life, let alone how to go about achieving it. One person's definition of the good life can be very different from another's. It can mean, for example, possessing an abundance of things, having power, being famous, being loved, eating fantastic food, traveling to exotic places, going to Broadway shows, or countless other experiences. But it can also mean living a simple life wherein one does’t require lots of possessions to thrive. 

One thing that the arguing Greek philosophers pretty much did agree on was that fulfilling one's desires can lead to happiness, and being happy can help one to feel like they've achieved the good life. But the English word “happiness” falls well short of the Greek word they used: eudaemonia. Being happy refers to a feeling of pleasure or contentment. Those are transitory feelings. Eudaemonia describes an enduring state of being, which is better translated as living a fulfilled life, as realizing one's full potential, as flourishing, or as thriving. Eudaemonia goes well beyond just happiness.

So, OK, if realizing one's full potential or flourishing is what the Greeks could agree upon, there's still the disagreement over how to get there. They may have seen eye to eye on the end point, but what about the means? We each have our own path; our own means—based on our predilections and experiences. Some people have insatiable desires and others opt to keep them simple.

Socrates had a lot to say about how to achieve the good life, and he was on the side of keeping our desires simple. Why choose the simple path? He posited three reasons: (1) since simple desires are easier to attain, it's easier to reach eudaemonia; you don't have to work as hard at it, (2) those who have many and exorbitant desires must expend much effort and energy to get them and then they are constantly fretting about how to hold onto their possessions… that’s neither a peaceful nor a contented life, and (3) those who pursue many lavish desires leave little for the poor and disadvantaged, denying them any chance of flourishing. Thus the simple life is better for the self and for everyone. There is enough to go around—even to offer the good life—for everyone.

So simplicity not only offers me a better chance at acquiring eudaemonia, it also give the less fortunate a better chance. Logical and straightforward advice from ancient Greece, that remains relevant today.

Kierkegaard’s Condemnation; Socrates’ Censuring

 Kierkegaard’s Condemnation; Socrates’ Censuring (3/3/21)

I have posted a few blogs on the nature of Socrates' stance on the beliefs of his fellow Athenians in ancient Greece, and how the Dane Soren Kierkegaard esteemed the 2400-year-old teachings of his mentor. While Socrates reproached his fellow citizens for their meaningless beliefs in the gods and their behaviors in public life, Kierkegaard condemned the Danish Lutheran Church for the meaningless practices of its so-called Christian practitioners in their lives.

They both declared that their societies had strayed from the true path of their religious and moral origins. In a previous posting I described how both Socrates and Kierkegaard perceived that people in their culture had become deluded by erroneous beliefs. Their denouncement of their respective cultures' spiritual practices stemmed from that delusion, they felt.

Socrates' challenge to Athenian practices was a general one that targeted the democratic process, claiming that it no longer informed citizens appropriately. Because Athenian religious and social issues were entwined, he was also challenging their religious conventions. They interpreted his accusations as attacking the foundations of society. The Athenian leaders put him on trial for violating a law of impiety and teaching dangerous ideas to youth and thus corrupting them. He was condemned to death, after having been found guilty.

In 19^th century Denmark, Kierkegaard—influenced by Socrates' charge that Athenians were conducting meaningless rituals—came to feel similarly about Danish religious practices. Kierkegaard was a devout Christian, and came to believe that, in order for one to follow the lessons of Jesus, it demanded risk and sacrifice. He believed that it was extremely difficult to take on and practice the true discipline of Christianity. He claimed that the Lutheran Church leaders in Copenhagen had become affluent and lazy. 

People were born into a Christian setting, and thus were automatically entitled to become a Christian, whereas Kierkegaard insisted one needs to choose to take on the hard work of Jesus—which demands simplicity and surrender. Although Kierkegaard's accusations made him very unpopular in proper Danish circles, his well-being, unlike his mentor Socrates, was never really threatened.

What I find inspirational about Socrates and Kierkegaard is their insight that it is not a complacent or facile task to faithfully follow an authentic spiritual path. Too often, the perpetuation of the institutions that subsequently came into being—after the originator of the religion died—became the focal point of the followers. When this happens, the real message—the hard work—becomes lost to shallow ritual. We need those prophetic voices that prick our conscience and remind us of how we have strayed. However, most of the time—like the prophets of old—we do not welcome that opinion.

Socratic Soren

Soren Kierkegaard—a Danish philosopher/writer of the 19^th century—found great inspiration in Socrates, who lived some 2400 years earlier in Athens. In fact, Kierkegaard came to view himself as the “Socrates of Copenhagen,” as he applied many of the ideas and practices of his Greek mentor in his thinking and writings.

In an earlier post I described the importance of Socrates’ daemon—his inner guiding voice. What appealed to Kierkegaard about this voice was that it had always guided Socrates in a “negative” sense—never telling him what to do, but simply alerting him against foolish actions... recommending what he should not do. That process leaves open various positive actions that one may ponder and then prudently select, if one takes the time to ponder it.

Another aspect of Socratic teaching that Kierkegaard viewed as essential was the manner in which Socrates engaged in dialog with another person. Although Socrates was regarded as one of the greatest Athenian sages, he never claimed to be wise. Like the voice of the daemon, he never told students or cohorts what to do. Instead he engaged them in a dialectical discussion, that repeatedly challenged them to explain what they believed they knew, as he cleverly dismantled their secure knowledge, step by step.

This form of discourse did not make Socrates very well-liked by Athenians, as he often reduced them to a state of self-doubt, called aporia. (From the Greek word aporos, which means “impassable.”) His interlocutor was literally rendered mentally immobile—having been impelled to realize that what he thought he knew, and was confident of, was fallacious. It created many antagonists among Athens' eminent citizens. This behavior eventually led to his trial and death sentence.

Kierkegaard saw that to apply the method of Socratic examination to one’s self-questioning could lead to a state of self-aporia, which he saw as a pivotal way of improving one's grasp of the truth. Since most of us are not all that clear in our thinking, or are subject to erroneous opinions, we often delude ourselves into believing that we are wiser and more knowledgeable than we really are. It requires a large dose of humility to admit we are wrong—to question ourselves. We could use a Socratic, dialectical approach to demonstrate our own misunderstanding to ourself.

In philosophy, epistemology is the theory of knowledge—particularly the investigation of what distinguishes justified belief from mere opinion. Socrates and Kierkegaard offer an alternative perspective of epistemological analysis. They both maintained that we have the ability to arrive at the truth on our own. We do not require a wise teacher to tell us what to do or think. It's important that we let go of our spurious beliefs after arriving at our own at a state of aporia; which then opens us up to a more valid understanding. We can thus rid ourselves of the “impassable” blockade of faulty thinking, to break through to real insight.

Daemon Directions

The word “daemon” has a fascinating history. Its origin is in ancient Greek civilization, where it defined a divine and/or supernatural being, who resided in a realm somewhere between humans and the gods. A daemon was often consulted, with the expectation it would provide guidance that would steer one's actions in an appropriate direction. It became perceived as an inner spirit or voice that could be regarded roughly as similar to one's conscience.

A prominent citizen of ancient Greece who claimed that his behavior was influenced by his inner daemon was Socrates (5^th century BCE). His daemon, however, was unique, in that it only spoke to him by warning him what not to do. In this sense, his daemon was strictly a negative teacher, since it never told him what to do.

Socrates claimed that this inner voice had been crucial to his perceptions and behavior, because it steered him away from making mistakes, but left open what he should do in a given situation. That choice was up to him. Thus, he was free to do what appeared to him to be positive action. For example, in a given situation, he might have several options to select. Which one is wisest to choose? Since his daemon steered him away from unwise behavior, it left him open to various potentially wise choices—but they would be his, not some godlike choice. Socrates felt that this “negative” daemon gave him the freedom to pursue wisdom on his own, and thus to benefit and grow from the process.

I find this possibility very promising, because I believe at any moment we each have an abundance of alternative actions we may choose from. In each case we select one, hoping it is a good choice, but we rarely have the opportunity to pause and consider what other options we might have had and what might have transpired, if we'd selected a different one. We just move on. If, however, I had the confidence that some inner voice had urged me to avoid stupid or harmful choices, I could move forward with some confidence that the choice I did make was at least not foolish. Thus, I’d be much freer to explore more positive alternatives… on my own. Thus, I can learn and grow on my own. 

A basic concept of existentialism is that each of us is a free and responsible agent, and that we can determine our own development and growth through acts of our will. If we had Socrates' negative daemon guiding us, we would be given that ability to develop and grow, because we would be making our choices as a free agent, and thus could benefit from what we accomplish on our own. If instead we had an inner voice that commanded us—that always chose for us—we’d be more like an obedient automaton, who just followed orders and rarely had the opportunity to think and grow.

Hannah Arendt's main conclusion from the trial of Adolph Eichmann (who was tried for Nazi war crimes for running a concentration camp that exterminated countless Jews) was that he was not really an evil person—he simply complied with the Holocaust, without pausing to think about what he was doing. He was an unreflective automaton. Thus, non-thinking, she maintained, can lead to one taking immoral actions and can be more harmful than evil.

Socrates' actions, which he claimed were influenced by his daemon, became a threat to the civic order in ancient Athens, since Athenians had constructed a belief system that was cozy and comfortable for most of them. Their society conformed to the established doctrine of the gods controlling and making choices for everyone—punishing them if they disobeyed and rewarding them if they complied. Athenians at that time had a built a society that did not require them to think all that much; just behave and follow orders. Socrates—guided by his daemon—challenged that dogma and exposed it as false. He menaced their belief system. They put him on trial and sentenced him to die.

Socrates was a prophet—not in the sense of predicting future events—but by speaking truth as an inspired teacher; motivated by that inner daemon. Prophets speak truth to power, and since those in power often act untruthfully, prophets are frequently unpopular with rulers. Throughout history prophets have met their demise because they spoke up. Besides Socrates, others who come to mind are Jesus and Martin Luther King, Jr. Many Jewish biblical prophets were either killed or banished.

So I try to cultivate my own daemon—with the objective of having it steer me from stupid choices. To me that means pretty much the same thing as encouraging a moral conscience that warns me away from immoral conduct, while leaving open to me various positive alternatives which I can pause to examine, before selecting one. That scrutinizing process can help me become more aware of the various other possibilities open to me at any given moment; to choose carefully, and take more responsibility for my behavior. The ancient Greek philosophers still have relevance today.

 

Evolving Irony

Humans have used irony for millennia—if not for all of our existence. It comes in many forms—sometimes used intentionally for either humorous or sarcastic purposes and sometimes unintentionally, when its humorous quality can mock the user. An example of intentional irony could be when a lecturer says to a quiet group, “Don't everyone speak at once.” An unintentional ironic example could be a sign in front of a business that reads, “We are committed to excellense.”

A dictionary definition of irony is “the expression of one's meaning by using language that normally signifies the opposite—typically for humorous effect.” Its root comes from the Greek word eironeia (“simulated ignorance”), which stems from eiron (“dissembler”).

Perhaps the best-known ancient practitioner in the West of irony is Socrates—whose use corresponded to the above Greek root meaning of irony. In fact, Socrates' behavior was to feign ignorance when he encountered an unsuspecting victim on the streets of Athens, some 2500 years ago. He dissembled by faking admiration for the wisdom of that citizen, and then quizzing them to the point of confounding them. His behavior did not make him popular with Athens' gentry.

The use and understanding of irony has transformed, over the centuries. By the 19^th century irony was often used by Romantic philosophers in multi-layered ways—often implying a divided self that could contain a variety of perspectives. It was a time when elites were on the verge of floundering somewhere between the perspectives of the Enlightenment and the modern periods.

In the early 20^th century irony often found itself being expressed as a reaction to current events. For example, in the context of the two world wars, when politicians seemed to spout fraudulent propaganda, many common people used irony to puncture the phoniness of those politicians. They used obvious lies to expose the deceitful lies of authority, in a way to indicate the nature of the insanity that sent millions to die in futile wars.

Today's use of irony has yet further evolved, often becoming more cynical. Truth, morality, sincerity, and sentiment are increasingly rare today. We now understand that politicians habitually lie and we do not expect sincerity or truth on their part. 

Finally, the use of texting and emails does not allow for subtleties of irony that tone or facial expression can indicate, so we try to clarify our intent by using emojis and abbreviations such as LOL and OMG. Maybe the ultimate ironic current expression is, “Whatever;” but is it not really expressing alienated carelessness, rather than irony? In the meantime we wear T-shirts that read “Buy American,” or “Make America Great Again”... T-shirts made in China. Is that an example of unintended irony? Where will the use of irony evolve to next.

[Note: this post was stimulated by a June 2003 Guardian article by Zoe Williams, titled "The Final Irony."]

Evolving Irony

Humans have used irony for millennia—if not for all of our existence. It comes in many forms—sometimes used intentionally for either humorous or sarcastic purposes and sometimes unintentionally, when its humorous quality can mock the one making the statement. An example of intentional irony could be when a lecturer says to a quiet class, “Don't everyone speak at once.” An unintentional ironic example could be a sign in front of a business that reads, “We are committed to excellense.”

A dictionary definition of irony is “the expression of one's meaning by using language that normally signifies the opposite—typically for humorous effect.” Its root comes from the Greek word eironeia (“simulated ignorance”), which stems from eiron (“dissembler”).

Perhaps the best-known ancient practitioner of irony is Socrates—whose behavior corresponded to the root meaning of irony, which stems from his time. In fact, Socrates' principle action was to feign ignorance when he encountered an unsuspecting victim on the streets of Athens, 2500 years ago. He would dissemble by faking admiration for the wisdom of that citizen, and then quizz them to the point of confounding them, by demonstrating their delusion. His behavior did not make him popular with Athens' gentry, so they sentenced him to death.

The use and understanding of irony has transformed over the centuries. In the 19^th century irony was used by Romantic philosophers in multi-layered ways—often implying a divided self that contained a variety of conflicting perspectives. It was a time when elites were floundering between the perspectives of the Enlightenment and the modern period.

In the early 20^th century irony often found itself being expressed in the context of the two world wars, when politicians seemed to spout fraudulent propaganda. Many common people used irony to puncture the phoniness of politicians They used lies to expose the lies of authority, in a way to bring to light the insanity that sent millions to their death in futile wars.

Today's use of irony has yet further evolved; now becoming more cynical in nature. Truth, morality, sincerity, and sentiment in the public arena are becoming increasingly rare today. We recognize that politicians mostly lie and thus we rarely expect sincerity or truth on their part. 

Similarly, the widespread use of texting, Facebook, and emails does not allow for the clarifying subtleties of tone or facial expression, so we try to make our intent clear by using emojis and abbreviations such as LOL and OMG. Maybe the ultimate ironic current expression is, “Whatever,” but is it not really expressing an alienated carelessness? In the meantime we wear T-shirts that read “Buy American,” or “Make America Great Again”... T-shirts made in China. Is that unintended irony? Where will the concept of irony evolve to next?

Examined Existence

One of the hallowed dictums of Western philosophy, that goes back to Socrates' time, is “know thyself.” This advice has engendered numerous interpretations, but one of the main points that Socrates seems to have made is that the most satisfying way to spend one's time in this existence is leading the “examined life.” In fact, he is often quoted as saying something like “the unexamined life is not worth living.” That assertion can seem a little harsh or even elitist. Some scholars maintain that it's an incorrect translation of ancient Greek, and should be stated more like, “the unexamined life is not the one to live,” or maybe even “the examined life is the way to live.” Slogans and maxims often get misinterpreted.

Whatever Socrates really said (and that's just conjecture, because most of what we have is Plato's account—no Socratic writings), the majority of philosophers agree that his message was that a worthwhile life must contain lots of self-examination. For one to arrive at a modicum of truth and understanding, it is necessary to continually scrutinize one's reasoning and thoughts, in order to live well and make wise decisions. Those who don't, will repeatedly make foolish decisions and commit unhealthy actions—for themselves or others. Eastern philosophers (the Buddha and Confucius being good examples) had a similar kind of advice—teaching that meditation and contemplation were excellent methods of self-examination.

Pondering this view, I recently found myself thinking about the relationships and contrasts between four things: (1) my perceptions, (2) my emotions, (3) my behavior, and (4) the truth. My perceptions describe my current understanding of my world—my ability to correctly comprehend what it's all about. My emotions can be quite different, in that they often stem from unconscious drives. Freud was a champion of describing the crucial role of our unconscious processes. Then there's my behavior—what I do. I may believe I think one way, but sometimes act quite another. And finally there is the truth... reality. Am I tuned into the authenticity of my world, or am I living some kind of fantasy?

I believe that a core aspect of the examined life for me is to weigh these four aspects of my life and try to discern how close or removed my existence is from the truth. The first three of these requires that I probe as well as I can what's going on in my life—what I think, how I feel, and what I do. If there is a significant disparity between them, I have some serious internal work to do. But even if these three aspects of my being are pretty much on the same page, I still need to compare them to reality. That comparison and what I do about it is central to the examined life that Socrates promoted.
 
A key part of the process is to maintain a respectable level of intellectual humility. What do I know? How do I know it? Am I justified in my beliefs? And—most critically—can I be wrong about what I believe? Many of us cling to our beliefs, convincing ourselves that they are genuine. It requires a decent amount of humility to admit that there could be a measurable amount of bullshit in our opinions.

I liken this process of self-examination to the scientific process. It contrasts strongly with the certainty that some people feel they get from authorities or scripture. Science admits that it may never have the complete story, so it engages in an ongoing method of evaluating and improving its understanding of the truth—step by step. The examined life follows the very same procedure: in a sequential process, we take a close look at our perceptions, compare them to truth, and adjust accordingly. I believe that this can involve a careful consideration of not just my perceptions, but including in the process an evaluation of my emotions and behavior—and then weighing it all against the truth. It may be seen as a scientific way of conducting an examined existence.

Gainsaying Guidance—Part 2

So what is the value of a list of negative instructions? To begin with, it leaves one with room for varying interpretations of a situation, so the guidelines can be adaptable to different situations. The lack of explicitness provides for a flexibility that can change with time and circumstances.

As another way to look at it, at any moment there are a wide variety of actions I could take. Which of these actions would cause me problems in the future and which would be beneficial for me and others? It's often not obvious. If some kind of inner negative guidance helps me avoid doing something stupid, I can dodge a lot of problem behaviors. That's good. Then I can put attention toward the many other (better) alternatives, trusting my daemon to steer me clear of the grief of poor choices. I thus have much more freedom and autonomy.

The numerous (positive) alternative choices can open up a whole new world of possibilities that I might otherwise have never explored. Which are the “right” choices to select? There may be no right choice, but instead a host of good choices, each one resulting in something new and wonderful. With help from my daemon, I've been granted the freedom to pursue any number of creative avenues and avoid dead ends. New worlds open up to me that I could never have imagined—especially if I had been pushed toward just one choice. If I can trust the voice of the daemon to steer me away from stupid choices, I'm free to find alternatives that I might otherwise never have discovered.

Another way to consider this is that the inner daemon can alternatively be considered to be a voice of conscience or prudence. Thus, it can become a voice of moral authority, because it can stop me from doing unethical things. That's exactly how Socrates saw it. As he pondered a certain action, and if the voice was silent, he assumed that the action was moral, was appropriate, or good.

In fact, during his trial before his fellow Athenians, Socrates had several opportunities to acquit himself, but because his daemon remained silent, he did not play it safe, but stuck his neck out, to find it under attack. In the end, he concluded that death was OK, because it is not evil—otherwise his daemon would have advised him to use his considerable persuasive oratorical talents to save himself.

I find inspiration in Socrates' description of how his negative daemon guided him through life. There is no audible inner voice of mine that I have been able to discern, but the concept of some kind of conscience that steers me away from immoral behavior, while leaving me free to choose the many ethical behaviors available, is inspiring. Socrates is a good guide for heading in an ethical direction.

Gainsaying Guidance—Part 1

Socrates has been regarded for some 2500 years as one of the first and foremost Western philosophers. His influence continues to be felt in modern society. He had many lessons about knowledge and reality to teach us. Many of his fellow Athenians flocked to listen to his teachings. Certainly, there were (and still are) detractors who like to point out that some of what he taught was wrong. After all, any philosopher is bound to have other philosophers find fault with their ideas—it's the nature of the profession. And, after all, wasn't Socrates sentenced to death for his teachings? There obviously were some Athenians who had problems with his message.

I don't wish to dive here into the controversy about the validity of Socrates' worthiness or rightness of his teachings. I don't feel qualified to do so, but I do feel that he had some excellent ideas to inspire us moderns. In particular, he had two ideas about his personal life that I have found very useful.

For one, he maintained that, although he had acquired a reputation for having a large amount of knowledge (making him a wise dude in others' eyes), he was keenly aware of how much he didn't know. He was regarded by many of his fellow Athenians as wise, and he repeatedly demonstrated his wisdom, but he never posed as being a sage; he never claimed to be wise. He repeatedly talked about how little he understood, despite having devoted his life to the pursuit of knowledge. I find this attitude far more appealing than those who act foolishly, while insisting that they have all the answers. (This was the source of his conflict with many powerful Athenians.) But this post is about Socrates' second idea... maybe I'll pursue this first one another time.

The second idea or practice of Socrates that speaks to me is his description of an inner voice that spoke to him, as he was about to do something. He called this voice his “daemon,” which he saw as sort of an interior moral teacher; he even saw it as a form of divinity. His daemon always warned him what not to do in a given situation. And here's the crucial point: it was a negative voice, delivering sort of a gainsaying guidance to him. His daemon (in modern times the word has interestingly evolved into the word “demon”) never indicated what he should do, it never gave him advice or direction—it just warned him away from certain problematic activities.

Again, this experience places Socrates at odds with most people—who would prefer to have their inner guidance be positive. They'd like to have their interior voice tell them what to do. It's easier. In fact, many people—when they lack that inner positive (or negative) voice—turn to external advice for their proper behavior. That's what the dogma of political, social, and religious institutions is pretty much about. “Do what I tell you to do, and all will be well.”

Socrates is not the sole proponent of negative guidance, however. Other wisdom traditions have offered similar gainsaying guidance. For example, the Ten Commandments are a prime example of negative mandates: “Thou shalt not...,” and the list goes on.

More on Socrates' negative daemon next time...