Xenophon's Memorabilia

Xenophon, from the Memorabilia

“Know Thyself.” These two words endure as the most famous of the inscriptions on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. As celebrated as they are, they remain mysterious. The oracle at Delphi spoke in cryptic riddles, and these words from the temple’s entrance are no less challenging. What does it mean to know ourselves? How to we reach this knowledge? And why does this knowledge stand at the entrance to wisdom? “Know Thyself” is simultaneously a command, an invitation, and a challenge.

“Know Thyself” resounds across the centuries of the Great Tradition of liberal education. Knowledge of self forms part of a three-legged stool along with knowledge of God and knowledge of the natural world. Which of these comes first? Which of these must precede the other two? Must we know ourselves in order to form a proper conception of God and the world? Or must we first know God in order to arrive at anything approaching true self-knowledge? In a era such as ours preoccupied with knowledge and mastery of the natural world, these questions take on an added urgency. If we are nothing but a product of the physical laws of nature and the whims of chance, set adrift in a cosmos without transcendence or design, purpose or meaning, then we will conclude that human nature such as only rarely proposed in antiquity and unknown in Judaism and Christianity. What would Solomon’s pursuit of wisdom look like in such a universe?

The historian and biographer Xenophon knew that the stakes were high for the young person confronted with the command to “know thyself.” A contemporary of Plato’s and fellow student of Socrates, he left behind a delightful portrait of his teacher Socrates and his methods and aims. His Memorabilia provides a portrait of his esteemed teacher that complements Plato’s better-known and more extensive accounts in his dialogues.

In the selection the students and teachers discussed this week, Xenophon shows us a Socrates beloved by his students, witty, and verging on pitiless in his ruthless dismantling of his student Euthydemus. Xenophon uses Euthydemus as something of the straight man to Socrates’ serious and probing analysis of what this hapless young man believes and values. But the ending is a happy one. Euthydemus comes to understand his pretensions to knowledge and his disordered hierarchy of ambitions. Socrates takes him apart bit by bit, step by step, leaving him at the verge of despair. He has “lost all confidence” in his answers and is unsure of the meaning of his own words. He sees that his vaunted knowledge is mere opinion. Convinced of his stupidity, he leaves for the moment “very dejected, disgusted with himself and convinced that he was indeed a slave.”

But Euthydemus returns. He realizes “that he would never be of much account unless he spent as much time as possible with Socrates.” Xenophon explains that from this point Socrates taught him “very plainly and clearly the knowledge that he thought most needful and the practices that he held to be most excellent.” How many of us wish when reading a Socratic dialogue that we had the benefit of the same plain instruction! But Socrates never rests in his questioning, and this technique can leave us disoriented.

Xenophon highlights many of the same “prerequisites” of wisdom that we saw in Plato’s Republic. The student must be quick to learn, gifted with a good memory, driven by the love of truth, and eager to be a capable man of affairs in the city. He must not be distracted by the pursuit of riches and fame and never fooled by the mere appearance of education. The more natural gifts he has, the more necessary is a proper education.

I spent this past week at a vacation home on Edisto Island on the coast of South Carolina between Charleston and Beaufort. One of the best parts of my time there was getting know a  rescue dog by the name of Iris. She is a coon hound and had been horribly abused. When rescued, she was unruly, impulsive, and nearly hopeless. She has a lot of energy, but she had never been trained. For six months it seemed as though she would never be able to live with a family.

Socrates uses the examples of a high-bred puppy and a spirited colt to make an important point about education. There is no neutrality when it comes to teaching children. Our options are not between good training and simply leaving the puppy in an unformed state ready to be properly reared later. Like the dog and the colt, the child will either be properly or improperly educated. One or the other will happen. Fortunately, it was not too late for Iris. As her owner said, it turns out you can teach a new dog old tricks! But who would ever take the chance? Formation is not optional. The evil will be great.

Euthydemus had visited Delphi twice. He had read the inscription. His mistake had been to ignore it. When he saw these words he assumed they did not apply to him since he already knew himself. What else could he know if not himself? But self-knowledge means more than knowing our names. We must know our abilities and inabilities, our strengths and weaknesses, and much more. Above all, we must know what kind of beings we are. We must know where we fit into the scheme of things. We must know our nature. Are we merely animals? Are we gods?

Socrates contrasts self-knowledge not with self-ignorance but with self-deception. This illusion is the great danger of the unexamined life. We so easily fool ourselves into believing that we love wisdom, pursue the good, understand the source of happiness, and can direct our own steps. Deceived, we plunge into self-destruction and harm the city as well as ourselves and our households. Distractions wage war on the attentive life and eclipse any possibility of genuine self-knowledge. Even our studies can distract us. We can become so preoccupied with our personal libraries, and specialized knowledge, and professional advancement, and mastery over this world, that we neglect and even pour contempt on knowing the most important things of all.

The root of the problem, Socrates says, is pride. Only in humility can we begin the journey toward self-knowledge that the inscription at Delphi commands.