The unexamined life is not worth living. Here, we will find out why. Have you ever just known that someone was wrong about something but were unable to put your finger on how?
Perhaps you wanted to challenge the dominant narrative in a friend group or to debate with unparalleled skill, or just dominate imaginary people with facts and logic while you have a shower. If so, you would not be alone in this wish. The father of Western philosophy, Socrates, wanted to do the same thing—though maybe not the bit about the shower.
Socrates would look across ancient Athens, and everywhere he saw people holding beliefs they could not possibly justify. He could not let things go on like this; Athens had to be taught critical thinking, and Socrates was going to do it even if it killed him. Here, we are going to look at Socrates's famous questioning technique, with a few bonus additions from me, and see why it worked so well.
By the end of this video, perhaps you too will be able to transform history forever. Get ready to learn how Socrates would disarm an argument without anyone even noticing, how to ensure that your worldview is not full of holes, and how we can apply critical thinking in our everyday lives. Let’s get started.
One: Pre-arguing. I find that critical discussions can be a little bit like heavy exercise; it is helpful to mentally stretch beforehand to put yourself in the right mindset and to see if this argument is worth your time or your opponent's. This is where pre-arguing comes in.
It is something you see Socrates do quite a lot in Plato's dialogues, and it often comes in the form of checking underlying definitions and assumptions. Say you and I are having a debate about God's existence; however, you happen to be a deist—that is, someone who does not believe that God controls the universe but just kicked it off. I may not know this and assume that you are a theist, someone who believes that God is still actively involved in the universe.
As a result, if I were to challenge your worldview on the basis of some classic theological questions, like the problem of evil, then that would not be strictly relevant. Here, we have ended up working with two different definitions of God: you have a definition of God where He is uninvolved with the universe as it currently exists, whereas I have a definition where He is. The problem here is that while we disagree over definitions, no productive discussion can take place.
If I say God doesn’t exist and you say God does exist, then we don’t actually contradict one another. This happens in political arguments all the time; people have vastly different definitions of words like socialist or capitalist or left-wing or right-wing and then get into discussions that, from the very outset—even if both parties are arguing in good faith—cannot be productive. This is a practical example of why it is so important to clarify key terms and assumptions before you enter a debate; that is, if you want it to be a productive discussion aimed at truth.
To return to our argument about the definition of God, if I had stopped to ask what your definition of God is, I might discover that we disagree a lot less than I initially thought. It would also tell me not to invoke arguments that are leveled specifically at a theist position. At the very least, this can save you and your interlocutors some time, but at its most extreme, it can prevent shouting matches over a disagreement based on an illusion.
One of the first questions Socrates tends to ask people in Plato's dialogues is for their definitions of some key terms—be it justice or beauty or love. Socrates wants to know how they are using the word. If they have a disagreement, Socrates often changes the discussion to be about which definition they should use so that they can agree on this before they move forward.
Without doing this, all of the dialogues would just be a waste of everyone's precious time. I want to make a short addition to Socrates's questions here. I think a good question to ask both ourselves and our interlocutors at the beginning of a discussion is: under what circumstances would you or I be wrong?
This works wonderfully for a couple of reasons. The first is that it establishes whether someone is interested in having a real, good-faith discussion or whether they are simply interested in defending their position to the death. If someone really cannot imagine that they would change their mind under any circumstances, then chances are the debate just is not worth having.
Secondly, it gives a real insight into the factors that motivate someone's belief. If I was arguing in favor of legalizing euthanasia, I could still concede that I would change my mind if most people were pressured into the decision. That would give you an insight into the underlying ideas that maintain my position.
For instance, I'm likely to think that laws should be justified on their consequences rather than believing they should mimic a preordained set of moral rules. I know it can get tedious, but it is genuinely worth going through this pre-argumentation stage before a debate enters full swing. The two key questions to ask here are: what definitions are we using for the key terms in our discussion and under what circumstances would we change our minds?
But obviously, we can't stop there; now we have to actually have the argument. Next, we will look at my favorite type of Socratic question—one that can easily find potential flaws in a position without making someone retreat into a defensive shell. If you want to help me make more videos like this, then.
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To the ignoramus and clarification: one of the most disarming things you can say in an argument is "I'm not sure I completely understand your position. " The reason for this is twofold. First, it concedes an imaginary point to your opponent and lets them know you are not just in this to batter or humiliate them; you are genuinely interested in what they think.
Secondly, it opens up the possibility of asking clarificatory questions, and this is often key to a productive discussion. Anecdotally, people are much more likely to change or shift their position when they spot a flaw in their argument themselves rather than having it pointed out by some bastard like me. So, often, the best way to highlight the flaws in someone's position is to ask them to clarify what they mean.
Let the holes in their argument be exposed that way. In Plato's Republic, the character of Socrates debates with Thrasymachus, who argues that justice is whatever the stronger person desires. Socrates asks him exactly what he means by this, and Thrasymachus replies by saying that justice is whatever advantages the stronger person.
But then he has immediately revealed his mistake because what the stronger person desires and what the stronger person benefits from are two separate things. Someone very powerful might be mistaken about what benefits them, and in such a situation, Thrasymachus is caught in a contradiction. It is only through asking him exactly what he means that Socrates was able to uncover this contradiction in his worldview.
To give a more up-to-date example, imagine that you and I are having a discussion, and I say we should not listen to the opinions of immoral people. You might challenge this position by asking me, "What do you mean by immoral that makes someone's opinions no longer worth listening to? " I might reply that immoral people are more likely to make mistakes due to their poor character.
But you can then ask me, "What do you mean by mistakes? " I might reply by saying that they will mistake good actions for bad ones and bad for good. But at this point, you can point out that my argument only actually covers moral debates, and it leaves it open that immoral people might be perfectly worth listening to on other topics.
Without having to outright challenge my position, you've transformed it from a grand claim into a much more circumspect one, which you could now attack in other ways should you choose to do so. The key question here is, "What do you mean by that? " It sounds so simple, but it is devastatingly effective, and it is important to approach this with genuine curiosity.
It might expose your interlocutor as having an outright contradiction in their views, but it could just as easily reveal its indisputable coherence. Either way, you will understand your opponent's position much better, and this is essential for a productive discussion. It is worth asking this question to ourselves as well; it can help us understand our own positions.
When was the last time you sat back and examined your worldview to see where there are unclarified terms or where you couldn't explain it simply? This can be an excellent exercise to check that we truly know what we think and that we are not accidentally parrotting an opinion we have picked up from somewhere else. But there is a key type of question we have yet to examine, and without it, any accounts of Socratic questioning would be woefully incomplete: **Three causes and reasons.
** This is the quintessential philosophical question: "Why do you think that? " But it's worth noting that this, in turn, can split into two further questions, each with their own purposes. The first is, "What has caused you to think that?
" and the second is, "What are your reasons for thinking that? " I know they look similar, but there is a crucial difference. Say I am again arguing in favor of euthanasia's legality, and you want to know the cause of my belief.
I might answer by saying that I've heard the testimony of many suffering people who say earnestly that they would like to end their own lives, and the emotions I felt in response have, to a certain extent, motivated my position. This is a causal story; one thing happened, and my belief was affected by it. But importantly, the causal process did not run through my reasoning or my deliberation.
This might be different from my reasons for supporting the legalization of euthanasia. It could be that the primary reason for my position is that I think everyone has the right to do what they wish with their own body, provided it is not directly harming other people, and that I think euthanasia falls into this category of action. This is not just a cause; it is a reasoned argument.
It's worth noting that in some accounts, all reasons are also causes, whereas in others, they are totally separate categories. But I don't want to get into this debate here; for our purposes, the distinction is important because whereas a reason for believing can be refuted by logic, a cause of a belief might be emotional or pragmatic. To quote a common phrase online, you can't logic someone out of a position that they haven't logic'd themselves into.
So, these two questions are good at separating the types of things that are worth challenging with reason and those that logic probably won't make much headway on. If someone believes something because it was their father's dying words, you're very unlikely to convince them otherwise. Then honing in on the reasons someone believes something can give us an idea of where the flaws in their argument might lie.
To return to the example of euthanasia, you might challenge the. . .
The idea that euthanasia does not directly harm others, or that we have unrestricted rights to our own body, can be contentious. If you are religious, you might say that our bodies are partly the domain of God, or you might argue that we owe it to our community to continue living. The point is, now you have a good idea of why I believe what I believe and can challenge my reasoning.
I know that this, to a certain extent, sounds really obvious, but you don't have to go far to see people completely misunderstanding the reasons for someone else's belief, or, even worse, just assuming their reasons, possibly strawmanning them in the process. Think of the times you hear people say, "Well, of course you believe that; you just want to see people suffer," or "All Christians are the same; you're just scared of death. " Instead of asking for the reasons or causes behind someone's belief, we just make up our own and argue with them instead.
It is quite tempting; after all, it's much easier! Moreover, these questions encourage us to be more honest about why we hold our own views. We can learn to identify when we have a good set of reasons for a belief and when extra rational factors have crept in.
There is nothing necessarily wrong with holding a belief that does not spring straight from the granite rock of logic, but it's worth recognizing this, just so we're aware of what material is supporting our viewpoints. This line of inquiry links very well with another type of Socratic questioning—one that places the emphasis on empathizing with the views of other people in order to open our minds to all the possibilities we have not yet considered. For the alternatives, there is a really famous clip in the UK of an Italian TV chef shouting, "If my grandmother had wheels, she would have been a bike!
" He meant it to mock someone who had just compared what he was cooking to a British-style carbonara. But I actually think this is kind of a fun thought experiment. If you had wheels in place of all of your limbs, how would that affect the way you see the world?
You would probably think more in continuous distances than in individual steps. You would definitely have a greater awareness of which buildings in your area had ramp access. The whole orientation of your life would be subtly changed in innumerable ways.
I think this is a great thing to ask ourselves in discussions: If I had different experiences, how would I see this question differently? If I had grown up in a collapsing nation, I might understandably value security a little bit more than freedom. A lot of people say that when they have children or go through a near-death experience, their priorities shift in a way that they could not possibly have predicted.
Considering this can have a brilliant mind-opening effect on our worldview, because downstream of these perspective changes are all the alternative propositions that we could inadvertently be ignoring. For instance, by considering how we might view the world differently if we were raised in a highly competitive and borderline toxic environment, we might understand why some people are not so naively trusting as ourselves. On this channel, I cover a lot of philosophers with pretty cynical views, partly because, by nature, I am such a crude optimist.
So, looking at these thinkers helps to counterbalance my own biases. This is also another great way of encouraging people to engage in critical thinking without directly confronting them. Imagine you are having a discussion with someone who is hell-bent on defending the death penalty and you don't necessarily want to disagree with them head-on, but you want to encourage them to consider the idea that there might be other perspectives.
Like we said before, a good start is to ask them under what circumstances they would change their mind. These might be both emotional and non-rational circumstances, like imagining someone that they knew had been falsely sentenced to death, but also considering rational alternatives, like what the level of false convictions would have to be in order for them to shift their position. This obviously links a lot with what I said in the first section about asking under which conditions you would abandon your position, but it is broadened in scope to asking what perspectives or alternatives you are just not yet considering.
You might still end up believing the same things, and so might your discussion partner, but you will have a fuller consideration of the alternatives on offer. If one seems more plausible, you will then have the opportunity to switch your position. A lot of the time we don't know what we don't know, and this type of question is a good way of simulating what the discussion would look like through different eyes.
We also might connect this with our previous question about the reasons and causes people hold certain beliefs. Even if your opponent is obviously mistaken, what about their lives and experiences have brought them to this point? You can even ask them this directly, provided you do so tactfully.
This does not mean that you will end up agreeing with your opponent, but it helps prevent the argument from descending into chaos and encourages both speakers to understand where the other is coming from. However, no questioning model is complete without our next point, where we will have to crack open our logic textbooks and thumb through its well-worn pages: **Implications and Consequences**. One of the most famous types of philosophical argument is the reductio ad absurdum.
This is essentially where you examine the implications of your opponent's position to show either that it is outright contradictory or that it just has absurd consequences. It involves drawing out what would follow from a given position actually being true. I see examples of this a lot in debates around moral relativism.
A very crude form of this position states that an action is good if I believe it is good. It is true in this scenario that if I say that murder is wrong and someone else says that murder is right, both our positions would be rendered true; hence, there is a contradiction. Of course, this is a straw man version of moral relativism, and they tend to respond by saying that we've misunderstood their position.
They might instead say that the meaning of truth in the moral sphere is just relative to individual people, so I have my moral truths and you have yours, but they don't contradict. This is normally countered with another reductio argument, stating that if that were the case, we could never resolve moral disagreements since every one of our moral beliefs would be true by definition. The moral relativist might then alter their position, and so on and so forth.
I don't want to get sucked into a debate about moral relativism; I just want to look at the structures of the arguments involved. The responses to the moral relativist are all of the form, "Well, if you take that position, then this also must follow," but that's absurd, so the original position must be false. To use a technical term, they are modus tollens arguments.
A modus ponens argument is of the form "If A, then B; A; therefore, B," whereas a modus tollens argument is of the form "If A, then B; not B; therefore, not A. " So in the above example, the argument was as follows: If moral relativism were true, then we would not be able to solve moral disputes. We can solve moral disputes; therefore, moral relativism cannot be true.
And this is not just helpful for examining other people's positions; it is fantastic for putting our own views to the test. Some of the greatest critical thinkers in history have used this approach. For instance, much of St.
Thomas Aquinas' great work, Summa Theologica, is about working out the consequences of different theological and philosophical views to see if they are acceptable. Likewise, a huge proportion of Plato's dialogues consist of Socrates testing out the consequences of his opponents' positions and working out where they might end up contradicting themselves or asserting something that is philosophically tenuous. He doesn't always do this successfully; there's an infamous passage in the Meno that comes to mind, but it is still a cornerstone of his approach.
The key questions to ask here are: If I believe this, what else would follow? Or conversely, if I did not believe this, what would follow from that? Then, after we've seen the implications of a position, we can ask ourselves if it is worth accepting the worldview given the consequences.
This is a type of question it's great to explore after having gone through all the stages we've already covered. This is because it involves having a clear conception of the reasons behind someone's belief and a full clarification of the contents of that belief. But there is one final thing worth asking in any discussion or self-interrogation, and it's intended to ensure that we have not missed a spot in our logical cleaning: six questioning questions.
This is where we come full circle and ask ourselves if we have questions to our satisfaction. Do we truly understand our opponent's position, or do we still need some clarity? Have we really got to grips with why we believe something, or have we got our reasons and our causes confused?
Are there any questions we want to ask that don't fall into any of these camps, and if so, what are they? This is slightly different from the previous sections, as it does not provide a series of questions that we can list off or a neat type of inquiry we can make; it instead outlines a sort of general attitude to discussion or debate. It is essentially a moment where we sit back and consult our intuitions.
If we have been involved in a lot of discussions or self-interrogations in the past, we might ask what we questioned then that we have not questioned now, or double-check that we have not made mistakes that were previously commonplace. Above all, it involves a certain level of epistemic humility—recognizing that despite our best efforts, we might have missed something. There is no step-by-step guide I can give you to asking this question, and arguably there shouldn't be.
Learning how to think critically is like any skill: it is a slow and steady process, refined over many years of practice. I have written and learned an awful lot about formal logic, and I've had a metric ton of arguments, but there is still so much I have yet to learn. The primary way to get better from here is just practice.
If we use these questions in our everyday lives—interrogating the propositions we find out in the world and our prior beliefs—then we will increase our skills little by little until we instinctively know which questions to ask, where the weak points in an argument are likely to be, and what the biases and flaws in our own reasoning are. But of course, none of this will matter if our logic is full of fallacies, so check out this video to learn the three types of fallacy and how to avoid them, and stick around for more on thinking to improve your life.
