Might not Socrates be the prototype for that image of the philosopher so widespread, yet so false-who flees the difficulties of life in order to take refuge within his good conscience?
On the other hand, the portrait of Socrates as sketched by Alcibiades in Plato’s Symposium-and also by Xenophon-reveals a man who participated fully in the life of the city around him. This Socrates was almost an ordinary or everyday man: he had a wife and children, and he talked with everybody-in the streets, in the shops, in the gymnasiums. He was also a man who could drink more than anyone else without getting drunk, and a brave, tough soldier.
Apparently, nothing could be simpler and more natural than the philosopher’s intermediate position. He is midway between wisdom and ignorance. We might think that it is enough for him to practice his philosophical activity in order to transcend ignorance and attain wisdom once and for all; but matters are much more complex than this.
According to the Symposium, then, philosophy is not wisdom, but a way of life and discourse deter¬ mined by the idea of wisdom. With the Symposium, the etymology of the word philosophy “the love or desire for wisdom” -thus becomes the very program of philosophy. We can say that with the Socrates of the Symposium, philosophy takes on a definite historical tonality which is ironic and tragic at the same time. It is ironic, in that the true philosopher will always be the person who knows that he does not know, who knows that he is not a sage, and who is therefore neither sage nor non-sage.
He is not at home in either the world of senseless people or the world of sages, neither wholly in the world of men and women, nor wholly in the world of the gods. He is unclassifiable, and, like Eros and Socrates, has neither hearth nor home. Philosophy’s tonality is also tragic, because the bizarre being called the “philosopher” is tortured and torn by the desire to attain this wisdom which escapes him, yet which he loves. Like Kierkegaard, the Christian who wanted to be a Christian but knew that only Christ is a Christian, the philosopher knows that he cannot reach his model and will never be entirely that which he desires. Plato thus establishes an insurmountable distance between philosophy and wisdom.
Thus, Socrates reveals himself as a being who, although not a god, since he appears at first sight to be an ordinary man, is nevertheless superior to men. He is a daimon, or mixture of divinity and humanity. Such a mixture is, however, is far from self-evident, but is necessarily linked to a strangeness, and almost to a lack of balance, or inner dissonance.
Besides, the sage either did not exist, or existed only rarely. The philosopher could therefore make progress, but always within the limits of lack-of-wisdom. He tended toward wisdom, but in an asymptotic way, and without ever being able to reach it.
Traditionally, philosophers have deprived themselves of what they need the most. Nietzsche was well aware of this: “Socrates’ advantage over the founder of Christianity was the smile which inflected his seriousness, and that wisdom full of mischievousness which gives a person the best state of soul.
In Socrates’ description, philosophy is no longer a matter of overall scientific culture; it has become a means of training for life which transforms human relationships and arms us against adversity. Above all, Socrates introduces a capital distinction between sophia (or episteme) and philosophia: Since it is not in the nature of human beings to possess knowledge [episteme] such that, if we possessed it, we would know what we must do and what we must say, I consider wise [sophoi] , within the limits of what is possible, those who, thanks to their opinions, can most of them hit upon what is best. And I consider philosophers [philosophoi] those who spend their time at those exercises fr om which they will most rapidly acquire such a capacity of judgment [phronesis].