01 / BEGINNING WITH A QUESTION
I Thought Socrates Was a Philosopher.
I Now Think He Was a Question.
Before exploring the resources on Socrates provided by Prof. Dr. Dilip Barad, my understanding of Socrates was mainly based on a few familiar facts. I knew that he was an ancient Greek philosopher, that Plato was his student, that he wrote no philosophical book of his own, and that he was eventually sentenced to death. I had also heard the famous idea associated with him: “I know that I know nothing.” However, I knew these things as information; I had not yet understood how deeply Socrates’ way of thinking could relate to my own life as a student.
The resources changed that understanding. Rather than presenting Socrates merely as a historical figure, they brought together his life, philosophy, trial, attitude towards death, and method of questioning. The Hindi resource, in particular, made his final moments feel more human and accessible to me, while the discussion of the Socratic Method helped me connect ancient philosophy with the modern practice of critical thinking. Taken together, the resources made me realise that Socrates’ greatest legacy may not be a particular philosophical answer, but a habit of questioning (Barad).
THE QUESTION THAT STAYED WITH ME
“How often do I believe something simply because I have been told that it is true?”
As a student, I often receive information from teachers, books, websites, social media, and now even artificial intelligence. But receiving information and examining it are not the same thing. Socrates made me realise that genuine learning begins when I become willing to pause and ask “Why?”, “How do I know?”, and “Could I be wrong?”
Perhaps, therefore, the best way for me to begin this reflection on Socrates is not with an answer about who he was, but with the kind of question he might have asked me.
Socrates: The Philosopher Who Wrote Nothing
One of the most striking things I learned about Socrates is that he never wrote a philosophical book of his own. Much of what we know about him comes through the writings of others, especially Plato and Xenophon. Initially, this seemed strange to me. I usually associate an important thinker with books, theories, and written arguments. Socrates, however, seems to have made conversation itself a form of philosophy.
His philosophical activity took place in the living world of Athens. He questioned politicians, poets, craftsmen, and ordinary citizens about ideas that people often used without examining them carefully—justice, virtue, wisdom, goodness, and knowledge. What interested me was not simply that he asked questions, but that he questioned the assumptions hidden inside ordinary answers.
This made me think about the way I use certain words in my own life. I may say that someone is “successful,” “intelligent,” or “educated,” but what exactly do these words mean? For example, if I say, “A successful student is one who gets high marks,” Socrates might not immediately disagree with me. Instead, he might ask:
“What do you mean by success?”
That simple question can lead to many others. Are marks the only measure of success? What about creativity, knowledge, character, or the ability to think independently? Can a student who gets excellent marks but never questions what they learn be called truly educated?
These questions made me realise that Socratic questioning is not merely about asking more questions; it is about examining the foundations of our beliefs. A confident answer may sound convincing, but Socrates encourages us to look underneath it and ask why we believe it in the first place.
I find this especially relevant as a student. Much of academic learning involves receiving information from teachers, textbooks, lectures, and digital sources. But receiving information is not the same as understanding it. Sometimes I can remember a definition perfectly and still struggle when I am asked to explain it in my own words or apply it to a new situation.
For me, this is where Socrates becomes more than an ancient philosopher. He represents a different attitude towards learning: do not be satisfied merely with having an answer; examine how you arrived at it. His philosophy reminds me that genuine learning begins when I become curious about the reasons behind what I think I know.
Perhaps, then, Socrates did not need to write a book to leave behind a powerful legacy. His real text was the conversation, and his most enduring lesson was the question.
“I Know That I Know Nothing”: The Beginning of Wisdom
Perhaps the most famous idea associated with Socrates is the statement, “I know that I know nothing.” Before exploring the resources, I understood this mainly as a clever philosophical quotation. After engaging with Socrates more carefully, I began to see it as something deeper: an acknowledgement of the limits of human knowledge.
Socrates does not seem to be saying that human beings know absolutely nothing. Rather, he recognises that we often believe we know more than we actually do. This difference between genuine knowledge and the confidence of knowing became one of the most important ideas for me.
As a student, I can relate to this experience. Sometimes I study a topic, memorise its definition, and feel that I have understood it. But when I am asked to explain the same idea in my own words, provide an example, or connect it with another concept, I may realise that I have remembered the information without completely understanding it.
That experience changed the way I interpret Socrates’ idea. Admitting “I do not know” is not a sign of weakness; it can be the beginning of learning. If I believe that I already know everything, there is no reason for me to ask questions. But when I recognise a gap in my understanding, curiosity begins.
This is also why I find Socrates relevant to contemporary education. Today, students have access to an enormous amount of information through books, websites, social media, and artificial intelligence. The difficulty is no longer simply finding information; it is deciding which information deserves to be trusted.
For example, if I read a statement online that claims to be a fact, Socratic thinking encourages me not to accept it immediately. I can ask: Who is making this claim? What evidence supports it? What exactly does it mean? Could there be another explanation? These questions do not prevent learning; they make learning more careful and meaningful.
Therefore, I now understand Socratic ignorance not as an empty state but as an intellectual attitude. It teaches me to remain curious, recognise the limits of my knowledge, and stay open to correction. In this sense, the sentence “I know that I know nothing” does not end the search for knowledge. It begins it.
The Socratic Method: When Questions Become a Way of Thinking
Among the ideas that stayed with me most strongly was the Socratic Method. Before studying it closely, I usually thought of questioning as a way of collecting information. Socrates made me see that a question can do something much more important: it can reveal how a person is thinking.
The Socratic Method is based on a process of careful questioning. Instead of immediately giving an answer, Socrates examines a person's statement by asking for clarification, exploring its assumptions, testing its consequences, and looking for contradictions. What appears to be a simple opinion can gradually become a deeper investigation.
For example, imagine that a student says, “I am not intelligent enough to succeed.” Instead of simply saying “You are wrong,” a Socratic conversation might ask: What do you mean by intelligent? What makes you think you are not intelligent? Is intelligence fixed, or can it develop? Have you confused difficulty with inability?
These questions do not provide an immediate answer. Instead, they make the student examine the belief itself. I find this powerful because sometimes our strongest beliefs are also the beliefs we examine the least.
The same method can be applied to academic learning. If I write that a character in a literary text represents freedom, I should be prepared to ask myself: What evidence supports this interpretation? Could the character represent something else? What assumptions am I making? Can another reader reasonably disagree with me?
This changes the nature of learning. Instead of simply searching for the “correct” interpretation, I begin to examine how I reached my interpretation. This is particularly important in literature, where different interpretations can emerge from the same text but still need evidence and reasoning.
What I appreciate most about the Socratic Method is that it does not encourage us to accept an idea simply because it sounds convincing. It asks us to investigate the reasoning behind it. In this way, questioning becomes a discipline rather than a habit of doubt.
However, I also realised that Socratic questioning requires humility. If I ask questions only to prove that another person is wrong, I am not really engaging in philosophical inquiry. I have already decided the conclusion. Genuine Socratic questioning requires me to remain open to the possibility that my own assumption may also need to be questioned.
For me, this is the most valuable part of the method: Socrates does not simply teach us to question others. He teaches us to question ourselves.
Questioning Is Not the Same as Arguing
One distinction in Socratic thinking that made me reconsider my own conversations is the difference between questioning and arguing. In everyday life, questions are often used as weapons. We ask something not because we genuinely want to understand, but because we want to prove that the other person is wrong. Socratic questioning has a different purpose.
Suppose someone says, “Social media is harmful to students.” I might immediately disagree and start giving examples of how social media can be useful. But a Socratic approach would first examine the statement itself: What do you mean by “harmful”? Is all social media harmful? What kind of harm are you referring to? What evidence supports your claim?
These questions do not automatically prove the statement wrong. Instead, they make the discussion more precise. Perhaps the person eventually explains that they are talking about excessive social-media use and its effect on concentration. At that point, I may discover that we were not actually disagreeing about the same thing.
This made me realise how often misunderstandings arise because we respond to people's conclusions without first understanding their meaning. Socratic questioning slows down the rush to judgement. It gives us an opportunity to understand an argument before accepting or rejecting it.
I also think this principle is particularly important today because many discussions happen online. Social media often rewards quick reactions rather than careful thought. A short statement can provoke anger, and people may respond before checking the context or evidence. In such an environment, the simple question “What exactly do you mean?” can be surprisingly powerful.
At the same time, Socratic questioning has taught me something about intellectual humility. If I enter a discussion with the sole intention of defeating another person's argument, my questions are not really questions; they are disguised arguments. True inquiry requires the willingness to discover that I may be mistaken too.
Therefore, I would describe the difference this way: arguing asks, “How can I win?” Socratic questioning asks, “How can we examine this idea more carefully?” That change in attitude can transform not only philosophical discussions but also classrooms, friendships, and everyday conversations.
Socrates in a World of Information
While studying Socrates, I repeatedly found myself thinking about the world in which I live today. Ancient Athens and the digital world may appear completely different, yet the problem Socrates addressed remains familiar: people can be confident about things they have never properly examined.
Today, information reaches us constantly. A message can be forwarded within seconds, a short video can become viral, and an opinion can appear to be true simply because thousands of people have repeated it. Sometimes I also find myself accepting information too quickly, especially when it agrees with what I already believe.
This is where Socrates' method becomes surprisingly relevant. If I come across a statement online such as “This is the best way to study” or “This fact has been scientifically proven,” I can pause before accepting it and ask: Who says this? What is the evidence? What exactly has been proved? Is there another interpretation?
For me, this becomes even more important in the age of artificial intelligence. AI can provide answers in a very confident and fluent way, but a confident answer is not automatically a correct answer. If I simply accept every response without checking its reasoning or evidence, I am not practising the kind of critical thinking Socrates encourages.
In this sense, the Socratic question “How do you know?” has become more relevant, not less, in the twenty-first century. We have more information than Socrates could ever have imagined, but having more information does not necessarily make us wiser.
This also made me reconsider what it means to be an educated person. Education should not only teach us what to think; it should also teach us how to examine what we think. A student who can memorise hundreds of facts but cannot question their reliability may still be intellectually dependent.
Socrates therefore seems relevant to our digital lives because he gives us a habit that technology cannot replace: the habit of pausing, questioning, examining, and thinking for ourselves.
Socrates and My Experience as a Student
The more I thought about Socrates, the more I realised that his philosophy is closely connected with my experience as a student. Education is often associated with collecting information, preparing notes, remembering important points, and producing correct answers in examinations. These things are necessary, but Socrates made me question whether they are enough.
There have been moments when I have learned a concept for an examination and felt that I understood it simply because I could remember its definition. But when I tried to explain it in my own words or connect it with an example, I sometimes realised that my understanding was incomplete. Knowing an answer and understanding an idea are not always the same thing.
This is where Socratic thinking becomes personally meaningful to me. Instead of stopping after finding an answer, I can ask myself: Why is this important? How do I know this? What evidence supports it? Can I explain it differently? Is there another interpretation? These questions turn studying from memorisation into investigation.
I especially notice this while studying literature. A literary text rarely becomes meaningful simply because I know its author, period, theme, or definition. If I say that a particular character represents freedom, for example, I need to examine the text and ask what makes me interpret the character in that way. Another reader may disagree with me, and that disagreement can become an opportunity to think more carefully rather than something I immediately reject.
Socrates also changed the way I think about the role of a teacher. A teacher is not only someone who provides answers. A good teacher can also create questions that make students discover the limits of their own understanding. The classroom becomes more meaningful when students are not afraid to say “I don't know” and are encouraged to investigate why.
As a student, I therefore find Socrates' idea of learning both challenging and encouraging. It is challenging because it asks me to move beyond memorisation and examine my assumptions. At the same time, it is encouraging because I do not have to pretend that I know everything. Recognising what I do not know gives me permission to keep learning.
Perhaps this is one of the most valuable lessons I can take from Socrates: a genuinely educated person is not someone who has an answer to every question, but someone who has the courage and curiosity to keep asking better questions.
THE SOCRATIC LADDER
How a Student Learns to Think
From receiving an answer to examining the truth behind it
I receive an idea.
I become curious about it.
I ask: “Why should I believe this?”
I look for evidence and assumptions.
I reconsider what I thought I knew.
“Learning begins when certainty makes room for curiosity.”
Socrates as the “Gadfly” of Athens
One of the most memorable images associated with Socrates is his description of himself as a “gadfly” of Athens. A gadfly is an insect that irritates a larger animal and keeps it from becoming completely inactive. Socrates used this image to explain his role in society: he believed that his questioning disturbed people, but that this disturbance was necessary to make them examine their lives and beliefs.
I found this metaphor surprisingly relevant to education. A good question can sometimes feel uncomfortable because it interrupts what we have already accepted. In a classroom, for example, everyone may agree with a particular interpretation of a poem, but one student might ask, “What if we are reading it differently from what the text actually suggests?” At first, that question may seem disruptive. Yet it can open a deeper discussion.
This made me reconsider the meaning of a “good” student. Sometimes students are praised for giving the expected answer, while students who ask too many questions may be seen as difficult. Socrates makes me question that attitude. Perhaps intellectual growth requires a certain amount of productive discomfort.
At the same time, I do not think that questioning means disagreeing with everything. Socrates does not teach us to reject an idea merely because it is popular or accepted. His method asks us to examine the reasons behind an idea. The purpose of questioning is not rebellion for its own sake; it is the search for clearer understanding.
This becomes especially important in contemporary society. When a social belief, political opinion, viral claim, or even an academic interpretation is widely accepted, it can be difficult to question it. People may fear criticism or isolation. Yet Socrates reminds us that popularity is not the same as truth.
For me, the “gadfly” therefore represents intellectual courage—the courage to ask an uncomfortable question while remaining respectful, open-minded, and willing to examine one's own position as well.
Perhaps this is why Socrates remains relevant after more than two thousand years. Every society needs people who are willing to ask questions that interrupt comfortable certainty. Sometimes the question that disturbs us is precisely the question that helps us think.
When Athens Spoke to Me in Hindi
Of all the resources on Socrates, the Hindi video “เคธुเคเคฐाเคค เคा เคฆเคฐ्เคถเคจ: เคฎเคฐเคคे เคนुเค เคเค เคฎुเคฐ्เคे เคी เคฌाเคค เค्เคฏों เคเคฐ เคฐเคนे เคฅे?” created the most unexpected connection for me. The title itself begins with a question that sounds almost ordinary: why was Socrates talking about a rooster while he was dying? Yet behind this apparently simple question lies a much larger philosophical problem—how we understand death, what we can truly know, and whether a person can remain faithful to their principles when life itself is at stake.
What made this resource particularly meaningful to me was not only its subject but its language. Socrates lived in ancient Athens, spoke in a completely different historical and cultural world, and became known to later generations largely through Plato and other writers. Yet I encountered his final philosophical problem through Hindi. That movement—from ancient Athens to a Hindi explanation and then into my own reflection—made me realise that philosophy does not remain confined to the language in which it begins.
“เคฎเคฐเคคे เคนुเค เคเค เคฎुเคฐ्เคे เคी เคฌाเคค เค्เคฏों เคเคฐ เคฐเคนे เคฅे?”
Why was Socrates talking about a rooster while facing death?
The question of the rooster initially appears almost insignificant beside the seriousness of Socrates' death. But that is exactly what made me curious. According to the traditional account presented through Plato's Apology, Socrates asks Crito to remember a debt to Asclepius, the Greek god associated with healing. This strange final request has encouraged different interpretations, including the possibility that Socrates viewed death as a kind of release or cure.
I find the uncertainty surrounding the statement more interesting than any single interpretation of it. We cannot know with complete certainty what Socrates intended. And that uncertainty itself seems strangely appropriate for a philosopher whose life was built around recognising the limits of human knowledge.
This brought me back to the idea associated with Socrates: “I know that I know nothing.” I no longer understand this as a dramatic declaration of ignorance. I understand it as intellectual humility—the ability to recognise the boundary between what I know, what I believe, and what I merely assume.
In a very simple Hindi expression, the lesson becomes:
“เคो เคจเคนीं เคाเคจเคคे, เคเคธเคे เคฌाเคฐे เคฎें เคจिเคถ्เคिเคค เคนोเคจे เคा เคฆिเคाเคตा เคจเคนीं เคเคฐเคจा เคाเคนिเค।”
We live in a time when people often speak with extraordinary certainty. On social media, a short video can present an opinion as a fact. A forwarded message can become “true” simply because many people have shared it. Even an AI-generated answer can sound convincing without necessarily being correct.
Here, Socrates suddenly feels remarkably contemporary. When I encounter a claim online, his method encourages me to stop and ask:
“เคฎुเคे เคैเคธे เคชเคคा เคि เคฏเคน เคธเค เคนै?”
How do I know that this is true?
That question is more valuable to me than simply asking whether I agree with something. Agreement can be emotional; examination requires reasoning.
For example, if someone tells me, “เคเคเคเคฒ เคे students เคชเคข़เคคे เคนी เคจเคนीं เคนैं,” I could immediately agree or disagree. But a Socratic response would be different. I would ask: Which students? What do we mean by “reading”? What evidence supports the statement? Are students reading less, or are they simply reading in different forms?
In the same way, if I tell myself, “เคฎैं เคฏเคน เคจเคนीं เคเคฐ เคธเคเคคी,” Socrates would make me examine even that personal belief. What evidence proves that I cannot? Have I actually tried? Am I confusing present difficulty with permanent inability?
This is where the Hindi resource became personal for me. It did not simply make Socrates easier to understand; it made his questions easier to feel. The philosophical discussion moved from the history of ancient Greece into questions about my own assumptions, fears, and certainties.
There is another aspect of the resource that stayed with me: Socrates' composure in the face of death. His situation reminds me that philosophy is not only about what we say in comfortable circumstances. A philosophy becomes truly meaningful when it is tested by life.
It made me ask myself a question that I found difficult to answer:
“เค
เคเคฐ เคฎेเคฐे เคธिเคฆ्เคงांเคคों เคी เคชเคฐीเค्เคทा เคฎेเคฐे เคธเคฌเคธे เคเค िเคจ เคธเคฎเคฏ เคฎें เคนो,
เคคो เค्เคฏा เคฎैं เคซिเคฐ เคญी เคเคจ เคชเคฐ เคाเคฏเคฎ เคฐเคนूँเคी?”
If my principles were tested in my most difficult moment,
would I still remain faithful to them?
I honestly do not know whether I would have Socrates' courage. And admitting that is important. It would be easy to admire Socrates from a safe distance and call him courageous. It is much harder to ask whether I would possess the same courage when my own comfort, reputation, or life was at stake.
That realisation changed my understanding of the word integrity. Integrity is not simply saying that we believe in truth, justice, or honesty. It is the difficult relationship between what we believe, what we say, and how we act when our beliefs become inconvenient.
The Hindi resource therefore became more than a supporting source in my study of Socrates. It became a bridge between ancient philosophy and my present life. The question about a rooster led me towards questions about death. Death led me towards uncertainty. Uncertainty led me back to Socrates' humility about knowledge. And that humility finally brought me back to myself.
Perhaps this is why Socrates still matters. A question asked in Athens more than two thousand years ago can still reach a student in India today. The language may change—from Greek to English to Hindi—but the fundamental questions remain:
For me, that is the deepest lesson of the Hindi resource. Socrates did not leave behind a book, but he left behind questions—and questions can travel farther than books.
The Question Behind the Rooster
A Socratic thought map
THE STARTING POINT
THE ROOSTER
“Why this final request?”
QUESTION 01
DEATH
What can human beings truly know about death?
QUESTION 02
KNOWLEDGE
Where does knowledge end and assumption begin?
QUESTION 03
CERTAINTY
Why are we so eager to claim that we know?
QUESTION 04
THE SELF
What does this way of thinking change in my own life?
MY REFLECTION
“I began by asking what the rooster meant. I ended by asking what my own beliefs mean.”
When I Realised That “I Don’t Know” Is Not a Weakness
One of the most important changes in my understanding of Socrates came from a sentence that I had heard many times before: “I know that I know nothing.” Earlier, I understood it almost as a quotation to remember for an examination. After exploring Socrates more carefully, however, I began to understand that it is not really a statement of ignorance. It is a statement of intellectual humility.
There is a difference between saying, “I know nothing,” and recognising, “I may not know as much as I think I know.” The second position is much more challenging. It requires a person to examine the confidence behind their own beliefs.
This made me think about my experience as a student. There are moments when I understand a topic because I have memorised its definition, but that does not necessarily mean that I understand the idea itself. I may remember a critic's argument, reproduce a quotation, or write a definition in an examination, yet struggle when someone asks me a simple question:
“Why?”
A simple question can expose the difference between memorisation and understanding.
For example, if I write that Socrates was wise because he recognised his ignorance, I should be able to explain what that means. Why is recognising ignorance a form of wisdom? Why is certainty sometimes dangerous? Can a person learn anything if they already believe that they know everything?
The more I ask these questions, the more I realise that Socratic thinking is not something that belongs only to philosophy classes. It can become a method of learning.
As a student, I often want to reach the answer quickly. Socrates makes me appreciate the value of staying with the question for a little longer. Instead of immediately searching for an explanation, I can first ask myself what I actually understand and what I am merely assuming.
This becomes even more relevant in the present digital age. We have almost unlimited access to information. A search engine can provide thousands of results within seconds, and artificial intelligence can produce a polished explanation almost instantly. Yet access to information does not automatically produce knowledge.
The real question is still Socratic:
“How do I know that what I have received is reliable?”
If I accept every confident statement I encounter online, I may become informed without becoming thoughtful. I may collect answers without learning how to evaluate them.
This is why I think Socrates has something important to teach students today. Critical thinking does not begin with having more information; it begins with developing better questions.
Suppose I read an online statement saying, “Students who use social media cannot concentrate.” I could simply accept it because it sounds convincing. But Socratic thinking would slow me down:
• What does “cannot concentrate” mean?
• What evidence supports the claim?
• Who conducted the research?
• Does social media itself cause the problem, or does excessive use?
• Are there students who use social media for educational purposes?
• Could there be another explanation?
The purpose of these questions is not to reject the original statement automatically. The purpose is to prevent me from accepting it automatically.
Socratic thinking is not the art of disagreeing with everything. It is the discipline of examining why we believe something.
Knowing vs. Thinking We Know
| FALSE CERTAINTY | SOCRATIC HUMILITY |
|---|---|
|
“I already know.”
The answer is accepted without further examination. |
“I think I understand—but let me examine it.”
The answer becomes the beginning of inquiry. |
| Questions feel unnecessary because certainty has already been reached. | Questions reveal assumptions, evidence, and possible contradictions. |
| Information → conclusion | Question → examination → understanding |
For Socrates, admitting the limits of knowledge is not intellectual defeat; it is the beginning of wisdom.
This distinction is important. Socratic questioning should not be used simply to prove another person wrong. If I have already decided that I am right, my questions can become weapons rather than instruments of understanding. Genuine questioning requires me to remain open to the possibility that my own position may need revision.
This also changed how I understand disagreement. Earlier, disagreement could easily feel like a conflict between two people: “I am right, therefore you are wrong.” But Socrates offers another possibility. Two people can examine an idea together without either person beginning with complete certainty.
This is especially valuable in education. A classroom should not be a place where only the teacher possesses knowledge and students simply receive it. It can also be a place where ideas are tested through questions, discussion, evidence, and reflection.
The student who says “I don't know” is not necessarily a weak student. Sometimes that student is closer to genuine learning than the student who gives a confident answer without understanding it.
This made me reconsider the meaning of the phrase “I don't know.” Earlier, I might have associated not knowing with weakness. Now I see that admitting ignorance can be the beginning of inquiry. The important thing is what happens next:
“I don't know — so let me investigate.”
For me, this creates a simple pattern of learning:
I do not know
↓
I ask
↓
I investigate
↓
I reconsider
↓
I understand better
The important word here is “better.” Socrates does not promise that questioning will always give us a final answer. Sometimes questioning reveals that a problem is more complicated than we initially believed. But that is not failure. It is intellectual growth.
As an English student, I find this lesson especially useful in literary studies. Literature frequently offers multiple interpretations, and critical thinking requires us to support an interpretation rather than merely repeat one. If I claim that a poem represents freedom, I should be able to ask myself why I think so. What words, images, or ideas in the poem support my interpretation? Could another reader interpret the same passage differently? What evidence would make me reconsider my position?
In this sense, Socrates has changed the way I think about an academic answer. A strong answer is not necessarily the one that sounds the most certain. It is the one that shows thought, evidence, questioning, and awareness of complexity.
Therefore, I no longer see “I don't know” as the end of an answer.
I see it as the beginning of a question.
“To admit that I do not know is not to stop learning;
it is to make learning possible.”
A Small Belief, A Bigger Question
One of the simplest ways I can understand the Socratic method is by applying it to an ordinary belief. As a student, I often connect achievement with marks. So, if I say, “If I get good marks, I am successful,” the statement initially sounds completely reasonable.
But Socrates would probably not allow me to stop there. He would ask: What do you mean by success? Are marks the only measure of success? What about understanding, creativity, character, curiosity, or the ability to think independently?
From Belief to Understanding
A simple example of how Socratic questioning changes the way we think.
An ordinary belief worth examining
What do I actually mean by “success”?
Are marks the only measure of achievement?
What about understanding, creativity, confidence, curiosity, kindness, and independent thinking?
A student may score highly by memorising information, but does memorisation alone prove genuine understanding?
Good marks are valuable, but they cannot completely define a person's success.
Success can include knowledge, character, curiosity, growth, and the ability to think independently.
The conclusion becomes stronger not because someone gives me the answer, but because questioning makes me examine my own assumption.
These questions make me reconsider something I may have accepted without examining. Good marks are certainly valuable, but they cannot completely define a person's success. A student may score highly by memorising information but still struggle to think independently. Another student may initially receive lower marks but develop curiosity, confidence, creativity, and a genuine love of learning.
Therefore, the original statement becomes more complicated—and perhaps more meaningful—after questioning it.
The important thing is not simply whether my first answer is right; it is whether I have examined why I believe it.
What Makes This Socratic?
This small example helped me understand why Socrates' method is more than simply asking questions. The purpose of questioning is to uncover the assumptions hidden inside our ordinary statements.
We often live according to ideas that we have never consciously examined. Some of these ideas come from family, society, education, media, or repeated experience. Because they are familiar, we may mistake familiarity for truth.
Socrates challenges this habit. Instead of accepting an idea simply because it sounds obvious, he asks us to examine the reasoning behind it.
The Same Question in Everyday Life
The same process can be applied to contemporary life. Suppose someone says: “Everyone is using this app, so it must be good.”
A Socratic response would not immediately agree or disagree. It would ask:
- Why do people use it?
- Does popularity prove quality?
- What are its advantages and disadvantages?
- What evidence supports the claim?
- Am I accepting it because I have evidence, or simply because everyone else accepts it?
The questions do not automatically tell me what conclusion to choose. Instead, they make me responsible for examining the conclusion myself.
Why This Matters to Me as a Student
This is perhaps the most valuable part of Socrates' philosophy for me. As a student, I sometimes feel that learning means remembering the correct answer. Examinations naturally encourage this habit because there is usually pressure to produce an answer within a limited amount of time.
But Socrates makes me think about what happens beyond the examination hall. If I can remember an answer but cannot explain why I believe it, question it, apply it, or defend it with evidence, have I really understood it?
For example, when studying literature, I might write, “Nature represents freedom.” Instead of treating this as a ready-made answer, I can ask: Where is this idea visible in the text? What evidence supports it? Could nature represent something else? Why might another reader disagree?
The moment I begin asking these questions, literature becomes more than memorisation. It becomes interpretation, reasoning, and inquiry.
“เคชเคนเคฒे เคธ्เคตเคฏं เคธे เคช्เคฐเคถ्เคจ เคเคฐो, เคซिเคฐ เคธंเคธाเคฐ เคธे।”
First question yourself, and then question the world.
I find this idea particularly meaningful because it shifts questioning from something we do to others into something we also do to ourselves. It is easy to identify weaknesses in another person's argument. It is much harder to recognise the assumptions behind our own beliefs.
This is where I see intellectual humility in Socrates. I do not have to give up my opinion simply because it has been questioned. But I should be willing to examine it honestly and change it if better reasoning or evidence requires me to do so.
My Socratic Formula
Not every question gives an immediate answer, but every serious question can deepen understanding.
I do not have to live in ancient Athens to practise the Socratic method. I can practise it when I receive a disappointing mark, when I encounter a different interpretation of a poem, when I hear an opinion on social media, or when I make a judgement about myself or someone else.
The most important change is that I no longer want to accept every first thought as a final truth. I want to create a small space between “I think” and “I know.”
Perhaps this is one of the most practical lessons Socrates offers to a student: do not be afraid of discovering that your first answer is incomplete. Discovering that limitation is not failure. It can be the beginning of deeper learning.
“Am I only collecting knowledge,
or am I allowing knowledge to examine me?”
I do not yet have a final answer. And perhaps that is exactly where Socrates would want me to remain for a little longer—not comfortably certain, but honestly curious.
For me, that is the beginning of an examined life.
Socrates as the Gadfly of Athens
Among the many images associated with Socrates, the image of the “gadfly” is perhaps the most memorable for me. A gadfly is a small insect that repeatedly irritates or disturbs an animal. Socrates uses this image to describe his role in Athens: he believes that his constant questioning prevents the city from becoming intellectually comfortable and inactive.
At first, I found this comparison unusual. Why would a philosopher describe himself as an irritating insect? But the metaphor becomes meaningful when I think about what Socrates actually does. He does not simply give people answers. He disturbs their certainty by asking questions they may not want to answer.
The Gadfly Effect
Socrates turns comfortable certainty into active reflection.
“I already know.”
“How do you know?”
“My answer may be incomplete.”
“I need to examine it.”
It makes us realise that our answer deserves to be questioned.
Why Would Socrates Choose to Irritate People?
This question made me think more deeply about the purpose of philosophy. Usually, we appreciate people who make us comfortable. We like answers that confirm what we already believe. Socrates represents the opposite tendency. He creates a productive kind of discomfort.
When someone asks me a question that exposes a gap in my knowledge, I may initially feel uncomfortable. But that discomfort can be useful. It tells me that there is something I have not examined carefully enough.
Therefore, the gadfly is not simply a symbol of annoyance. It becomes a symbol of intellectual awakening.
The Gadfly and Othello: Questioning Before Believing
I can understand this idea even better by connecting it with Shakespeare's Othello, a text I have already studied. The tragedy shows what can happen when a person accepts a belief without examining it carefully.
Othello becomes convinced that Desdemona has been unfaithful. Iago does not simply give him one complete proof. Instead, he creates doubt, suggests possibilities, and gradually makes Othello believe that suspicion is certainty.
Here I can imagine the Socratic gadfly entering the situation with one simple question:
“How do you know?”
The question that Othello desperately needed to ask.
If Socrates Questioned Othello
What would the gadfly ask?
What exactly do you know?
What evidence do you actually have?
Are you treating suspicion as proof?
Could there be another explanation?
Othello acts on a belief before properly examining the evidence behind it.
This connection makes the meaning of the gadfly much clearer to me. Socrates tries to interrupt exactly this kind of intellectual movement—from doubt to assumption, from assumption to certainty, and from certainty to action.
Othello's tragedy therefore becomes an interesting contrast to Socrates' philosophy. Socrates constantly asks people to examine their beliefs, while Othello allows Iago's suggestions to become accepted as truth without enough examination.
The point is not that questioning would magically solve every human problem. Rather, questioning creates a moment of reflection before we turn a belief into a decision.
The Gadfly in My Classroom
I can also see the gadfly working in a literature classroom. Suppose a student says, “Iago is simply evil.” A Socratic teacher might not reject the statement, but would ask:
- What makes Iago evil?
- Which actions support this judgement?
- Why does he manipulate Othello?
- What does Iago reveal about human jealousy and insecurity?
- Can a character be understood without being justified?
The student may finally reach the same conclusion—that Iago is deeply destructive—but now the conclusion is supported by examination rather than simply by instinct.
This is why I find the connection between the gadfly and literary study so useful. Socratic questioning does not destroy interpretation. It makes interpretation more thoughtful and defensible.
The Gadfly in My Own Thinking
The idea becomes even more meaningful when I turn the question towards myself. Sometimes I hold an opinion simply because I have heard it repeatedly. Sometimes I believe something because it feels familiar. Sometimes I form a quick judgement before knowing the complete situation.
The Socratic gadfly encourages me to interrupt that automatic reaction. Instead of immediately saying “This is true,” I can ask:
- Why do I believe this?
- What evidence do I have?
- Am I assuming something?
- Could I be misunderstanding the situation?
This is where I realise that Socrates is not asking me to become argumentative. He is asking me to become more conscious of my own thinking.
A Familiar Thought in Hindi
“เคธเคตाเคฒ เคเคฐเคจा เคธीเคिเค, เค्เคฏोंเคि เคธเคตाเคฒ เคนी เคธोเค เคी เคถुเคฐुเคเคค เคนै।”
Questioning can become the beginning of deeper thinking.
I find this idea meaningful because questioning is not necessarily a sign of disrespect. A sincere question can be an expression of curiosity. It can show that a person wants to understand something rather than simply accepting it.
Who Is the Gadfly Today?
The metaphor also feels surprisingly relevant today. In a world of social media, viral opinions, short videos, and rapidly shared information, people can easily accept a claim because it is popular rather than because it is well-supported.
The modern gadfly could be the student who asks an uncomfortable question, the researcher who challenges an accepted assumption, the journalist who demands evidence, or simply an ordinary person who refuses to believe something without examining it.
The purpose is not to disagree with everything. The purpose is to prevent unexamined certainty.
My Takeaway from the Gadfly
Socrates makes me realise that intellectual discomfort can be valuable. Sometimes the question that irritates us most is the question we most need to consider.
The gadfly does not force me to accept a particular answer. It forces me to examine my answer.
“Before I believe it, have I questioned it?”
Perhaps this is why Socrates remains relevant. The world around us may change, but human beings still have the tendency to accept comfortable answers. Socrates asks us to disturb that comfort.
thinking is itself a form of learning.The gadfly may have belonged to ancient Athens, but the questions he left behind still belong to us.
Socrates in the Digital Age: “How Do I Know?”
If Socrates were alive today, I imagine that he would be fascinated less by our technology than by the way we use it. We have access to endless information, but Socrates would probably ask one uncomfortable question: “How do you know that it is true?”
Social media, YouTube, AI, and viral posts make this question especially important. We can find an answer within seconds, but information is not automatically knowledge.
The Digital Socratic Filter
Source? Who said it? | Evidence? What proves it?
Assumption? What am I taking for granted? | Alternative? Could another explanation exist?
Othello and the Problem of Belief
My study of Othello gives me a strong literary example. Iago does not simply give Othello facts; he creates suspicion and controls how Othello interprets what he sees. Othello gradually begins to treat suspicion as certainty.
This connects surprisingly well with the digital world. A viral post can also shape our judgement when we accept it without checking its source or evidence. The important question in both situations is: “What do I actually know?”
“เคฌुเคฐा เคो เคฆेเคเคจ เคฎैं เคเคฒा,
เคฌुเคฐा เคจ เคฎिเคฒिเคฏा เคोเคฏ।
เคो เคฆिเคฒ เคोเคा เคเคชเคจा,
เคฎुเคเคธे เคฌुเคฐा เคจ เคोเคฏ॥”
- เคเคฌीเคฐ
Kabir's movement from judging others to searching within oneself reminds me of the Socratic spirit of self-examination. Before asking whether someone else is wrong, I can ask whether my own judgement is reliable.
A Modern “Gadfly” Moment
Imagine receiving a message saying: “URGENT! Share this with everyone! A famous expert has confirmed it!” The only source is: “Forwarded as received.”
Socrates in the group chat:
“How do you know?”
“Everyone is forwarding it.”
“...That was not my question.”
The joke reveals a serious problem: popularity is not proof. The same applies to AI. A beautifully written answer may still need verification.
Why It Matters to Me
As a literature student, I can apply this habit whenever I read an interpretation. If someone says, “Othello is simply a play about jealousy,” I can ask: Is jealousy the only issue? What about manipulation, race, trust, insecurity, and evidence?
Thus, Socratic thinking changes learning from memorising answers to examining ideas.
“In a world full of instant answers,
asking a good question is an act of thinking.”
For me, the modern gadfly is therefore not only Socrates himself. It is that small voice that makes me stop before believing, sharing, judging, or repeating something and asks: “How do I know?”
What Would Socrates Ask Me Today?
After thinking about Socrates, Othello, the digital world, and the idea of the examined life, I realise that his most important lesson for me is not a particular answer. It is a habit of questioning.
Othello shows what can happen when suspicion is accepted without sufficient examination. Social media shows how repetition can begin to look like truth. AI shows that even a confident and intelligent-sounding answer still needs to be questioned. In each case, the responsibility finally comes back to me: What do I believe, and why?
- Othello asks me to question suspicion.
- The digital world asks me to question information.
- Socrates asks me to question myself.
A Final Reflection
For me, this is where Socrates becomes more than an ancient philosopher. He becomes a reminder for everyday life. Before reacting, I can pause. Before believing, I can check. Before judging, I can reflect. And before saying “I know,” I can honestly ask whether I really do.
This also connects with the spirit of the Hindi saying: “เคธोเค-เคธเคฎเคเคเคฐ เคเคฆเคฎ เคฌเคข़ाเคจा เคนी เคธเคฎเคเคฆाเคฐी เคนै।” The value of questioning is not that it gives us certainty every time, but that it prevents us from accepting certainty too easily.
“Perhaps the wisest answer
is sometimes another good question.”
I may not always find the right answer. But Socrates makes me feel that remaining curious, questioning my assumptions, and being willing to revise my thinking is itself a form of learning.
The gadfly may have belonged to ancient Athens, but the questions he left behind still belong to us.
THE QUESTION I TAKE WITH ME
A final reflection on Socrates, questioning, and my own way of learning
After writing about Socrates' life, his trial, his final moments, the Socratic Method, the “gadfly,” critical thinking, and his relevance to the digital age, I realise that these ideas are not separate lessons for me. They come together in one simple habit: the habit of stopping before I accept something as true.
The resources recommended by Prof. Dr. Dilip Barad helped me see different sides of this habit. The Hindi video about Socrates' final moments made me curious about the meaning behind his last words. The resource on the Socratic Method showed me how questions can expose assumptions. Plato's Apology made me think about the courage required to remain committed to one's search for truth, while the critical-thinking resource connected these ancient ideas with the modern problem of evaluating information.
“How do I know that I know?”
The question I take away from Socrates
Socrates and My Own Learning
This question becomes personal when I think about myself as a student. I sometimes feel that I know a topic because I can remember its definition or write an answer about it. But Socrates makes me ask whether remembering is really the same as understanding.
This has changed the way I look at literature too. When I interpret a poem, novel, or character, I should not ask only, “What is the correct answer?” I should also ask, “What makes me think this? Where is my evidence? Could another reader see it differently?”
The Lesson I See in Othello
My study of Othello makes this idea even clearer. Othello does not simply suffer because Iago lies; he suffers because suspicion gradually becomes certainty without sufficient examination. This gives me a practical version of the Socratic question: “What do I actually know, and what am I only assuming?”
I can apply the same question to everyday situations, especially when emotions are strong. A pause for examination can sometimes prevent a quick assumption from becoming a serious judgement.
From Ancient Athens to My Screen
The same problem exists in a different form today. Social media can make an idea look true because it is repeated, while artificial intelligence can make an answer sound convincing because it is expressed confidently. Socrates reminds me that neither popularity nor confidence is proof.
See it? → Don't immediately believe it.
Hear it? → Ask for reasons.
Read it? → Check the evidence.
Believe it? → Question your own assumption too.
“เคธเคตाเคฒ เคธเคนी เคนो, เคคो เคธोเคเคจे เคा เคฐाเคธ्เคคा เคुเคฒ เคाเคคा เคนै।”
A meaningful question can open the path to deeper thinking.
What I Finally Understand
I began this blog thinking about Socrates as a philosopher from ancient Athens. I end it thinking about him as a challenge to my own mind. His philosophy does not ask me to have an answer to everything. It asks me to be honest about what I know, curious about what I do not know, and brave enough to question what I think I know.
- Othello taught me not to turn suspicion into certainty.
- The digital world taught me not to turn repetition into truth.
- Socrates taught me not to turn confidence into knowledge.
Perhaps this is the real meaning of the gadfly for me. The gadfly is not simply someone who irritates others with questions. It represents the small disturbance that prevents the mind from becoming comfortably certain.
And that is the question I want to carry beyond this blog:
“Before I believe, have I questioned?
Before I answer, have I understood?”
Socrates lived in ancient Athens,
but his questions continue to live wherever a person is willing to think.
Works Cited
Barad, Dilip. “Socrates - The Life and the Trial.” Dilip Barad | Teacher Blog, 29 June 2024. https://blog.dilipbarad.com/2024/06/socrates.html .
“The Trial of Socrates (Plato’s Apology).” YouTube.
“เคธुเคเคฐाเคค เคा เคฆเคฐ्เคถเคจ: เคฎเคฐเคคे เคนुเค เคเค เคฎुเคฐ्เคे เคी เคฌाเคค เค्เคฏों เคเคฐ เคฐเคนे เคฅे? | Socrates | Tarikh Ep. 744.” The Lallantop, 2024. YouTube.
“A Lesson From Socrates That Will Change the Way You Think.” YouTube.
Wilberding, Erick. “This Tool Will Help Improve Your Critical Thinking.” TED-Ed, 2021. YouTube.
Plato. Apology. Translated by Harold North Fowler. Perseus Digital Library. https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/ .
Shakespeare, William. Othello. Project Gutenberg. https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1531 .
Kabir. “เคฌुเคฐा เคो เคฆेเคเคจ เคฎैं เคเคฒा, เคฌुเคฐा เคจ เคฎिเคฒिเคฏा เคोเคฏ.” Kabir Granthavali. Hindi Wikisource. https://hi.wikisource.org/ .
