A Daoist Critique Of Socrates

Draft 7.20.18 Please do not cite without permission!
A Daoist Critique of Socrates1
Matthew Pianalto
I. While the history of philosophy might be a series of footnotes to Plato, the archetypical
persona of the philosopher belongs to Socrates. It is to Socrates we turn when we need to explain
who is a philosopher. The image of Socrates refusing to abandon his philosophical inquiries,
even should the Athenian jury sentence him to death, is an enduring and often inspiring one. The
Stoic Epictetus regarded Socrates as the paradigm sage. Benjamin Franklin paired Socrates with
Jesus in his succinct gloss on the virtue of humility—the final in his list of thirteen virtues—
“Imitate Jesus and Socrates.”2
Martin Luther King, Jr., compared his own employment of civil
disobedience to arouse the conscience of Americans to Socrates’ activity as the “gadfly” of
Athens.3
Socrates’ sagacity is notoriously peculiar: he is the wise man who is wise because he
knows that he does not know. However, this realization did not stop him from continuing to seek
knowledge, and his insight into the nature of human wisdom (or the lack thereof) shaped the
nature of his philosophical interactions with others, especially his commitment to exposing the
ignorance of those who did not know what they claimed to know. Furthermore, Socrates’
philosophical stamina was indefatigable—the best (if perhaps fictional) depiction of this can be
found in Plato’s Symposium, in which Socrates drinks wine all night and continues to converse
with Aristophanes and Agathon until the following morning, long after all of the others have
fallen asleep (or passed out).
1
A much shorter version of this paper was given at the annual meeting of the Kentucky Philosophical Association in
April 2018. Many thanks to the audience for a fruitful discussion and to my commentator, Daniel M. Johnson.
2
In The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin (1793).
3
In “Letter from Birmingham Jail” (1963).

2
Importantly, Socrates’ is a sage of reason and dialectical argumentation. Some would say
that this is what distinguishes philosophy—understood as a distinctive practice developed in
ancient Athenian society—from other wisdom traditions, especially those favoring intuition,
revelation, or some other variant of mystical insight as the primary source of knowledge.4
However, putting aside the meta-philosophical question as to what is or is not philosophy, I want
to consider the character of Socrates from a critical perspective and to question the wisdom of his
method and his convictions. As someone trained in the Western philosophical tradition, this
project has sometimes felt like vocational blasphemy, but as someone who also sympathizes with
pluralism and who shares Socrates’ own basic outlook on human wisdom, I have always been
suspicious of anyone who claims to have, or is regarded as having, cornered the market on
wisdom or the way to pursue it. Socrates would likely not have made such a claim, but his
enduring status as the philosopher sine qua non—and in particular, the idea that he represents not
only an intellectual but also an ethical ideal—injects his persona so deeply into the character of
the philosopher that it becomes easy to take for granted that Socrates is the ideal character, that
he shows us not only the right way to think, but the right way to live.
The Daoist conception of the sage provides a striking contrast with the Socratic sage.
Although there are similarities in the character of each figure, there are also aspects of Socrates’
character and method that seem deeply problematic when examined from the Daoist perspective.
In drawing out the significance of these similarities and differences, I will focus on the works of
Laozi and Zhuangzi and primarily on the Socrates of Plato’s Apology (who is the closest thing
we have to a historical Socrates). The primary conflicts seem to arise between Socrates’
intellectualism and commitment to philosophical argument and the Daoist’s circumspect attitude
4
See Justin E.H. Smith, The Philosopher: A History in Six Types (Princeton University Press, 2016), esp. Ch. 2.

3
toward argument and analysis and their condemnation of “contending” in favor of relative
silence and spontaneous, “natural” action. However, we can also find points of agreement
between Socrates and the Daoists: both emphasize intellectual humility, favor plain speech over
cleverness, and regard political life and worldly ambition with great suspicion. Nevertheless, the
conflicts between Socrates and the Daoists should encourage us to raise important questions
about several key Socratic traits and commitments: is the examined life as important as Socrates
believed? Is argumentative discussion or debate quite as valuable (or effective) as Socrates
believed? As exciting and entertaining as it is to read Socrates’ classic “takedowns” of less
thoughtful Athenians such as Meletus or Euthyphro, complete with Socrates’ biting sarcasm and
irony, is this really a good model for civil discourse?
All of these questions can and have been raised without bringing Daoism into the
picture.5
However, raising them through the lens of Daoism seems to me a worthwhile task. Such
an approach gives us a way to examine Socrates critically that is rooted in a respectable wisdom
tradition which has a certain amount of common ground with the Socratic outlook.
II. To help illustrate the worry about Socrates, consider the following two contrasting sketches of
him:
1. Canonical (“Saint”) Socrates: Socrates was committed to the view that nothing is as
important as cultivating virtue and leading a fearlessly examined life. The gadfly of
Athens, Socrates often found himself in philosophical discussion with others who
5
See, for example, Gregory Vlastos, “The Paradox of Socrates,” in Vlastos, ed., The Philosophy of Socrates
(Palgrave Macmillan, 1971), 1-21, Nel Noddings, Philosophy of Education, Fourth Edition (Westview Press, 2016),
3-9, and Rebecca Goldstein, Plato at the Googleplex (Pantheon, 2014), 281-334. Goldstein’s portrayal of Socrates
emphasizes the controversial nature of his method and his questions, although she remains squarely on Socrates’
side.

4
believed themselves to be wiser than they in fact were. Socrates’ great wisdom,
declared by the Oracle at Delphi, was that unlike his fellows, he knew that he was not
wise and that humans don’t know all that much. His great service to Athens consisted
in his persistent philosophical challenges to those who claimed to know what they did
not. For how can we pursue wisdom, or change for the better, if we are satisfied with
our erroneous or inconsistent beliefs (not recognizing them to be so)? Although
smeared with the charges of corrupting the youth and impiety and ultimately
sentenced to death, Socrates steadfastly refused to abandon his philosophical method
or his ethical principles. Socrates showed incredible courage and integrity in taking
this stand. He is the patron saint, so to speak, of free speech and civil disobedience.
2. Problematic Socrates: Socrates spent his days engaged in debates that always seemed
to lead nowhere. Of course, Socrates would point out that this simply supports his
insights about how little we know. However, even if Socrates was sincere in his quest
for wisdom, and not simply attempting to make fools out of his interlocutors, he had a
tendency to be sarcastic and insulting—not exactly the best way encourage your
interlocutors to keep an open mind! Indeed, one might suspect that this is precisely
what infuriated many of the jurors who sentenced him to death: not his commitment
to questioning, but his insulting, nagging, tiresome way of doing it. (Not to mention
his rather self-satisfied characterization of himself as a gift from the gods.) Certainly,
Socrates didn’t deserve to die, but he was not at all prudent in his defense. His
“courage” was thus rashness and his “integrity” is tainted by his quarrelsome, bull-

5
headed, and sarcastic demeanor. His philosophical martyrdom was thus unnecessary.
He is the precursor to our age’s internet trolls and keyboard warriors.6
One tempting response to “Problematic Socrates” is that this characterization of Socrates worries
too much about style and not enough about the substance of Socrates’ method and commitments.
The portrayal is also uncharitable in that it “blames the victim” Socrates for failing to have
infinite patience with his (sometimes stupid and sometimes dishonest) interlocutors—look at
what he’s up against and it’s no wonder that he lets a zinger rip every so often. How could he not
be angry and defiant with Meletus, who is attempting to get him executed! We need to keep
squarely in view, so this response goes, what Socrates represents with respect to living an
examined and virtuous life, and not worry so much about his idiosyncratic manner or tone.
Fair enough. My aim here is not to excoriate Socrates but to identify and probe the
excesses and deficiencies in the character he embodies. However, this is where it becomes useful
to introduce the contrasting ideas of the Daoists, because the concerns about Socrates’ style (or
tone, etc.) and his substance are not so easily separated when we approach his case from this
external point of view.
III. The following is a brief and mainly pragmatic sketch of Daoist philosophy, with greater
emphasis on its ethical outlook than on Daoist metaphysics. In the Dao De Jing, the Dao is
presented as an ineffable, unnameable force or principle that pervades and connects everything
(Dao De Jing §1). The Dao is not an intentional agent: it “acts without acting” and, like water,
follows the path that is open to it without effort or “contending” (e.g. Dao De Jing, §8). Laozi
develops an ethical paradigm based on the idea that the best kind of action is like the “action” of
6
I owe this comparison to my colleague John Strada.

6
the Dao: effortless, spontaneous, simple, silent (or hidden), unbiased, and unassuming. The
Daoist sage keeps a low profile, speaks little, and “teaches” by example rather than by sermon or
argument—and paradoxically, the Sage stands out from the crowd (and positively influences
others) through this socially atypical but more natural way of acting (Dao De Jing §22).7
Daoism is generally suspicious of innovation, including learning (of a certain sort), and
regards silent intuition rather than disputational argument as the primary source of wisdom.8
From a rationalistic and progress-oriented point of view, this can seem downright anti-
intellectualistic. However, for the Daoists, the problem with material, intellectual, and political
innovation is that they, like all things, bring about their opposites as well. Consider §19 of the
Dao De Jing:
Banish learning, discard knowledge:
People will gain a hundredfold.
Banish benevolence, discard righteousness:
People will return to duty and compassion.
Banish skill, discard profit:
There will be no more thieves.
These three statements are not enough.
One more step is necessary:
7
Read “natural” as “in accord with the Dao.” Unless otherwise noted, quotations from the Dao De Jing are from the
translation by Stephen Addiss and Stanley Lombardo, Tao Te Ching (Hackett, 1993). Where relevant, I have
updated spellings for the sake of uniformity.
8
See J. Vernon Jensen, “Rhetorical Emphases of Taoism,” Rhetorica 5(3), 1987, 219-229.

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Look at plain silk; hold uncarved wood.
The self dwindles; desires fade.
Innovation creates new, often unnecessary desires. Furthermore, the introduction of rules brings
about the possibility of breaking the rules. Truly moral action is uncalculated, effortless, and in a
sense thoughtless—a spontaneous benevolent response to some difficulty. Once a rationale or
reward is offered as the basis for moral action, some will be tempted to pursue the reward itself
or calculate that breaking the rule is worth more to them than the reward for following it.9
Furthermore, dogmatic commitment to rules can lead to a failure to break or bend the rules when
that would be more appropriate. Daoism is contextualist, perhaps even particularistic, in this
respect. Hence, “Daoist rulers of old did not enlighten people but left them dull. People are
difficult to govern because they are very clever. Therefore, ruling through cleverness leads to
rebellion” (Dao De Jing, §65). The point here is not to be construed in Machiavellian terms; the
point is rather that “enlightenment” introduces unnecessary complexities into life, creates doubt,
insecurity, worry, and distrust, and hence, cleverness and egoistic calculation.10
When we see
others scheming to get ahead, we are tempted to do likewise. When we see others pursuing
happiness through conspicuous consumption, we consume, too. We have a tendency to get
sucked into the rat race, thinking that we are pursuing happiness while only making ourselves
unhappy. Better to live simply, to be like the block of uncarved wood.
Zhuangzi probes, with some ambivalence, this question of whether ambition and
contentiousness on the one hand or wu wei (non-action) on the other is the way to happiness,
9
Cf. Dao De Jing, §38.
10
Consider Dao De Jing, §68: “The accomplished person is not aggressive. The good soldier is not hot-tempered.
The best conqueror does not engage the enemy. The most effective leader takes the lowest place. This is called the
DE of not contending…”

8
highlighting difficulties with the prior way of living that bear directly on my present concerns
with Socrates:
Men of ardor [ambition] are regarded by the world as good, but their goodness
doesn’t succeed in keeping them alive. So I don’t know whether or not their
goodness is really good. Perhaps I think it’s good—but not good enough to save
their lives. Perhaps I think it’s no good—but still good enough to save the lives of
others. So I say, if your loyal advice isn’t heeded, give way and do not wrangle.
Zixu wrangled and lost his body. But if he hadn’t wrangled, he wouldn’t have
made a name. Is there really such a thing as goodness, or isn’t there?
What ordinary people do and what they find happiness in—I don’t know
whether or not such happiness is, in the end, really happiness. I look at what
ordinary people find happiness in, what they all make a mad dash for, racing
around as though they couldn’t stop—they all say they’re happy with it. I’m not
happy with it, and I’m not unhappy with it.11
Watson notes, “Wu Zixu, minister to the king of Wu, repeatedly warned the king of the danger of
attack from the state of Yue. He finally aroused the king’s ire and suspicion and was forced to
commit suicide in 484 BCE.”12
Zhuangzi acknowledges here that politically or morally
ambitious individuals may have genuinely good reasons for “wrangling” with others, but if this
contentiousness leads to their own downfall, then their actions seem difficult to regard as
uniformly good. We will return to this concern as it applies to Socrates. The more general theme
here is that there is good and bad in everything. Thus, it is important to read Daoist criticisms of
innovation, enlightenment, argument, and so forth, as not so much an absolutist rejection but
11
The Complete Works of Zhuangzi, trans. Burton Watson (Columbia University Press, 2013), 139-40
12
Ibid.

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rather as a rejection of these things as absolutely or unequivocally good. There are two sides to
every coin. Importantly, this also means that even those things that are sometimes decried as
“useless” also have merits; sometimes uselessness itself is a merit: the tree that is no good as a
timber resource lives a long life since the loggers have no reason to cut it down.13
The sage’s
lack of worldly ambition seems peculiar and his life seems useless from a worldly point of view,
but this both protects the sage from the dangers of worldly affairs and leaves the sage free to
influence others in a different, non-aggressive, and indirect way.
Thus, the Daoist ideal of wu wei (non-action, effortless action) does not command a mere
“do-nothing” outlook of mere passivity. Rather, the problem with “wrangling” and “contending”
is that we often take it too far; we try to force some issue, or chase after some perceived good, to
a point that is no longer beneficial. Most philosophers can probably think of times when they
either participated in or observed a philosophical debate that became painful and pointless: no
one’s mind was changed, each side dug in its heels, became increasingly dogmatic, and the
whole thing ended in bitterness or hatred. I can imagine Laozi or Zhuangzi remarking on such an
occasion that, “If that is the pursuit of knowledge, then I say knowledge is not worth it!”14
This
is not an absolute rejection of knowledge (or argument) but is rather rooted in an acceptance of
the limits of human understanding, the limited usefulness of argument, and the practical idea that
it is important to know when to stop doing something because it is no longer beneficial. Laozi
urges, “Know what is enough—Abuse nothing. Know when to stop—Harm nothing. This is how
to last a long time” (Dao De Jing, §44). Furthermore, “Good people do not quarrel. Quarrelsome
13
On the useless tree (and other allegedly useless items), see Chapter 1 of the Zhuangzi (“Free and Easy
Wandering” in Watson’s translation).
14
However, Stephen Combs stresses that there is room within Daoism for a positive account of rhetoric and
argumentation. See his “The Useless-/Usefulness of Argumentation: The Dao of Disputation,” Argumentation and
Advocacy 41 (2004), 58-70.

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people are not good….The Sage’s Tao acts and does not contend” (Dao De Jing, §81). Here we
see an appeal both to prudence and to social harmony. The person who knows when to stop
avoids harming oneself and does not stir up needless trouble with others. When the sage acts
spontaneously and naturally, without contending or quarrelling, good is accomplished without
trouble, and even without the need for it to be recognized as good. We do not seem to need any
complicated argument to accept that acting with ease in a way that maintains or improves social
harmony is preferable to the alternative. Nevertheless, at the end of this essay I will consider
some criticisms of the Daoist outlook that are particularly relevant to this critique of Socrates.
For some will insist that stirring up trouble (in an argument or otherwise) and playing the gadfly
are sometimes necessary and that the Daoist’s fail to give due credit to this point.
IV. As I noted at the outset, Socrates and the Daoists share some significant ideas. Perhaps the
central and most obvious common ground is their emphasis on intellectual humility, knowing
that one does not know. Laozi remarks, “To know yet to think that one does not know is best; not
to know yet to think that one knows will lead to difficulty” (Dao De Jing, §71, D.C. Lau
Translation). Both also favor plain speaking over refined and clever rhetoric. In Apology,
Socrates refuses to engage in appeals to the pity of the jurors and declares at the beginning of his
speech that he will not defend himself like the skilled orators, with “embroidered and stylized
phrases,” but will instead speak “at random,” using “the first words that come to mind” (17c).
Skilled orators may be persuasive, but for that very reason, their words cannot be trusted! As
Laozi puts it, “Sincere words are not pretty. Pretty words are not sincere” (Dao De Jing, 81).
Socrates will speak his mind, without dressing up his words and in a spontaneous manner, which
seems in good keeping with the Dao.

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Socrates’ attitude toward death in Apology also seems to align to some extent with
various remarks about death in the Zhuangzi. However, some of the conflict between the Socratic
and Daoist outlooks can also be detected in how their views about death connect to their views
about wise conduct. Socrates claims that it is unreasonable to fear death because no knows what
death entails (29a) and that one should instead be fearful of wrongdoing, for wickedness “runs
faster than death” (39b). Furthermore, since death is either a dreamless sleep or results in an
afterlife (of some positive sort), there is “good hope that death is a blessing” (40c). He declares
at the end of Apology that, “a good man cannot be harmed either in life or death” (41d), which
echoes his earlier claim that Meletus and Anytus do more harm to themselves than to Socrates in
“attempting to have a man executed unjustly” (30d). In the Zhuangzi, the fear of death is
similarly rejected on the basis of our ignorance about death: “How do I know that loving life is
not a delusion? How do I know that in hating death I am not like a man who, having left home in
his youth, has forgotten the way back?”15
The sage accepts death as part of life: “if I think well
of my life, for the same reason I must think well of my death.”16
This acceptance of death is of
course entailed by the ideal of wu wei—of not railing against that which is inevitable and
unchangeable, of taking things as they are, and even in “delighting” in the world as it is and must
be. The sage “delights in early death; he delights in old age; he delights in the beginning; he
delights in the end.”17
Furthermore, “Such a man will leave the gold hidden in the mountains, the
pearls hidden in the depths. He will see no profit in money and goods, no enticement in
eminence and wealth, no joy in long life, no grief in early death, no honor in affluence, no shame
in poverty.”18
We know that Socrates, too, was not ashamed of his poverty, and was not
15
The Complete Works of Zhuangzi, 16.
16
Ibid., 44.
17
Ibid., 45.
18
Ibid., 85.

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aggrieved by his impending death so much as the harm he saw his fellow Athenians doing to
themselves and their city by sentencing an innocent man to death. However, let us not forget the
aforementioned ambivalence Zhuangzi expressed regarding “men of ardor” who sacrifice their
lives in the name of justice. In the chapter “Gengsang Chu,” men who “analyze” and moralize
are treated with suspicion: “In his efforts to make other men appreciate his devotion to duty, for
example, he will go so far as to accept death as his reward for devotion.”19
The problem with the
analyzers and moralizers is that their certainty surpasses the limitations of their own (merely)
human perspectives. Given other remarks in this passage (such as those about who the analyzers
regard as useful and useless), Socrates might not appear to be the most obvious case of someone
who warrants this criticism.20
Nevertheless, it worth noticing that for all of his professed
ignorance, Socrates seems almost entirely certain during his trial that what he is doing and how
he is doing it is right.
On a charitable reading of Socrates, his efforts to expose ignorance and intellectual
arrogance and to challenge his interlocutors to question their conventional ideas about virtue and
honor seem similar to the Daoist view that a happy and virtuous life is not to be found in the life
of tireless economic or political ambition. For example, in Plato at the Googleplex, Rebecca
Goldstein characterizes Socrates as aiming to challenge the self-satisfaction and self-
19
Ibid., 196.
20
The entire passage reads as follows:
Let me try describing this analysis of yours. It takes life as its basis and knowledge as its teacher and, from
there, proceeds to assign “right” and “wrong.” So in the end, we have “names” and “realities,” and
accordingly each man considers himself to be their arbiter. In his efforts to make other men appreciate his
devotion to duty, for example, he will go so far as to accept death as his reward for devotion. To such men,
he who is useful is considered wise; he who is of no use is considered stupid. He who is successful wins
renown; he who runs into trouble is heaped with shame. Analyzers—that is what the men of today are!
They are like the cicada and the little dove who agreed because they were two of a kind.
The cicada and dove are mentioned in the first chapter of the Zhuangzi as failing to comprehend how anyone could
possibly travel a longer distance than they themselves are able, which is of course an example not recognizing the
limitations of one’s own abilities and perspective.

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righteousness of his fellow Athenians, which Goldstein characterizes as rooted in an Athenian
myth of their own extraordinariness. Socrates, on Goldstein’s account, sees through this myth,
and uses his questioning to bring about a much needed humbling of his fellow citizens.
Furthermore, his method of inquiry, based upon asking questions about the expressed views of
his interlocutors, might be regarded as an excellent example of arguing without “contending,”
since Socrates follows the lead of those he questions, rather than dogmatically inserting his own
contrary opinions into the conversation. Even if his questions are sometimes leading questions
(as with the slave boy in Meno), what he does through his method of questioning is still quite
different from someone who simply argues by assertion. Consider the image of Socrates as a
“midwife” in Theaetetus (148e-151d). Socrates helps along discovery in the other who is
“pregnant” with some knowledge that needs drawing out, and although his method of
questioning can cause some pains, it can also relieve the pain by bringing about clearer
understanding—even if, as often turns out, it is an understanding of what one does not know.
However, what Socrates does not know, or why he does not know it, differs significantly
from the grounds of not-knowing in the Dao De Jing and (especially) the Zhuangzi. Socrates
regularly finds that neither he nor his interlocutors are able to hit upon satisfactory definitions of
concepts such as courage, justice, wisdom, and beauty. In particular, what Socrates seeks and
never seems to find is an essential definition of these things. Of course, Plato runs with this
unfulfilled quest straight into the notion of forms that can, at least in principle, be grasped. It is
unclear whether the idea of essential forms can be attributed to the historical Socrates;
nevertheless, the early Socratic dialogues, and his account of his discussions with the politicians,
poets, and artisans in Apology, seem to rest implicitly on a search for a fixed definition of the

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concept under examination.21
Furthermore, there is an implicit commitment to the idea that a
complete definition is, in principle, discoverable and specifiable in words. Otherwise, Socrates is
taking his interlocutors and himself on something of a wild goose chase.
It seems likely that Zhuangzi would agree that the Socratic search for an essential
definition is indeed futile. Whereas Socrates’ not-knowing is grounded in his having not yet
found what he seeks, the not-knowing we find in the Zhuangzi, especially in Chapter 2, the
“Discussion on Making All Things Equal,” is rooted in a thorough-going skepticism that our
words, distinctions, and discriminations are capable of producing wisdom. This is not only
because the Dao transcends words (or names) but also because, as Zhuangzi suggests through
various examples, the apparent truth of claims is always relative to a perspective. Normative
judgments in particular reflect the nature and preferences of the particular judge. Zhuangzi points
out that different animals will have different ideas about what food is “good” and who (or what)
is beautiful, but moves on in the same passage to declare that, “the rules of benevolence and
righteousness and the paths of right and wrong all are hopelessly snarled and jumbled.”22
Furthermore, Zhuangzi raises skeptical doubts about our ability to verify the truth of our disputed
beliefs, to know that we know:
Suppose you and I have had an argument. If you have beaten me instead of my
beating you, then are you necessarily right, and I necessarily wrong?....Whom
shall we get to decide what is right? Shall we get someone who agrees with you to
21
Peter Geach famously argued that Socrates’ method of inquiry assumed—fallaciously—that one cannot know
anything about a instances of a kind if one did not know the definition (essence) of that kind (in “Plato’s
‘Euthyphro’: An Analysis and Commentary,” The Monist 50(3), (1966): 369-382). Smith and Brickhouse argue
against attributing this assumption to Socrates, on the grounds that in other dialogues, Socrates allows the possibility
of knowing “trivial things” such as concrete facts and tautologies. They argue, however, that Socrates regarded
knowledge of essences as a higher knowledge that provides a complete understanding. See Nicholas Smith and
Thomas Brickhouse, The Philosophy of Socrates (Westview Press: 2000), 99-121.
22

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decide? But if he already agrees with you, how can he decide fairly? Shall we get
someone who agrees with me? But if he already agrees with me, how can he
decide? Shall we get someone who disagrees with both of us? But if he already
disagrees with both of us, then how can he decide? Shall we get someone who
agrees with both of us? But if he already agrees with both of us, how can he
decide? Obviously, then, neither you nor I nor anyone else can know the answer.23
Again, the value of argumentation is brought into question. As Combs notes, argumentation is
not entirely useless on the Daoist view; such an absolutist condemnation would violate the
fundamental idea that there are two sides to everything, a good and a bad. Argumentation’s value
is limited. Rather than establishing a positive claim, or securing an essential definition, Combs
suggests that, “When Daoists argue they are not seeking the truth, in the sense of discovering the
underlying permanent structure of reality, or attempting to enhance the quality of decision-
making in a particular instance. Rather, they use arguments to illustrate a point or question
dubious claims so as to promote further reflection. Argumentation is heuristic or educational.”24
The arguments in the “Discussion on Making All Things Equal,” for example, are largely
directed toward getting us to understand the limitations of argument and disputation (and
moralizing), to notice that argument and analysis can obstruct our understanding: “The sage
embraces things. Ordinary men discriminate among them and parade their discriminations before
others. So I say, those who discriminate fail to see.”25
Rather than worry and bicker over what we cannot know, the Daoist sage “embraces
things,” accepts that things are as they are. This is not, of course, to say that “anything goes,”
23
Ibid., 17.
24
Combs, “The Useless-/Usefulness of Argumentation: The Dao of Disputation,” 65.
25
The Complete Works of Zhuangzi, 13-14.

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ethically, for the sage. The goal, as noted above, is to live in a way that is spontaneous and
effortless and that has a positive, harmonizing impact on others. Put simply, one does not need a
great deal of “theory” in order to do this, and perhaps the theory one most needs is of the sort
that helps one overcome the desire to theorize rather than simply to live!
There is a certain similarity in the open-endedness of the Socratic dialogues and the way
in which Socrates argues conversationally to the typical Daoist uses of argumentation noted by
Combs and exemplified in the various exchanges between characters in the Zhuangzi.
Nevertheless, the limitations of argument and human understanding from the Daoist perspective
make Socrates’ tireless pursuit of wisdom seem rather problematic. Given the value Laozi places
upon “spare words” (Dao De Jing, §23) and exemplary action over talk—“Long-winded speech
is exhausting. Better to stay centered” (§5)—Socrates’ pronouncement that the greatest good is
to discuss virtue every day seems to get things quite backwards (Apology 38a). The claim that
“the unexamined life is not worth living” is profoundly “un-Dao” because, one the one hand, it
attempts to place absolute value on something (examining life) that can only ever be good in
some ways and bad in others. On the other hand, the absolute rejection of the unexamined life
passes completely over the goods of a life of kindly, if unreflective, simplicity.26
Neither life can
count as good in all ways or bad in all ways. We can specify various advantages and drawbacks
in both ways of living.
The problem with Socrates from the Daoist point of view is that he does not know when
enough is enough. Or he does not care because of his devotion to his philosophical method (or
possibly because he thought he had no chance of persuading the jury to acquit him). Of course,
26
The contrast brings to mind Voltaire’s story “The Good Brahmin,” in which a wise, highly regarded holy man
finds himself miserable and yet unwilling to trade (hypothetically) his life for the life of an unreflective, simple, and
content house servant.

17
had Socrates taken a more prudent approach to his defense, we might not be talking about him
today; recall Zhuangzi’s observation above about Zixu: the injustice of his being compelled by
his ruler to commit suicide earned him a lasting reputation among those who recognized the
justice in his own position. And yet, the price of his way of pressing for justice was his life. So,
what he did was good in some ways, but not good in this other way. The same goes for Socrates.
His defense speech is divisive and unbending—in some ways, understandably so. But if we
simply take sides with Socrates, we risk closing off consideration of other ways he might have
defended himself that might have had a happier result at the time, even if the cost to us today is
that perhaps we would not even know who Socrates is. Zhuangzi cautions that disputation tends
to give rise to false dilemmas: “To ‘divide,’ then, is to leave something undivided: to
‘discriminate between alternatives’ is to leave something which is neither alternative…. Hence I
say: ‘To “discriminate between alternatives” is to fail to see something.’”27
Thus, we should
avoid adopting the mindset that we are either “with” Socrates or against him (and on the side of
his accusers). Although it would be unfair to state flatly that Socrates brought his conviction
upon himself, he certainly did his share to paint himself into a corner that he could not, without
self-contradiction, escape.
V. A defender of Socrates may criticize the Daoist outlook as being excessively passive—
leading by (mostly) silent example is of no use of others are not paying attention. As Goldstein
would have it, for example, Socrates’ method, his way of engaging his interlocutors and drawing
them in, was a fitting response to the hubris of the proud Athenians. Socrates’ divine calling
cannot be fulfilled in silence.
27
Chuang Tzu: The Inner Chapters, trans. A.C. Graham, p. 57. Cf. The Complete Works of Zhuangi, trans. Watson,
13-14.

18
Furthermore, the “let it be” attitude of Daoism will seem irresponsible to those who see
Socrates as not only a paradigm philosopher but also, as Martin Luther King, Jr., saw him, as
someone who challenges the oppressive status quo in the name of truth and justice. Although the
Daoists press us to see that there are prudential advantages to being “useless”—one can live
peacefully, avoid conflict, not get sucked into the rat race—some may condemn this way of life
as merely self-serving. Justice sometimes requires, so it may be said, the courage,
contentiousness, and self-sacrifice of people like Socrates, and we all have duties to contribute as
we can bringing about greater justice (etc.) in the world.
However, the Daoists would perhaps not have been especially impressed by impassioned
appeals to social responsibility and justice. For when our so-called “duties” are used to justify
actions and attitudes that are themselves contentious, divisive, and self-righteous, justice then
begets its opposite. The self-righteous moralizer, even with the best of intentions, can perpetuate
injustice by being so insufferable. In the chapter “In the World of Men” in the Zhuangzi, the
well-meaning Yan Hui asks Confucius for permission to travel to Wei in order to instruct the
(ineffective) ruler there. Confucius replies, “you will probably go and get yourself executed,
that’s all.”28
He goes on to tell Yan Hui:
…if you do not understand men’s minds but instead appear before a tyrant and
force him to listen to sermons on benevolence and righteousness, measures and
standards---this is simply using other men’s bad points to parade your own
excellence. You will be called a plague of others. He who plagues others will be
plagued in turn. You will probably be plagued by this man.29
28
29
Ibid., 23.

19
To live justly or virtuously to the highest degree, one must, in some sense, forget about justice
and virtue—or perhaps stop thinking of them in weaponized terms, as things that can be forced
upon others—in favor of a less confrontational and non-combative way of finding one’s way
through the world and helping others as well. Importantly, such an ideal does not amount to an
absolute rejection of argument (of some sorts), of examining life, or of taking a stand—after all,
the Daoists argue and examine life, too. But the Daoist sage appears to be much more guarded in
this activity than Socrates, who is comparatively insensitive to context, tirelessly seeking out the
next philosophical discussion, ceaselessly pressing his Socratic agenda on others, often in public,
and sometimes with results that were humiliating to his interlocutors—which is why he has made
many political enemies, including his accusers.
The critical point here is not that Socrates always takes things too far or that his method
of inquiry is always out of place. But if we take into consideration the anti-moralistic position of
the Daoists, even some of Socrates’ greatest moments take on a different, suspect character.
Consider, for example Socrates’ ironic proposal that what he really deserves—if his
“punishment” is to fit his “crime”—is “free meals in the Prytaneum” (Apology 37a). After all, he
provides a great public service to his fellow Athenians, and at no charge! We admirers of
Socrates may revel in the hilarity and also the justice of his proposal, but this is a moment in
which we could also say, from the Daoist point of view, that Socrates, even if he is right, is being
needlessly provocative (and perhaps even self-indulgent). And according to Diogenes Laertius’
account, an even greater number of jurors voted in favor of execution than had found him guilty

20
of the charges!30
We can fume all we want over the irrationality of those jurors who sentenced
him to death, but we must also admit that Socrates did not do himself any favors here.
This is a key lesson, or challenge, to be gleaned from taking a Daoist perspective on
Socrates—that his commitment to the righteousness of his manner and method of argument led
him to be insensitive to context and thus to “contend” in ways that are not uniformly good.
Sometimes it may be wiser to bite our tongue, not to jump into the argument, and to let stupidity
and ignorance pass without remark—even as we continue to act and speak in ways that we hope
will model wisdom and virtue.31
If that is correct, then Socrates’ example is not always a guide
to wise action. It may pain us to say such things about our philosophical hero Socrates. But our
heroes are not always perfect, and Socrates himself would presumably not have us endorse his
own example uncritically.
30
Given Socrates’ contentiousness during the sentencing speech, Diogenes’ account seems plausible. However, for
criticism of Diogenes’ account, see Thomas Brickhouse and Nicholas Smith, Plato and The Trial of Socrates
(Routledge, 2004).
31
For what it’s worth, Epictetus agrees. See Enchiridion, §33 and §24.

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