Michael: Most self-help tells you to 'find your why.' But what if asking 'why' is the most dangerous thing you can do? What if it leads you, like one of the world's greatest writers, to the brink of suicide? Today, we explore a riskier path to a meaningful life. Kevin: Wait, asking 'why' is dangerous? Isn't that the whole point of philosophy and finding meaning? That sounds completely backwards. Michael: It can be. It nearly destroyed Leo Tolstoy. And that terrifying question is right at the heart of the book we're diving into today: Open Socrates: The Case for a Philosophical Life by Agnes Callard. Kevin: Agnes Callard... she's a philosophy professor, right? I've heard her work is brilliant but also... challenging. Some readers find it almost annoying in how it pushes you. Michael: Absolutely. She's a professor at the University of Chicago with a deep background in ancient philosophy, and she is not interested in giving us easy answers. Her whole project is to revive Socrates not as a marble statue, but as a living, breathing guide for a life of constant, and yes, sometimes uncomfortable, inquiry. Kevin: A living guide. I like that. So where are we going with this today? Michael: We're going to tackle this from three angles. First, we'll explore why we're so terrified of life's big 'why' questions, using that very story of Leo Tolstoy. Then, we'll uncover Socrates' surprising solution: that true thinking is actually a two-person job. And finally, we'll see how this method radically redefines one of our most cherished concepts: love. Kevin: Alright, I'm buckled in. Let's start with the terror.

Michael: Okay, let's set the scene with Tolstoy. We're talking about a man in his fifties who has achieved everything. He's written War and Peace and Anna Karenina. He has a loving wife, good children, a massive estate, and worldwide fame. By any measure, he should be the happiest man alive. Kevin: The absolute pinnacle of success. Michael: And then, his life just... stops. He writes, "I had no desires in the fulfillment of which I might find any meaning." He starts asking these simple, brutal questions. He looks at his 16,000-acre estate and asks, "And then what?" He thinks about his literary fame and asks, "Very well, you’ll be more famous than Gogol, Pushkin, Shakespeare... so what?" Kevin: Wow, that's genuinely terrifying. To have everything and feel nothing. It's like the universe just shrugs at you. So what went wrong? In the book, Callard calls these 'untimely questions,' right? Michael: Exactly. They're 'untimely' because they come too late. We spend our whole lives building on top of answers we've never actually examined. These are our 'load-bearing answers' to questions like "What is a good life?" or "What is worth doing?". We just assume we know. Tolstoy accidentally kicked out those foundational pillars and his entire world collapsed. He had no idea why he was doing anything. Kevin: Okay, but his conclusion was basically that the examined life is NOT worth living. He started to envy the simple peasants who didn't ask these questions. Isn't he making a pretty good case for just... not thinking so hard? Maybe ignorance really is bliss. Michael: That is the 'Tolstoyan terror,' and it's a powerful argument for avoidance. But Callard immediately presents the alternative: Socrates. The story is famous: his friend asks the Oracle at Delphi if anyone is wiser than Socrates, and the Oracle says 'no.' Socrates is genuinely shocked. He thinks, "I know I'm not wise, so this must be a riddle." Kevin: So his wisdom was knowing he knew nothing. That's the classic line. Michael: Right, but it's what he does next that matters. He makes it his life's mission to investigate the Oracle's claim. He goes around Athens questioning politicians, poets, craftsmen—everyone who's supposed to be wise—and he discovers they're all just pretending. They're full of those unexamined, 'load-bearing answers.' For Socrates, confronting his own ignorance wasn't a crisis; it was the best thing that ever happened to him. It became his life's purpose. Where Tolstoy found a void, Socrates found a mission. Kevin: So the same question—"Do I really know what I'm doing?"—sends one man to despair and the other on the adventure of a lifetime. What was the difference?

Michael: The difference, and this is the book's most powerful insight, is that Socrates understood that thinking isn't something you do alone in your head. That's the path to Tolstoy's despair. Kevin: Hold on. Thinking isn't a solitary activity? What else is it? That's all I do, all day, alone in my head. Michael: Callard argues we all suffer from what she calls "normative self-blindness." It's a fantastic term. It means you are fundamentally incapable of seeing your own worst assumptions and flawed beliefs. It's like trying to see your own eyeball. You just can't do it without help. Kevin: I like that analogy. So you need a mirror. Is that where the other person comes in? Michael: Precisely. The Socratic method isn't just 'critical thinking.' It's a social activity. Callard calls it 'inquisitive refutation.' You need another person to act as your mirror, to challenge you, to show you the blind spots you can't see yourself. This is what Socrates did with everyone he met, like the ambitious and brilliant young politician, Alcibiades. He didn't just tell him he was ignorant about justice; he asked him questions until Alcibiades was forced to admit it himself. Kevin: So the goal of a Socratic conversation isn't to win the argument? Because in my experience, most arguments are definitely about winning. Michael: That's the radical shift. Socrates says in one dialogue that he would be pleased to be refuted if he says something untrue. He considers it a 'greater good' to be delivered from a false belief than to win a debate. It's a total reframing of what an argument is for. Kevin: That's a huge shift. It's not a competition; it's a collaboration to find the truth. It's like your friend telling you you have spinach in your teeth. It might be embarrassing for a second, but you're grateful they told you. Michael: That's a perfect analogy. And Socrates saw false beliefs as the worst kind of spinach in your teeth. The process of removing it, even if it's a bit painful, is an act of friendship. An act of love, even.

Kevin: An act of love? Okay, now you're pushing it. That sounds like the opposite of every romantic comedy I've ever seen. Michael: Well, that brings us to the most mind-bending part of the book. Callard shows how Socrates applies this method to everything. She calls it the 'Socratizing move'—taking a concept we think we know, like politics or death, and revealing its true, more demanding philosophical core. And her chapter on love is a complete bombshell. Kevin: Alright, hit me with it. How does Socrates ruin love? Michael: He redefines it completely. For Socrates, love—the Greek concept of erōs—is not about finding your 'other half' and fusing together. It's not about possession or admiration. Socratic love is a shared, rational quest for 'the Good.' It is, in Callard's words, eroticized philosophy. Kevin: Eroticized philosophy? That sounds... like the worst date ever. "Forget dinner and a movie, let's spend the night refuting each other's core beliefs." What does that even mean in practice? Michael: The story of Alcibiades trying to seduce Socrates is the perfect, and most shocking, example. Alcibiades is the most beautiful, charismatic, and powerful young man in Athens. He's used to getting whatever he wants. And he wants Socrates' wisdom. So he decides to trade the one thing he has of value: his beauty. Kevin: A classic pederastic arrangement for ancient Athens. Sex for wisdom. Michael: Exactly. Alcibiades tries everything. He gets Socrates alone, invites him to the gymnasium where they'd be wrestling naked, gets him to stay over for dinner. Finally, he makes his move. He gets Socrates to stay the night, and in the dark, he makes his explicit offer: his body, his possessions, everything, in exchange for Socrates helping him become a better person. He then physically slips under Socrates' single cloak. Kevin: Whoa, okay. That's bold. And...? Michael: And Socrates completely, utterly rejects him! He basically says, "You're offering me the mere appearance of beauty in exchange for the reality of truth. That's a terrible deal for you." Alcibiades is left feeling deeply humiliated. He says he felt betrayed, unloved. But he completely missed the point. Kevin: What's the point he's missing? Michael: That Socrates was offering him love. The real deal. The hours of conversation, the relentless questions, the shared struggle to understand justice—that was Socratic love. It's not exclusive. It's not about possessing someone. It's about two minds joining in a quest to become better. Alcibiades wanted a trophy boyfriend who would give him wisdom. Socrates offered him a lifelong intellectual training partner.

Michael: And that really ties it all together. We run from the big 'Why' questions like Tolstoy did because we think we have to answer them alone, locked in our own heads with our own blind spots. Kevin: But Socrates shows us that the only way to make progress is to find someone to think with. To see that a real argument isn't a fight, but a form of help. It's someone holding up a mirror so you can see the spinach in your teeth. Michael: Exactly. And that reframes everything. Even love. The highest form of love isn't just admiring someone from afar; it's joining them in that difficult, messy, but ultimately rewarding quest for truth. Kevin: That's a radical, and honestly, a much more interesting way to think about relationships. It’s less about finding a perfect person and more about finding a perfect partner for inquiry. Michael: It is. Callard is asking us to be brave enough to be wrong, and to see the invitation to be challenged not as an insult, but as a profound act of respect. As Socrates says in his final hours, "The one aim of those who practice philosophy in the proper manner is to practice for dying and death." But maybe the real practice is just learning how to truly talk to one another. Kevin: That's a powerful thought. We'd love to hear what you think. Does the idea of Socratic love inspire you or terrify you? Let us know on our socials. We're always looking for a good argument. Michael: This is Aibrary, signing off.