Socrates
He was a philosopher. He was 70 years old, baldheaded, with an absurd pug nose and an unkempt beard. He wore nothing but a cloak — no shoes, no shirt; no underwear. He had the merriest of dispositions, no one had ever seen him angry or unkind. He was very brave: he had served as a foot soldier in four battles. He was a philosopher. He did nothing but talk — talk to anyone who would listen to him, in the streets and marketplaces, discussing philosophy with students or sailors, or tradesmen, questioning men about what they believed in and why, always why — and how they could prove it. He met every answer with a new question, and each answer after that with another question.
Some Athenians called him a dangerous idler’ who did nothing but engage «in irony and jest on mankind.» The Oracle at Delphi had called him the wisest man alive, but Socrates, with his cool skepticism, said that his wisdom lay only in this: that unlike other men, he knew how
The man is gone but the «Socratic» method of questioning and teaching has always been respected since then.
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