The Gap Between Confidence and Knowledge

Socrates walks Alcibiades through a careful examination. He does not attack him. He asks questions. The questions reveal something Alcibiades has never had to face: the difference between being smart and actually knowing something.

“You will give advice about whether to make peace or go to war,” Socrates said. “How will you decide?”

“I will decide what is just, and then I will advise based on that.”

“Good,” Socrates said. “Who taught you what justice is?”

Alcibiades hesitated. “I learned it growing up. From everyone around me.”

“You learned Greek the same way, from everyone around you. Would you give a speech as an expert on Greek grammar?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I do not know it with the kind of precision that would allow me to teach it.”

“Then how do you know justice with that kind of precision?”

Alcibiades had no answer.

“You are about to stand in front of the city,” Socrates said, “and tell them what is just and what is not. When questioned, you cannot say where you got your knowledge. You cannot explain how you know. You cannot define the thing you plan to teach the city about.”

“Maybe I learned without noticing.”

“Maybe,” Socrates said. “Or maybe you are about to give advice about something you do not actually understand. That would matter, if you are about to advise the most powerful city in Greece.”