By Maria Carrasquilla 
 

Agnes Callard doesn’t only study philosophy—she lives it. Whether debating a friend over dinner, leading a late-night discussion in Hyde Park, or questioning her own beliefs in print, she treats inquiry as an open-ended pursuit rather than a search for fixed truths. A philosopher of ancient thought and modern dilemmas, she is known for her relentless curiosity, her insistence on argument as a mode of friendship, her appreciation for colors and their beauty, and her commitment to intellectually challenging both herself and others—often in public. 

Born in Budapest, she moved between Hungary, Italy, and the United States before earning her BA in Fundamentals: Issues and Texts at the University of Chicago. She completed her PhD in philosophy at the University of California, Berkeley and returned to UChicago, where she is now an associate professor of philosophy and director of undergraduate studies. She specializes in ancient philosophy, contemporary ethics, and moral psychology, teaching courses on Socratic intellectualism, Aristotle, and human heterogeneity, always inviting students to wrestle with ideas that shape both intellectual and personal life. 

Her books reflect this same conviction. In Aspiration: The Agency of Becoming (2017), she challenges conventional views of rational choice, arguing that aspiration is a unique form of agency—one that involves learning to value something before fully understanding its worth. In On Anger (2020), she reexamines the role of anger in moral life.

In her latest book, Open Socrates: The Case for a Philosophical Life, she explores why questioning—not certainty—is at the heart of philosophy. Her work is both deeply personal and inherently Socratic, often questioning what we think we know about choice, morality, and whether philosophy should provide answers or simply ask better questions. 

Beyond academia, Callard is a leading voice in public philosophy. She writes for The New Yorker, The New York Times, The Point Magazine, and other prominent media outlets, bringing philosophical inquiry into public discourse. She has played a leading role in shaping the UChicago Night Owls, a popular late-night series that hosts discussions on provocative philosophical questions. Led by faculty and designed to spark philosophical exploration among students and the public, the series has addressed questions such as: Is Philosophy a Blood Sport? Is Love Worth the Pain? Does Science Leave Room for Philosophy?

Callard also co-hosts the podcast Minds Almost Meeting with economist Robin Hanson, where they bring together philosophy and economics—two traditions with different priorities, tools, and ground rules—to see what happens when contrasting perspectives meet in a spirit of rigorous inquiry and intellectual humility. 

For Callard, inquiry is essential to living a meaningful life. The following conversation delves into her book Open Socrates: The Case for a Philosophical Life, its central themes, and why, for her, philosophy is not just something we can study—it’s something we can live with. 

Your book emphasizes the importance of grappling with "untimely questions"—those deep, existential inquiries that often escape our immediate awareness. What is your advice for balancing these time- and thought-intensive questions with the practical, day-to-day demands of living? 

I’d frame the question differently: How do we find an entry point for these inquiries in a world consumed by the overwhelming ethos of urgency? The issue isn’t about balancing philosophy with daily life, as if we sometimes overindulge in deep thought and neglect practical concerns. Rather, we use urgency as an excuse to avoid these questions entirely. The real challenge is not how to balance them, but how to make space for them. 

The best way to start is by finding openings in the conversations we’re already having. My hope is that after reading my book, people will be better at spotting these opportunities. Our daily conversations are less predetermined than we think—we make unnoticed choices, like avoiding follow-up questions or falling into the habit of simply exchanging stories. But we don’t have to limit ourselves to that. 

It’s a bit like when I first got pregnant with my oldest child. Suddenly, I started noticing pregnant women everywhere—not because the world changed, but because my awareness did. In the same way, I want people to realize that opportunities for deeper inquiry are all around them. There’s no formula for finding these moments; it’s something you develop a feel for, and that’s what my book is meant to help with. 

You've long explored inquiry—even as a student engaging strangers at the Art Institute with philosophical questions. How have your questions evolved over time? Has the way you ask a question changed?  

It’s not just how you ask a question but also the circumstance in which you ask it. As a college senior, I wanted to be Socrates and approached people at the Art Institute, which to me was the Chicago analog of the Athenian agora, for philosophical conversations—and it did not go well. People were put off, unsure of my intent, as if I was trying to sell them something they didn’t know. Now, I engage more people through public writing, events, and teaching, where questioning is expected. It helps if people come to you. I’ve learned to identify and articulate the questions already emerging in a discussion. Teaching mirrors this process—I sense where a conversation is headed and make implicit questions explicit.  

Students face pressure to prioritize careers and practical outcomes. In your view, what is the role of philosophy in helping students navigate these concerns, especially the Socratic method?     

Young people in their late teens or early 20s struggle with two competing motivations: making their life valuable in a way that others recognize, and making it meaningful to themselves. Leaning too far in either direction—seeking only external validation or relying solely on personal judgment—can be problematic. If you focus too much on impressing others, you may not be careful enough in choosing who to impress. On the other hand, trusting your own judgment too much is risky—when you’re young, you simply don’t have enough experience to rely on it fully. And often, practicality resolves this tension in the wrong way.  

Tolstoy (whom I discuss in the first part of my book), illustrates this dilemma. He had everything: wealth, status, literary greatness. Many students would be thrilled to be like him. Yet, his life ultimately collapsed as he questioned the point of it all. His story serves as a reminder that success alone doesn’t ensure a meaningful life.  

I’m currently teaching a class of first-year students, and for many, this may be the last philosophy—or even humanities—class they ever take. For our final reading, I’ve assigned William James’s essay “What Makes a Life Significant,” which explores the meaning of life. The texts I assign tend to directly engage with fundamental questions like this.  

Tolstoy provides a contrast—his work shows what happens when someone doesn’t engage with these questions, which is also valuable. But most of my book isn’t about Tolstoy; it’s about someone who fully embraces these questions: Socrates. 

How has Socrates influenced your research and teaching? 

Socrates instilled in me an inquisitive outlook. I don’t see myself at the end of inquiry but always in the process, making me open to challenge. If someone shows me I’m wrong, that’s an improvement. 

Students can tell when a question is merely pedagogical versus one their teacher is genuinely curious about. So, when I present a question in class, it has to interest me as well. For instance, when discussing A Raisin in the Sun, the following question emerged from the discussion and I made it explicit: Do you discover a person’s true nature in good or bad circumstances? That’s how Socrates influences my teaching. 

Research works the same way—it's inherently inquisitive. Much of my research is conversational, shaped by presenting talks, receiving objections, and refining ideas. Because I can’t see beyond my own perspective, I rely on others to challenge and expand it. 

You write that Socrates believed humans struggle most with politics, love, and death. Thinking about politics, how do you persuade people to talk with each other and be more open-minded? 

If people won’t talk to each other, they can’t be open-minded. Instead of trying to get people to talk to each other, persuade them to talk to you. The way to do that is by figuring out what you can learn from them—then genuinely trying to learn it. 

Many assume persuading someone to be open-minded means teaching them something. But it’s more about learning from them. If you don’t have something to learn from someone, why engage with them at all? Socratic inquiry is about extracting knowledge from other people around you, and over the course of that extraction procedure, you might end up showing the other person that they're wrong about something, Socrates often did this. 

The real problem isn’t other people—it’s you. Instead of asking, “How do I fix them?” ask, “How do I fix myself?” That’s the Socratic lesson. 

Are there important questions we’re not asking enough within higher education or at UChicago? 

A pressing question is: How can we make the university a place for serious leisure rather than a hub of competitiveness? Universities should offer a refuge from real-world pressures, allowing students and faculty to explore fundamental questions. However, over time, both have become consumed by urgency and external demands. 

Students often feel compelled to approach education pragmatically—How will this look on my transcript? Will this help my career?—not necessarily by choice, but because they’ve been conditioned to think this way. UChicago’s acceptance rate is currently 4.5%. As universities have gained prestige, they have also absorbed external pressures that make genuine inquiry more difficult.

A university isn’t a vacation, but as Aristotle described, serious leisure is essential—a space distinct from both work and relaxation, where deep intellectual reflection can take place. The challenge is ensuring that space can be preserved. 

Even with free time, often many of us turn to social media or other forms of escapism. 

One of life’s tragedies is that we work hard to free ourselves from urgent demands, only to be unsure of what to do with our freedom. Universities exist to help people make good use of leisure. The goal is for reading Homer instead of scrolling social media to feel like a real option. 

But people don’t arrive at that mindset on their own. If a library holds The Odyssey but a phone is within reach, most will choose the phone. But in a class, with other people and structured discussion, one is compelled to engage. 

Universities provide essential social support for intellectual life, with teachers guiding inquiry. But as they become more tied to career preparation, they risk losing their purpose. The more education is framed as a means to an end, the harder it is to sustain inquiry for its own sake. 

What aspects of your book do you wish more reviewers or readers had noticed? 

In chapter four, I argue that the supposed tension between what is advantageous and what is just is an illusion. People often see two types of goods—those that benefit them and those that are noble—creating a dilemma: Which should I pursue? Socrates rejects this division, insisting there is only the good, which we should strive for completely. The idea of two kinds of goods, he argues, stems from ignorance. Despite its significance, only one person on a podcast engaged with this argument, which I found exciting. 

Another argument I develop concerns Moore’s paradox. Statements like "It’s raining, but I don’t believe it" or "honey doesn't spoil, though I believe it does" are considered unsayable, even if factually possible. The standard view is that a single mind cannot hold such a contradiction. But I argue that in dialogue, the space of two minds can accommodate it—this is precisely how Socratic refutation works. I expect this idea to be controversial among philosophers invested in the paradox. 

One challenge in philosophy is that while philosophers care about the process of argument, reviewers focus on conclusions. From a philosophical standpoint, conclusions are often the least interesting part—it’s the arguments that matter most. 

Some sections of my book—especially the middle—are demanding. They may be best explored through discussion, as philosophy often requires active engagement rather than passive reading. Even with examples, working through ideas with others is often the best way to grasp them.

--- 

Agnes Callard's recent book Open Socrates: The Case for a Philosophical Life has been widely praised and discussed in various media outlets, a selection of which are below: 
 
Should You Question Everything? 
The New Yorker 
 
Argue Your Way to a Fuller Life 
Nautil 
 
What If the Philosophical Life Really Is the Only One Worth Living? 
The Washington Post 
 
The Secret to a Good Life? Thinking Like Socrates. 
The New York Times 
 
‘Open Socrates’ Shows Why Philosophy Isn’t a Spectator Sport 
The Seattle Times 
 
Agnes Callard on Why We Must Revive Socratic Virtue 
The Spectator World 

Socrates and Living A Philosophical Life: A Dialogue with Agnes Callard 
Converging Dialogues 

Open Socrates by Agnes Callard review – a design for life
The Guardian

Agnes Callard in Conversation with Judith Butler: The Case for a Philosophical Life
Townsend Center for the Humanities