For What It's Worth

Why Examining Assumptions Matters

(9 minute read)

Key Takeaways:

• Self-discovery takes work and requires challenging assumptions
• Many beliefs go unexamined until we ask why we hold them
• Admitting what we don’t know requires humility but opens the door to wisdom and growth

“To seek what is impossible is madness. Therefore it is bad to seek for it.” – Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

Most of us live with unexamined assumptions. We assume we understand our motives, our opinions, and the reasons behind our convictions. But when pressed to explain why we believe what we believe, certainty often gives way to hesitation. The discipline of self‑examination — long emphasized by philosophers from Socrates to Marcus Aurelius — teaches us that wisdom begins not with answers, but with the courage to question ourselves.

Historical Origins

If all the philosophy in the world were to disappear and only these three remained, it would still be possible to live a full and meaningful life guided by them. Each one holds deep wisdom and is worthy of thoughtful study on its own.

“Know Thyself” is a familiar phrase. One does not need a background in philosophy to have encountered it. The idea has quietly shaped much of Western thought and culture. Before we go further, however, it may be helpful to pause and ask a simple question: What does the phrase really mean?

To begin with what we do know: In his book “Know Thyself,” University of Connecticut professor Mitchell S. Green explains that the original translation carries the tone of a military command—something to be acted on promptly, without delay. It is not something to be postponed until it feels more convenient. In other words, once you have read or heard the phrase, you carry a certain responsibility to act on it.

The ancient command to “Know Thyself” may sound distant, carved in stone and spoken in another age. Yet in our time it often appears in a more familiar form: the call to self-discovery. While the language has softened, the heart of the message remains much the same. Both invite us to look inward, to examine our beliefs, motives, and habits, and to take responsibility for understanding who we are becoming.

Philosophical Interpretations

Socrates is often quoted as saying, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” In this context, he suggests that when we move through life without pausing to reflect—simply following others’ expectations or assumptions—we may overlook what is genuinely most meaningful and beneficial for us.¹

To know thyself is to recognize the quiet strength that can develop through our engagement with the world. This strength does not suddenly appear or vanish; rather, our awareness of it can grow and diminish over time. Many people move through life on autopilot and may rarely pause to notice it.

Beyond this, there are many thoughtful interpretations of what the phrase is meant to convey. One common view is that it encourages the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake. Another suggests that it points toward an ongoing, gentle process of self-exploration.

The Marcus Aurelius quote above, “to seek what is impossible is madness …” suggests that it can be unhelpful or painful to strive for what is completely beyond our reach. This raises an important question: should we still make the effort? Is the practice of self-discovery, even if imperfect, still possible and worthwhile?

The Limits of Understanding

In earlier articles, we looked at some areas where philosophers tend to agree. One of these is that seeking absolute certainty can be both compelling and deeply frustrating.

When we say “life is a journey,” we often mean the ongoing process of self-exploration, finding meaning, and seeking a sense of purpose. That is what we can honestly aim for. Expecting anything beyond that, especially complete understanding through self-discovery alone, may not be realistic.

As so often happens, philosophers present us with perspectives that can seem to pull in different directions. On one hand, we are encouraged to work hard and stay committed, as if constant effort will inevitably lead us to a clear destination. The message can sound like: focus on both the big and small things, as long as you keep striving.

At the same time, others offer a gentler kind of hope by inviting us to change how we think. With a shift in perspective—sometimes sudden, sometimes gradual—our energy and motivation can begin to flow in new ways.

What we do not need is yet another rigid ten-step program that promises guaranteed success. When someone insists they have a foolproof formula, it is worth pausing to consider what they might really be offering, or selling.

Intellectual Discipline

Intellectual discipline begins with acknowledging what we already understand about ourselves and allowing our journey to grow from there. We have already wrestled with many of these questions; now we can return to them with a bit more calm and curiosity.

A few gentle questions can help. What are the things that tend to make you angry? What brings you sadness? When do you notice yourself becoming genuinely excited about something or someone in your life? When do you feel most empty or drained?

Self‑discovery invites us to explore our own inner landscape. It asks for honest, compassionate self‑reflection. The ways we come to know ourselves are as varied as we are. We can learn from how others have grown and from what they share. We can also offer our own experience for the benefit of others. Yet each person’s path remains distinct.

As we begin to notice what we already know about ourselves, we will also encounter obstacles. One of these is the “clutter of opinions” that accumulates in our inner life. These voices often tempt us to believe they define us—either positively or negatively—when in truth they are only one part of a much larger story.

A New Beginning

We begin anew when we admit that we do not have everything figured out, and we choose to meet that uncertainty with quiet curiosity rather than fear. Like Socrates, we practice intellectual humility: by recognizing the limits of what we truly understand, we make room to ask better questions, to listen more deeply, and to gently revise what we thought we knew.

“No one can know everything,” my grandmother used to gently remind me—and in that reminder was an invitation to keep learning, to stay open, and to soften my grip on certainty.

Beginning again also means reflecting on how and why we come to know what we know. Instead of treating knowledge as fixed, we can notice where it came from, whose voices shaped it, and how it might change as we grow. In this way, each moment of self-discovery becomes a new beginning: a chance to see ourselves and the world with a little more honesty, care, and humility.

A Classroom Illustration

While teaching at the college and university level, I often found that “know thyself” took on a very practical form in the classroom. It became an ongoing exercise in self-discovery for both my students and myself.

When we examined the difference between fact, opinion, and bias, I often chose a current social issue to ground our discussion. Students were usually eager to share what they believed they knew to be true.

The specific current event mattered very little, as long as it sparked conversation. Guiding these discussions was a pleasure because the students often became lively and deeply engaged.

It often unfolded like this:

We would begin with a topic. A brave student would raise a hand and offer an opinion. After the opinion was shared, I would mirror their response to show that I had been listening closely. When they confirmed that I had understood them correctly, I would follow up with a question:

“Why do you think that?”

They might pause to think, then offer a more personal answer as they searched for deeper meaning. I would ask a variation of the same question again, sometimes emphasizing the word “you”: “But why do you think that?” or “What makes you think that is the right way to see this?”

At this point, there was often a ripple of laughter from classmates, as if they suspected I might be a bit obtuse.

After a bit more struggle and another attempt at an answer, I would gently return to the same question. The laughter usually grew, along with the growing realization that the student had run out of argument, but couldn’t articulate why they had that conviction.

This back-and-forth continued briefly, sometimes drawing in other students, until, at last, a student would say something like, ‘I guess I don’t really know why I believe that.’

This was the moment I was waiting for. We had reached the point I hoped we would. Students began to recognize that many of their conclusions came from what a family member, clergy, or politician had taught them to see as the “right” position—and that, on their own, they could not fully explain why they believed it.

From that small admission, a handful of recurring lessons about belief and self‑knowledge would often emerge.

• We often take our own biases and assumptions for granted
• We often inherit those assumptions without fully realizing it
• Until we explore why we hold them, our inherited assumptions are not truly our own
• It is often difficult to see all the reasons we believe what we do
• Those same opinions cannot possibly represent the whole picture

Education as Liberation

I recognize that undergraduate students are still in the process of getting to know themselves. They simply have not had much time or experience yet.

However, moments like these convinced me that education, at its best, is not just about mastering information, but about freeing ourselves from unexamined assumptions.

Education itself could be a form of liberation and it can feel like a quiet time-bomb. It shapes us in ways we may not fully understand until much later.

As a teacher, I often felt that my role was simply to offer the material and trust the process. If students did not fully understand it that day, I hoped it might return to them later in an “aha” moment.

Is the practice of self-discovery truly possible? I believe it is, though I pursue it without expecting to reach a final destination. After all, self-discovery is a lifelong process. To imagine that it can be completed is to ask for something it cannot give.

In the end, the call to “self-discovery” is less about reaching certainty and more about embracing ongoing inquiry. It invites us to question what we assume, to reflect on what we inherit, and to acknowledge the limits of our understanding. The practice is neither quick nor easy, but it is deeply human. To begin—even imperfectly—is to step onto a lifelong path of growth, humility, and wisdom.