The Death of Socrates and the Birth of Philosophy: From Death to New Life
From Socrates to Christianity, philosophers and saints have advocated the idea that the highest form of life comes only after a certain kind of death.
It is surely significant that European philosophy was given its initial impetus and force by the death of its founder. To put it another way, we should seriously consider the fact that philosophy finally comes fully onto the stage of history but only in the death of its founder. Indeed the arguments and events of Socrates trial and death have played an important role in the development of European intellectual culture. He we find certain tensions that remain with us today.
The Trial and Death of Socrates
Socrates’ execution by Athens was strange and implausible. Socrates was well-known and well-liked by many. He had a reputation for integrity and wisdom, he was a decorated war veteran, and he was a philosopher — not a foreign spy or aspiring oligarch. And from a retrospective perspective, it is no doubt ironic that Athens is famous (or infamous) for killing one of its most famous sons. What happened? And, why is it important? What does it tell us about the nature of philosophy and for that matter the relationship between philosophy and the broader political community?
Interestingly the trial and death of Socrates are usually studied after the Euthyphro, a dialogue that treats piety, definition, and divine command theory among other things. Yet the heart of the dialogue concerns piety. In the ancient world, piety meant more than religious devotion; rather it indicated the virtuous of habit of honoring homeland, parents, and the gods — the sources of being. Without going into too much detail, the dialogue revolves around Euthyphro bringing his father to trial for murdering a man who had killed his servant. What is important about this incident is that it pits the moral law (prohibiting murder) against piety (honoring the father). This clash provokes a critical debate about the traditional Greek ideal of piety, and the upshot is confusion.
Piety is a central virtue in the ancient world, but Socrates and his interlocutor cannot arrive on a convincing definition. For the ancient Greeks this would be tantamount to a crisis. The bonds of piety tie men together and inspire loyalty, self-sacrifice, and solidarity. This episode suggests something important about philosophy — it is potentially dangerous. The radical questioning inherent to philosophy sometimes poses a danger to the status quo, whether political or social. And for this reason political authority must be aware of philosophy. The theme of conflict between society and philosophy arises again during Socrates’ trial.
The dialogue of Socrates’ Apology is complex and features an array of feints and false starts. Although it is important that Socrates is accused of atheism, the central drama of the text revolves around the fact that Socrates has demonstrated the ignorance and vanity of the leading figures of Athenian society. According to Socrates’ testimony, one of his friends had visited the oracle at Delphi and been told in a “divine” message that Socrates is the wisest of men. Socrates sets out to prove oracle wrong, by showing that there are wiser men in Athens. To this end, he goes to those who are reputed to be wise; he questions them, and to his (supposed) surprise finds that those reputed to be wise are in fact ignorant about the most important matters, like justice, truth, goodness, and courage. In doing so, Socrates exposed the ignorance of many leading Athenians. Once again, we find philosophy treading on dangerous (and in this case lethal) ground politically speaking.
Philosophy as Political Subversion
Socrates’ philosophical quest ends up embarrassing, — even humiliating — the political and commercial leaders of Athens. In effect, he is showing the ineptitude of the political leadership class. The philosopher and political theorist Leo Strauss believed that episodes of this sort pointed toward a deep and permanent tension between political community and philosophy. In his view, the philosopher is always poised to undermine the state by radical inquiry and social criticism. And indeed there is some truth in this claim. The search for wisdom can bring up the possibility of radically critiquing the political state.
In my view, the danger of philosophy is rooted in its pursuit of the highest truths. What Socrates’ revealed was not so much an inherent conflict between politics and philosophy, but that Athenian democracy lacked an adequate metaphysical. At the end of the day, every regime, every society or community grounds its authority in some metaphysical scheme, even it if it is mythological. Even if such a schema is unacknowledged, it is present in some way: the gods of ancient Rome and Greece, the Tao or the mandate of heaven in ancient China, Catholic Christianity in medieval Europe, etc. Even in the modern world, we presuppose a valueless reality in which God is completely hidden and technology reigns supreme, and yet man possesses a radical autonomy that floats free of even the basic facts of nature — a metaphysical scheme does not necessarily need to make sense. In fact, Plato provides the solution to the possible conflict between politics and philosophy in the Republic.
In the Republic, Plato develops a metaphysical foundation for politics that grounds political authority and social order; in addition, Plato’s schema defines justice and the goal and purpose of politics in terms of the “Good in itself.” Indeed, in Plato’s politico-metaphysical structure ethics, religion, politics, and art are woven together in an organic, integral whole. Here I do not intend to go into a detailed examination of Plato’s political philosophy; rather I want to draw attention to the fact that politics and philosophy are not necessarily opposed — although the tension remains. Aristotle, Aquinas, and Hegel all developed forms of political theory that complemented, grounded, and even elevated established political forms. And this points to a more general feature of philosophy illustrated by Socrates’ life and death: philosophy is inherently constructive and destructive, engaged and otherworldly.
The Death Thesis
Almost all of ancient philosophy, including the work of Socrates’, is intensely concerned with the good life. The underlying assumption is that we can arrive a better and more accurate picture of the best way to live through the application of critical reasoning. This represents the engaged and constructive work of philosophy. Plato gives us an account of the just soul, the stoics teach us how to achieve apathy and rightness, and Aristotle opens the way to virtue, excellence, and contemplation. In these examples, we find ample positive content from which to build a life and worldview. But at the same time, Socrates tells us that philosophy is preparation for death because it teaches us to detach from worldly things. The stoics insist that it wise to remember death. And Aristotle reminds us that the highest good is the contemplation of God and that this activity is divine in comparison to all others. So once again we find a tension within the heart of philosophy, namely, “the death thesis.” To state it dramatically, the fullness of life is found in the death of the mundane — life through death. To my mind this is an overstatement, but it points in the right direction — and it is worth noting that this thesis is not unique to ancient philosophy. Go read your New Testament.
In what sense is the “death thesis” overstated? I believe that the death thesis is correct in itself, but that it goes amiss when it is used to trivialize or render merely instrumental temporal goods. Virtuous marriage and just governance are useful for the emergence of higher goods, but within my own philosophical framework, they are also good, desirable, and praiseworthy per se. To be sure there are higher goods, but a subordinate position relative to a higher does not necessarily imply that the subordinate good is merely useful. I will take up a fuller treatment of the hierarchy of goods in a subsequent essay. For now it is sufficient to point out the role of hierarchy in rightly applying the “death thesis.”
Philosophy brings about the “death” of the mundane when it reveals the reality of the highest goods. Once the just soul or divine contemplation comes into view, all other goods pale in comparison. We discover that what most men strive for is in fact of secondary importance. Indeed the entire world of temporal goods is demoted once the higher goods are revealed. This is a thrilling and disorienting experience. There is a kind of death here, but a death that leads to new life: contemplative joy, detachment, inner peace, and consuming love. My ultimate good is not found in prosperity, patriotism, or even patrimony. And yet these things still matter.
The solution to the tension between temporal and higher goods is the hierarchy of goods; temporal goods are real, but secondary and imperfect; higher goods are better still. However, this solution does not do away with the death thesis.
The authentic practice of philosophy puts away all vicious desires; but even more importantly, it subordinates even real temporal goods — including political community — to the higher goods of the contemplative life. This involves a kind of dying, which is vividly illustrated in the death of Socrates, but in the opposite direction. In the case of Socrates, the temporal order, embodied in the Athenian state, refused to undergo spiritual mortification — it refused to be subordinated — and instead eliminated the threat by condemning Socrates (and philosophy) to death. As it turns out, the death of Socrates did not end philosophy — far from it. The death thesis remains: through death to new life.
Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. (NIV John 12: 24-26)