On Historical Preconditions for Philosophy
Conditions and variables that can help encourage philosophical movements and traditions
Every year I teach a mini-unit on philosophy to high school freshmen. It’s mostly a close-reading of the trial and death of Socrates (Euthyphro, Apology, and Socrates’ Death Scene), along with some survey lectures thrown in on the major ideas of Plato and Aristotle, and the Pre-Socratics. As part of my table-setting for the unit, however, I discuss a few ideas about what preconditions are useful to have in society, in order to generate philosophy in the first place.
Let’s assume that humans with the potential to become brilliant thinkers and philosophers are, one in a hundred-thousand (or a million?), and are randomly distributed across most societies. Most likely, history is full of genius-level individuals who had either little effect upon the wider world, or who have been completely forgotten. But some times and places seem to produce brilliant thinkers at an unusually high rate, such as Classical Athens or Renaissance Italy. An absurdly high percentage of scientists in the Manhattan Project came from the same handful of high schools in Budapest, Hungary.
I think this topic is closely related to another historical phenomenon, which I have dubbed a “cultural aristeia,” riffing on the concept of a heroic aristeia in the Iliad. An aresteia is a short intense burst of excellence, as a hero lives up to or even surpasses their potential. For Homer’s audience, this usually means cheering on warriors such as Diomedes and Achilles when they go on a rampage for pages at a time (Diomedes even wounds one of the Olympian deities). But I think you can also apply the concept of an aristeia to a group, institution, or even a society. Artistic, literary, and scientific movements all probably fit this pattern, from the statistical improbability of so many Renaissance masters all living and working in Northern Italy at the same time, to the work of the greatest music bands, sports athletes, and movie directors today. There is at least some scientific evidence that such a “hot hand” effect may be real for individuals, and I have a hunch that it can apply to sports teams, companies, cities, and cultures.
It seems to me that identifying some of the variables that might encourage such creative outbursts could be very beneficial for educators and policy-makers alike. I’m not very well read on this topic, which is its own burgeoning subfield in some economics, science, and history circles, but I’ve cobbled together a few ideas over the years. For now, I’ll just focus on some of the variables that might help encourage philosophical endeavors, saving the larger topic of cultural aresteias for another time. Many of these variables can also apply in one’s own personal life. Basically, if you want to encourage philosophers and great thinkers to pop up in your society, it might help if:
You have leisure time, and wealth. Leisure is famously the basis of culture, and you need to have available free time to solve problems and create ideas. People consumed with personal chaos or survival are probably not able to think about the Good Life. Wealth helps in this, to a degree which I think modern classical education needs to focus on a bit more. Educators often sniff at wealth as not being the end of education (true), but it does help to have enough money to free up sufficient time and acquire the means to pursue a good education. Most, though not all, ancient philosophers were independently wealthy (Socrates, who touted the purity of his teaching by claiming that his students didn’t pay him, acted as if he was wealthy, even though he wasn’t). Even up into the 20th century, many learned men of letters had independent means of wealth.
However, you also need problems and challenges to solve. Many great thinkers and intellectual movements happen in response to periods of change or dislocation. Athens’ Golden Age was triggered by the Persian Wars, and Socrates’ pivotal clash with the Athenian populace can’t be separated from the backdrop of the Peloponnesian War. The Italian Renaissance can’t be separated from wars, plagues, and massive political corruption, and the Scottish Enlightenment occurred in the midst of Scotland’s transformation after the Act of Union in 1707 with England. If leisure and wealth help encourage philosophy, they often do so after a period of crisis and transformation.
Often these problems and challenges will stem from the introduction of new or outside ideas or forces. Early Greek philosophers such as Thales clearly studied and learned from the Near East (the “Black Athena” argument suggests that Greece owed a cultural debt to Egypt and the Near East). Renaissance humanists reacted eagerly to the rediscovery of ancient texts and the arrival of Byzantine scholarship from Constantinople after 1453. Renaissance scholasticism had to solve the problem of Aristotle and Averroes, and the European Enlightenment responded to the crisis of the 17th century. Even in artistic movements, new forums and methods often blend or incorporate differing streams and traditions, with American blues, rock, and jazz being an obvious example.
Network effects. I’m not well read in the trendy subject of network theory, but have learned a tiny bit about it (perhaps, just enough to be dangerous). Despite the old trope about mad scientists working alone in isolated laboratories, it seems pretty clear that many thinkers and inventors are collaborators, working in groups, and bouncing ideas off of each other. Famous scientists, artists, literary circles, and inventors and entrepreneurs have all learned from, mentored, piggy-backed off of, and inspired each other. Coffeehouses and salons fueled early modern and Enlightenment discourse, and much of the Scottish Enlightenment revolved around an intellectual gathering known as the Poker Club. These network effects can often become path-dependent, as one location or hub for ideas and movements draws in successive waves of talent. During WWII, defense production in California planted the seeds for what would eventually become Silicon Valley, and San Francisco, even with its governance problems today, continues to be a node for would-be entrepreneurs and tech workers. Italian and Dutch painters, London and New York Playwrights, and Harlem Jazz musicians, are all examples of path-dependent networks.
Ports. I don’t think it's an accident that many of these locations are port towns, with commercial wealth, openness to new ideas, and transportation and mobility. Athens, Alexandria, London, the Netherlands, Glasgow and Edinburgh, and others. Paris and Florence aren’t coastal, but they were both cultural and commercial linchpins for much wider networks of trade and communication.
Writing and record keeping. New media of communication often produce new ideas, and new ways for ideas to interact and bounce off each other. Athens had some of the first written copies of Homer, and many of the greatest classical playwrights. The Renaissance and Scientific Revolutions were famously influenced by the printing press. One wonders what the internet and AI will do over the next century.
Informality of institutions. A lot of the systems and institutions that produce great thinkers (or entrepreneurs) seem to be most creative and fertile in their earlier, looser periods, and not when they become very-built up and rigid (e.g., agile startups as opposed to entrenched legacy companies). A college professor of mine answered the “who was Shakespeare really” question by suggesting that many great English poets and writers came from outside formal academia, and were consequently more innovative (so, he thought William Shakespeare did in fact probably write all his plays). Much of modern academia has a similar feel to that of Late Medieval Scholasticism; rigid and hidebound, with a complicated system of rules and procedures that produce conventional thinkers who are good at navigating the system and producing technical writing and research, but in an environment actively selecting against outside-the-box innovation. I think it’s possible that some of the good things in the classical education movement stem from being freed from too many top-down strictures and systems. We have a positive amateurishness about us that I hope we don’t lose too quickly.
Rule of Law. I think this one’s a bit underrated and that it’s not an accident that Greek city-states were famously deliberative and litigious, with traditions of public rhetoric and deliberation. A law is something you have to follow, but also something that can be used to measure and make intelligible (like a ruler). The pre-Socratic philosopher Anaximander seems to have theorized that the natural world followed laws and rules just as human cities had laws. Also, laws are ordinances of reason. Humans need laws and rules to be intelligible to each other, and so laws can help make nature intelligible also.
Freedom. Put simply, it is hard to make capital-t Truth one’s most important goal and quest, when social forces or rulers impede that quest, as Socrates famously found out. In a world of tyrants and emperors, philosophers and artists will either have to follow the lines of inquiry that the ruler wants (and pays for), or will have to be very guarded in what they can get away with saying and creating, lest they reveal that the Emperor has no clothes. Like animals able to sense an oncoming storm, one of the first signs of a despotism in the making is the fleeing of intellectuals and so-called dissidents. One of the most underrated qualities of many great thinkers is their courage.
I don’t think these rules are all hard and fast conditions; you can certainly find plenty of historical exceptions. Instead, my hunch is that these variables will generally help incentivize good philosophical and intellectual work. I’m also not trying to wade into any debate about the value of less complex societies and whether they have “philosophies” of their own. Here I’m mostly looking at the more formal philosophical traditions you find in the major state-based civilizations throughout history.
In terms of interesting takeaways, applications, and things that societies and institutions (and teachers) can act on, I have a few thoughts. First, mentoring seems to be very important. It can’t be an accident that Socrates taught Plato, who taught Aristotle, who taught Alexander. Early modern scientific and intellectual history is full of dense webs of relationships between brilliant thinkers and various literary circles, all the way down to Lewis, Tolkien, and the Inklings. Most sports fans are familiar with coaching trees in professional sports. Having very smart people mentor you and give you ideas seems to be both patently obvious, and yet somehow still generally underrated.
Secondly, traditions, rules, and theory are important, but must not become idols. Rigid and hidebound institutions and traditions will often produce conformists who can work well in narrow fields, but struggle to synthesize or recombine information in new ways. From my removed vantage point, modern history programs seem to be able to produce very skilled researchers and archivists, but fewer great literary writers; it’s hard to imagine brilliant prose historians such as Will Durant coming out of modern academia. Rigid institutions also don’t tolerate eclectic and quirky thinkers as well. At the secondary level, I think schools and teachers need to think carefully about where they draw the line between clearly enforcing rules and expectations, and making exceptions for gifted students to work on their own passions and projects. A school which holds all students to the exact same standards and pacing, may be nobly helping struggling students while stifling the best and brightest. Perhaps society can accept these tradeoffs by having some schools emphasize uniformity, while others skew towards eclectic freedom of inquiry and exploration, even while knowing that they might be increasing the risk of lazy students squandering their potential.
Lastly, there is a tension between philosophy and tradition, which classical schools need to be mindful of, but can also take advantage of. Classical education is inherently reverent for tradition and skeptical of the new and present. Many parents might choose this education because they hope it’s “safer” for their family, or in line with their religious, cultural, or political communities. Classical schools are supposed to be the places where students don’t get indoctrinated by radical professors. But Socrates was indicted and convicted precisely because of his reputation as a radical destabilizing presence, and Aristophanes even wrote an entire play satirizing Socrates and portraying him as a threat to stability and traditional morality (true to form, Socrates supposedly gave it a standing ovation, perhaps ironically). From the perspective of the Athenians, Socrates himself was the dangerous radical teaching his students to question morality and interrogate tradition. There are probably underrated opportunities here for teachers to invite students to consider how dangerous (and therefore adventurous) the quest for wisdom can be.