Moses vs. Socrates on the Value of Life
Why Does Moses Pray to Enter the Land?
And the Lord was “angry with me (bi) because of you” (Deut 3:26):
R. Elazar b. Shamua says: “bi”—This is a conventional form of request in human intercourse. Lest you say that it lies in me (that I cannot enter the land); it is, therefore, written “because of you,” and not because of me, that I cannot enter the land. “But the Lord said to me: ‘It is too much for you’” — Enough, until here!
R. Yehoshua says: “It is too much for you.” The world to come is enough for you.
But Moses persisted in standing there and making all those requests. Moses said before Him: Lord of the universe, was Your intent in (Numbers 20:12) “therefore, you shall not bring this congregation to the land,” that I not enter it as a king? I will enter it as a commoner. The Lord said: A king does not enter as a commoner.
Moses persisted in standing before Him and making all those requests. Moses said before the Holy One Blessed be He: Lord of the universe, since it has been decreed that I not enter the land, neither as a king nor as a commoner, let me enter through the tunnel of Caesarea, which is beneath it. The Lord: (Deuteronomy 34:4) “but there shall you not pass through.”
Moses said: Lord of the universe, since it has been decreed upon me that I enter neither as a king nor a commoner nor through the tunnel of Caesarea which is beneath it, let my bones, at least, cross the Jordan. The Lord said (Deuteronomy 3:27) “for you will not cross the Jordan.”
But, setting aside the question of dishonor, [35c] there seems to be something wrong in petitioning a judge, and thus procuring an acquittal instead of informing and convincing him. For his duty is, not to make a present of justice [dikaios], but to give judgment [krinein]; and he has sworn that he will judge according to the laws [nomos], and not according to his own good pleasure; and neither he nor we should get into the habit of perjuring ourselves—there can be no piety in that. Do not then require me to do what I consider dishonorable [without dikē] and impious and wrong, [35d] especially now, when I am being tried for impiety on the indictment of Meletus. For if, O men of Athens, by force of persuasion and entreaty, I could overpower your oaths, then I should be teaching you to believe that there are no gods, and convict myself, in my own defense, of not believing in them. But that is not the case; for I do believe that there are gods, and in a far higher sense than that in which any of my accusers believe in them. And to you and to the god I commit my cause, to be determined by you as is best [aristos] for you and me…
Let us think about it this way: there is plenty of reason to hope that death is something good [agathon]. I say this because death is one of two things: either it is a state of nothingness and utter unconsciousness for the person who has died, or, according to the sayings [legomena], there is some kind of a change [meta-bolē] that happens—a relocation [met-oikēsis] for the soul [psūkhē] from this place [topos] to another place [topos]. Now if you suppose that there is no consciousness, |40d but a sleep like the sleep of someone who sees nothing even in a dream, death will be a wondrous gain [kerdos]. For if a person were to select the night in which he slept without seeing anything even in a dream, and if he were to compare with this the other days and nights of his life, and then were to tell us how many days and nights he had passed in the course of his life in a better and more pleasant way than this one, I think that any person—I will not say a private individual [idiōtēs], but even the great king— |40e will not find many such days or nights, when compared with the others. Now if death is like this, I say that to die is a gain [kerdos]; for the sum total of time is then only a single night. But if death is the journey [apo-dēmiā] to another place [topos], and, if the sayings [legomena] are true [alēthē], that all the dead are over there [ekeî], then what good [agathon], O jurors, [dikastai], can be greater than this? |41a If, when someone arrives in the world of Hādēs, he is freed from those who call themselves jurors [dikastai] here, and finds the true [alētheîs] judges [dikastai] who are said to give judgment [dikazein] over there [ekeî]—Minos and Rhadamanthus and Aiakos and Triptolemos, and other demigods [hēmi-theoi] who were righteous [dikaioi] in their own life—that would not be a bad journey [apo-dēmiā], now would it? To make contact with Orpheus and Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer—who of you would not welcome such a great opportunity? Why, if these things are true [alēthē], let me die again and again. |41b I, too, would have a wondrous activity [diatribē] there, once I make contact with Palamedes, and with Ajax the son of Telamon, and with other ancient men who have suffered death through an unjust [a-dikos] judgment [krisis]. And there will be no small pleasure, I think, in comparing my own experiences [pathos plural] with theirs. Further—and this is the greatest thing of all—I will be able to continue questioning those who are over there [ekeî], just as I question those who are over here [entautha], and investigating who among them is wise [sophos] and who among them thinks he is wise [sophos] but is not. Who would not welcome the great opportunity, O jurors [dikastai], of being able to question the leader of the great Trojan expedition; |41c or Odysseus or Sisyphus, or one could mention countless other men—and women too! What unmitigated happiness [eudaimoniā] would there be in having dialogues [dialegesthai] with them over there [ekeî] and just being in their company and asking them questions! And I say it absolutely: those who are over there [ekeî] do not put someone to death for this; certainly not. I say that because those who are over there [ekeî] are happier [eu-daimonesteroi] than those who are over here [entautha]. And they are already immortal [athanatoi] for the rest of time, if in fact the sayings [legomena] are true [alēthē].
But even you, O jurors [dikastai], should have good hopes when you face death, and you should have in mind [dia-noeîsthai] this one thing as true [alēthes]: |41d that nothing bad [kakon] can happen to a good [agathos] person, either in life or when he comes to its completion [teleutân]. (Plato, Apology)
Socrates’s Apology, in which he defends himself from the state’s charge of corruption and impiety, all while accepting his death sentence, is a foundational document of Western consciousness. Moses’s Apology, otherwise known as the title of this week’s parasha, Va’etchanan, is a foundational document of Jewish consciousness.
Socrates makes two related points that contrast with what we read in this week’s parasha: 1) in a court of law, emotional appeal—rather than logical demonstration—is wrong 2) death is to be accepted and even appreciated. The two points are related in that Socrates has the ability to use emotional manipulation to acquit himself, but he would rather make his case using arguments—even if they are dismissed. Let the record show what he really believed, not what he was able to say to “win.” But Socrates is only able to be so principled because he doesn’t see death as a downside event. Base case, death is a nothing-burger; upside case, you get to hang out with your heroes in the afterlife. Socrates is only able to regard death as a net positive because he believes in principles like “the soul is immortal” and “the body is a prison of the soul.” If someone gives you a way to nobly exit from this world, take it.
Moses pleads with God. He doesn’t argue that his fate is undeserved; he prays. That’s exactly the kind of groveling that Socrates calls dishonorable. No matter, Moses wants to win—he wants to live another day. God is a judge and Moses will try every trick in the book—like a good lawyer, or a good sophist—to make the judge take his side. The Midrash powerfully imagines Moses seeking Talmudic loophole after loophole to obviate himself from his death sentence. The case continues to narrow—becoming what the sages call an okimta—until Moses asks, “Can you at least let my bones go into the land of Israel?” But even this wish is not granted.
Moses’s imagined dialogue with God echoes the Midrash’s dialogue between God and Abraham during the Akeidah. “Take your son”—“I have two sons.” “Your only son—I have two sons.” “The one whom you love.—I love them both.” “Isaac—.” The prophet is turned into a rabbi looking for a way out. Far from being dishonorable, this ritual expresses rabbinic determination to find a solution. It is a kind of prayer. Think about that: the Midrash says “If you want to visualize what it looks like to pray, don’t think of a person with eyes closed and tallis over his head, picture a person arguing with God about the fine-print in a contract!”
Let’s posit—if somewhat anachronistically—that Moses, like Socrates, is unafraid of his own death and even sees it as a net-positive. This only intensifies his divergence from Socrates in his fight to live. R. Yehoshua says: “It is too much for you” means “The world to come is enough for you.” But Moses clearly thinks not. The world to come is not enough! The land of Israel is so amazing that it makes the world to come seem not enough. The land of Israel is so amazing that it makes immortality of the soul seem like a wash.
We are presented with two models of virtue in the figures of Moses and Socrates: one who seeks to live only by telling the truth; the other who hopes to live through prayer. When a person dies, we see Baruch Dayan Ha-Emmet, Blessed is the True Judge. Moses cannot claim to be a better judge than God; Socrates knows he is a better judge than his earthly judges. So Moses seeks not to convince God with truth, but to convince God with sentiment, appeal to God’s mercy. Socrates knows he has the truth and goes contentedly to his grave. Moses knows that he does not have the truth—that is only for God—but nonetheless advocates for himself before accepting God’s judgment.
Socrates, a philosopher, has no Land of Israel, no Promised Land, to strive for. All his striving is internal—to live virtuously, to lead an examined life, to suffer injustice rather than commit it. Moses, a prophet, believes that entry into the Land represents both the culmination and beginning of a divine-human partnership. Socrates walks around in the marketplace exposing the internal contradictions of people’s worldviews; Moses takes a fickle people and bets on their potential for change, taking them on a transformational journey from bondage to sovereignty. Socrates deconstructs. Moses builds.
A pure virtue ethicist thinks all that matters is character development; impact is a second thought; making the world a better place is a second thought. Those things matter only insofar as they might follow from a virtue like empathy, kindness, or prudence etc. Moses is not a pure virtue ethicist; he believes that place matters; a good society is a pre-condition for the flourishing of personal virtue. Sure, you can be a just person in an unjust society, as Socrates sought to be. But better is to be a just person who seeks to make society that much more just. Moses’s va’etchanan —his supplication—is a demonstration of the greatness of the tangible, external, material world. It expresses the insight that there is no universal abstract self, but only being-in-the-world. Being-in-Egypt and Being-in-Israel and Being-in-the-world-to-come are all distinct modes of existence. Being-in-Israel is a more authentic expression than these others. The rabbis played up the importance of the World to Come because they could not obtain sovereignty in the Land of Israel. But they also Moses as preferring the Land to the World to Come, at least in the medium term.
Socrates was no advocate of suicide bombing—in fact, he believes one should rather die than kill—but his embrace of death is bolstered by a sense that this world is a mere simulacrum, an illusion and a burden—that life can be twisted to support a death cult that says one should blow oneself up and take some infidels with one so as to gain entry into heaven. Moses’s plea to live, on the other side, represents a brazen nearly anti-spiritual attitude that this life is so valuable and precious we should do whatever to extend it. Without God or any sense of the soul, this might become a kind of secular religion, as espoused by folks who openly think that we should try to live forever. Between Hamas’s devaluing of human life and Bryan Johnson’s reification of it is a middle way represented by Moses’s pleading. Moses does not seek to bio-hack his way to life extension. He accepts God’s judgment. He knows that he is not God. But he prays for life. The World to Come can and should wait.
Why should Moses want his bones to enter the Land? On a literary level this ask contrasts with the bones of Joseph, which are brought into the Land. But on a philosophical level I see it as Moses’s last ditch effort to touch the soil of Israel with his body. It is a profoundly carnal ascription of spiritual meaning to that which Socrates, and the Platonic tradition, up and through the Christian Church Fathers, simply wrote off as “dead letter.” Why does matter matter?
Our challenge is to embrace the mattering of matter while retaining faith in the immaterial, to seek with all our might to enter a real, tangible place that might make us better and that we might make better, all while knowing that “everything that comes from dust returns to dust” and “the whole earth is filled with God’s glory (Isaiah 6:3).”
Moses does not enter the Promised Land—that is God’s judgment. But his prayer teaches us to long for it, and to argue with God up until the point that God’s judgment is cast. We should do whatever we can—even if that’s only pleading—to be on the side of earth and life.
Shabbat Shalom,
Zohar Atkins