What a Philosopher Who Died 1,500 Years Ago Can Teach Christians Today
And some thoughts about community and gathering for meals
Earlier this week, to little fanfare aside from certain niche circles, was an important anniversary. On October 23, 524, Boethius was executed for treason, although he was innocent. In prison, he wrote a work that has encouraged readers ever since: The Consolation of Philosophy. I wrote about the significance of this work—and Boethius’s legacy—for Religion & Liberty. In brief, I argued that Boethius’s plight is relevant and relatable to us: all of us, at some point or another in our lives, feel unjustly accused or judged by others. And while such accusations (usually) do not lead to imprisonment and execution, they still hurt. Sometimes these accusations disrupt relationships, friendships, connections that are dear to us.
We are social creatures, so we cannot help but care deeply (too deeply, sometimes!) what others think about us! But it is those moments of sorrow and relational disruption that require us to dwell on our true identity as beloved children of God. It is God’s opinion of us that matters first and foremost, not that of other people, whose judgment isn’t perfect. And that is the conclusion that Boethius reaches at the end of The Consolation of Philosophy.
Here’s a taste of my argument:
October 23, 2024, marks 1,500 years since the death of Boethius, the troubled writer in question. A Roman aristocrat and prominent statesman before his dramatic fall, his political accomplishments mean nothing to us today. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, so have gone all political and military greats of ages past. Historians can continue to be impressed, but even they must be selective in bestowing their interests. Besides, most Americans can’t name all this young country’s presidents, much less political greats of other times and places.
By contrast, Boethius’ dialogue with Lady Philosophy, The Consolation of Philosophy, has had remarkable staying power. From its moment of publication on, it enthralled and encouraged readers through the European Middle Ages into the present. One sign of its significance is its well-accepted status as the traditional bookend of classical Roman literature—after Boethius, we speak of medieval writers, not Roman or late antique. Boethius, without knowing it, became a period, not a comma—the decisive end of one literary era and the beginning of the next.
This literary significance may seem a bit shrug-worthy today, but I contend that there is more. History does not advance in a straight line but in circles, Yeats-worthy gyres, each recalling and respinning another. This is as true of people as of the greater trends and sociocultural developments through which they live. And so what makes Boethius a particularly interesting and relevant figure for this moment, a millennium and a half after his death, is his unwavering commitment to intellectual honesty and to cultivating his own character even when falsely accused of treason—and ultimately executed based on these accusations.
It is appropriate that the two bookends of classical literature, its beginning and its end, Homer and Boethius, were both concerned with the question of character: Who is good? It is, we could note, a timeless question, an admission of our nature reflecting the imago Dei, whether we know it or not. In conversation with the rich young ruler in Luke 18:18–19, Jesus reminds us, “No one is good—except God alone.” Still, human pride and desire for approval—a desire, ultimately, for God to tell us “well done”—drive us to wonder: Am I good? And (like the rich young ruler) we wonder, furthermore: What else do I need to do? What is the minimal checklist for acing this assignment?
You can read the full essay here.
Elsewhere: Review of Mothers, Children, and the Body Politic in Christianity Today
True, others’ opinions of us don’t define us. Still, I won’t lie—I appreciated Kate Lucky’s review of my new book in CT! A taste from her argument:
Mothers, Children, and the Body Politic begins by describing contemporary problems. But disdain for mothers and children, Williams demonstrates, was also characteristic of antiquity. Drawing on myths, literature, and histories from Greek and Roman writers, she describes a past in which women were sexually exploited, infants were left “exposed” on “village dung heaps,” and anyone who couldn’t achieve military victory on the battlefield was a second-class citizen by default.
It’s Christianity, she argues, that changed all of this—that gave us the human rights we take for granted, that blessed the meek and lowly instead of kowtowing to the powerful. “It is because of two millennia of Christian valuing of human life,” she states forcefully, that “we do not delight in the suffering of the weak.” Both the life of Christ and the writings of the church fathers demonstrate that “the church is responsible for caring for the bodies and souls of the neglected and the abandoned at all ages and life stages, because their lives are priceless.”
A Few Reflections on Community
Writing about the kinds of things that I write about repeatedly reminds me that I’m an introvert who loves people. It can be difficult at times, because I do feel that need to "recharge” my batteries by time alone, just reading or thinking in a semi-dark room. And yet, living in community with other people—God’s image bearers—is such a wonderful delight, a true gift and blessing.
Perhaps the most natural and easy way to foster this community is over meals together with others. It is no coincidence that Christ spent so much time in his earthly ministry sharing meals with others, showing his love for them in the process. If you do not regularly share a table with others, might I kindly encourage you to find occasions to do so? It really is such a simple yet remarkable joy.
My church hosts a half-hour-long coffee and cookies fellowship every Sunday between Sunday School and worship. It sounds so simple, and yet, over the past year, I’ve seen how preparation for this fellowship involves seeing others and delighting in them on the part of those preparing the coffee and food each week. Simple yet beautiful.
Yes, this is a church where the gospel is proclaimed every week in worship and from the pulpit. But it is proclaimed no less loudly over every cup of coffee and every cookie served by hands of faithful servants of the risen Lord.