Jacques-Louis David's "The Death of Socrates", a formal analysis
Light, dark, assuredness, and paralyzing fear in classical Athens
Today, we consider a work from late 18th century France. Painted in 1787, Jacques Louis David’s The Death of Socrates is a large oil painting which depicts the legendary philosopher preparing for his state-mandated self-poisoning. Held at the Met, it stands at a formidable four by six feet, providing ample room for detail, from the crowd of acolytes around Socrates to the intricate gesticulation of the man himself. Such a work is one which invites analysis.
As stated above, The Death of Socrates shows the father of modern philosophy upright on a bed, left hand pointed at the sky, right hand outstretched for the goblet of liquid hemlock which will kill him. His distraught disciples vacillate between deep grief and somber comfort. A red-robed man hands Socrates the chalice, averting his eyes out of shock and solemnity. Plato sits at the foot of the bed. According to the Met, “[David’s] inclusion of Plato… deliberately references not someone present at Socrates’ death but, rather, the author whose text, Phaedo, had preserved this ancient story into modern times.” Outside, a hallway opens up the rest of the stone complex and reveals to us yet another figure inconsolably sobbing against a wall as even more acolytes ascend a stair, unable to even be in the same room. Bars on the windows and shackles at the bedside suggest a prison.
David painted this work at a time of great social unrest. The American colonies had just overthrown British rule. The peasantry of the artist’s native nation of France was imminently gearing up for revolution themselves against their own tyrannical monarchy. The story of Socrates, who was condemned to die by tyrants yet more willing to do so than cede his principles, resonated strongly among the revolutionaries of France, and especially for David. A history painting such as this one would not have been uncommon among the Neoclassicists, who venerated tales of bravery and virtue. David was certainly no stranger to this – his work had long incorporated history and narrative, and his early, ardent support of antimonarchism doubtlessly influenced the subjects he chose to portray at this point in his career, even years before the revolution actually occurred.
Compositionally, The Death of Socrates evokes a rolling wavelike slope which begins at Plato’s feet, rumbles upwards into the high points of the grieving hallway figure, the upstretched hand of Socrates, and the pinnacle of the wailing rightmost disciple, whose hands are raised to the sky in woe. Our view bobs naturally up and down from these high points to the lower points, mainly the faces of the various figures and notably the goblet of poison, which conspicuously occupies the least crowded area at the center of the painting. Oddly, Socrates himself is offset, the focus less on him than on his interaction with the bearer of the cup. Like the bearer, he too is turned away from the hemlock as he gives one last oration to his followers. This mirroring allows us to look into Socrates’ mindset at this fateful moment. David has tied him to the goblet-bearer both interactionally and thematically. Socrates is turned away from his impending death, and is just as woeful as his disciples, but the composition slyly hides this fact by depicting the man as he lectures. Only by taking into account his counterpart around the painting’s center do we grasp the emotional core of his sacrifice. This is the genius of David’s placement of the goblet-bearer – in contrast with Socrates’ densely packed right side of the painting, the left side which holds his counterpart is sparsely populated, focusing the eye on our main figure as he hands his master the cup. Splitting the work into two halves which work in tandem, David constructs the right half like a more traditional history painting full of stately lessons and great men. Conversely, the left side is an almost mystical, emotional construction which does far more to evoke theming than history, with a triumvirate of the hallway figure, who represents the scene’s emotion, Plato, who symbolizes its importance to future generations (like David’s!), and finally the red-robed goblet-bearer, Socrates’ thematic counterpart who bridges the gap between emotional narrative and historical narrative, infusing the history with eternal thematic relevance. The subject of The Death of Socrates may at first glance suggest a simple (though no less ornate) history painting, but David’s mastery of composition takes the work to far more conceptual heights.
David’s use of line is no less enamoring. The painting’s human figures are cacophonously designed, both gesticulating at wild angles and bent in hunched acceptance. Socrates’ design evokes the duality of his task. He appears almost split in two, as far as lines are concerned. The right side of the painting (Socrates’ left), which has him bravely speaking wisdom to his disciples, shows off rigid, straight posture. His arm, bent at a right angle and pointed to the sky, is as gridlike as you will find. Draped over this arm is his robe, hanging straight down like stone. The leg on this side is swung off the edge of his bed, covered by the bottom of his toga. A disciple tightly grasps this leg. It is an anchor (this disciple notably sits on a blocky, square, solid stone step, as he is the most composed of this side’s followers. Note how this is mirrored by Plato’s choice of seat). This side of Socrates is linear, straightforward, aimed. It is the civilized Socrates, father of philosophy. It is how he is known to his disciples, who all are notably clustered at this side. His statuelike robe is downright civilizational and stately. Contrast, however, with the left side of the painting (Socrates’ right), where he grasps for the hemlock cup. See the curled, hesitant, withered arm as it fearfully and half-heartedly reaches behind him. See the other side of his chest exposed, robeless, human, natural. There is nothing statuesque or stately here. His leg here lies bedridden and uncovered, bent like rigor mortis, as if it knows what’s coming. This side is natural, vulnerable – but also free. Notice how the broken shackle on the floor, the most solid of restraints, lies discarded, wavy, bent. It lays at Socrates’ feet. Though his human vulnerability at the coming of his death may be prophesied by David’s bent lines, so too does it show how this same vulnerability gave him the ultimate freedom he so desired. This is merely the study of one figure in the painting. To describe the use of line for everyone here would take a book.
The texture of this work is quite typical for an oil painting of this period and origin. It is done in a linear style, which accentuates the detail of the work and starkly illustrates the scene in a way usual to history painting. The brushstrokes are nigh on invisible, letting us focus far more on the subject than on the technique. It is in this respect not dissimilar to much of David’s other work during this timeframe.
David’s use of light and color is one which displays an attention to detail. The goblet-bearer wears a red robe, to evoke the danger of the poison which he relays. Socrates’ stark white robe, which stays mainly to the right of the painting, evokes stony form, a harbinger of the legacy which his ideas will maintain through history, as well as his solidity and consistency of principle. Plato’s grey robe fulfills a similar purpose – himself a giant of philosophical history, Plato has been depicted in a darker equivalent of Socrates’ clothes, all turned to one side to expose as little skin as possible and display him as the grim witness of civilizational posterity. Conversely, the robes of Socrates’ acolytes, in their realistic browns and blues invoke the immediacy of their plight and their relative lack of legacy compared to the two titans. A man stands hunched in a blue robe at the foreground, bent over, leaning on his friend, head in his hands. His blue is the richest, and the shadow he casts is the deepest of any figure, such is the depth of his grief. This shadow notably envelops the entire back of the salmon-robed disciple who sits in rapt attention at Socrates’ side and holds his teacher’s leg. The darkness behind him cast by the grief of his comrades threatens to pull him in as well, and it is the anchorlike oratory of Socrates which keeps him from being pulled back into the darkness which creeps behind him. Contrast this with the brightness which surrounds Socrates as he speaks. See him literally light up the room. See the darkened hallway on the opposite side of the painting – when the old master is gone, this is where they all will inevitably file out, into dark grief. However, David has given us hope. The grey darkness of the ever-closer exit is not nearly as dark as the blue-black vortex of the wailing disciples as they await their teacher’s suicide. When they eventually leave, the artist has shown us that their mourning will in some measure have been assuaged, their darkness brightened by the light of Socrates’ teachings.
The Death of Socrates is a painting which perfectly illustrates the time at which Jacques Louis David lived. It is a depiction of personal, individual revolution. It blends hard, important history with the symbolic and unreal. It shows the championing of principle, and the sacrifice which illuminated those who followed Socrates in life, as well as those who would come after him.