HEAD(hed), (n.) 1. the top part of the human body or the front part of an animal where the eyes, nose, east and mouth are. "Your brain is in your head." DIBS(dibz), (n.) 2. a thick, sweet syrup made in countries of the East, especially the Middle East, from grape juice or dates. [Arabic "debs"]--World Book Dictionary, 1976.
Actually, it’s an ad-duck-tion. I missed the perfect opportunity to say, “and they’re in a row, too!” Silly goose.
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Thoughts on Plato's "Euthyphro"
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What is “right”? What is “good”? How do you know if what you are doing is right? What is the measure of “good”? Age old problems, age old questions. Nearly four hundred years preceding the birth of Jesus, a Greek priest and a philosopher wrestled with these issues. Specifically, they discussed the matter of piety. What is piety? That’s the beauty of this conversation.
Meeting at Magistrate court, the priest wondered what the philosopher was doing there. The philosopher explains he is being indicted for corrupting the younger generations by rejecting the state gods and replacing them with his own. [I can't resist posting a clip from one of most favorite movies of all time, ever, "Fun With Dick and Jane" . . . I could loop this movie and never tire of it.]
Back to serious.
What was the priest doing in court? He is prosecuting his father for killing a man who killed another man. How does piety fit into all this? The priest feels he is able to press his case on the grounds that he knows more about divine matters than most men and his prosecution is an act of piety. One can almost picture the philosopher (Socrates) stroking his chin thinking, “oh, really?” Socrates puts Euthyphro (Εὐθύφρω, pronounced “U-thif-ro”) to the test by asking this pompous know-it-all to teach him all he knows about piety, starting with a definition and despite every effort, the priest simply cannot do it.
One feature of the conversation that should not go missed hinges on the reason Socrates is being indicted: he “thinks” and there is no room for this in a pantheon of ancient gods. This is important because Euthyphro is convinced he knows all there is to know about what pleases the gods. First, Socrates rejects Euthyphro’s first definition of piety saying, “you did not teach me adequately . . . but you told me what you that what you are doing now, prosecuting your father for murder, is pious.” There are many pious actions. Next, the priest says, “what is dear to the gods is pious.” Socrates reminds Euthyphro that the gods are known to quarrel with one another, but if they can’t agree on what is beautiful, good and just, then what is dear to them? Zeus may approve of the prosecution, but what if Kronos or Uranus disapprove? The conversation wanders about like a wind-up toy and Socrates (this writer imagines) enjoys watching the man talk himself into revealing his own ignorance. By the way, “Euthyphro” in Greek means, “think in a straight line.”
A major portion of the conversation centers on the question: what do the gods love? If it is the pious, then the gods must not love the impious. Do the gods love the pious because it is something to be loved, or is it being loved because they love it? If sacrifice (giving gifts to gods who already have all they need) and prayer (begging from the gods for what is needed) is piety, then piety is merely a trading skill between gods and men. Euthyphro prosecutes his father for murder because the priest is religious. It’s too bad in the end that the priest literally runs off leaving Socrates ignorant.
What is “right”? What is “good”? How do you know if what you are doing is right? What is the measure of “good”? Socrates gives a hint very early when he begs for an absolute by which to compare all things. We must know what that is because we all agree that something can be called “right” or “good.” We may not agree on what is beautiful, but we all know there exists a thing called “beauty.” I think this measuring tool is connected with the conscience (“con” meaning “with”; and “science” meaning “knowledge”).
July 2004 I went to Kenya, Africa to speak in two Pastor’s Conferences on the subject of Man, Sin and Salvation. At the end of each day I left just over an hour for questions (half the time were questions touching the subject of my lectures, and the other half for “open questions”; that is, people could ask anything). For the next few weeks, I will be sharing the questions that were asked of me, and my answers—and believe me when I say these people really know how to think! Question from Kenya #1: “Men and women who saw God in the Bible: Why did they not all die?” [“ But He said, ‘You cannot see My face, for no man can see Me and live! ’” (Exodus 33:20) was the basis of the student’s question]. Answer: First, consider those who did see God—how did they respond when they saw Him? They were instantly aware of their sinfulness, and God’s holiness and righteousness (to name a few. And notice also that each responded in an attitude of worship, bowing down): Abraham built altars, wors
“My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee, Wherewith whole shoals of martyrs once did burn, Besides their other flames? Doth poetry Wear Venus' livery? only serve her turn? Why are not sonnets made of thee? and lays Upon thine altar burnt? Cannot thy love Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight? Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the fame, Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name! Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose Than that, which one day, worms may chance refuse. Sure Lord, there is enough in thee to dry Oceans of ink; for, as the Deluge did Cover the earth, so doth thy Majesty: Each cloud distills thy praise, and doth forbid Poets to turn it to another use. Roses and lilies speak thee; and to make A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse Why should I women's eyes for crystal take? Such poor invention burns in their low mind Wh
“In primitive times, when man awakes in a world that is newly created, poetry awakes with him. In the face of the marvellous things that dazzle and intoxicate him, his first speech is a hymn simply. He is still so close to God that all his meditations are ecstatic, all his dreams are visions. His bosom swells, he sings as he breathes. His lyre has but three strings—God, the soul, creation; but this threefold mystery envelopes everything, this threefold idea embraces everything. The earth is still almost deserted. . . . He leads that nomadic pastoral life with which all civilizations begin, and which is so well adapted to solitary contemplation, to fanciful reverie. He follows every suggestion, he goes hither and thither, at random. His thought, like his life, resembles a cloud that changes its shape and its direction according to the wind that drives it. Such is the first man, such is the first poet. He is young, he is cynical. Prayer is his sole religion, the ode is his only form of