Pagels
Diversity of early
Christians
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Tertullian: The Prescriptions
Against the Heretics |
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Tertullian, the son of a
centurion, was a North African Christian writer and cleric from The principal set of beliefs against which Tertullian
wrote were those held by the Gnostics. Their interpretation of Christianity
stressed a democratic, non-hierarchical community. Men and women led worship,
interpreted sacred writings, and believed that constant intellectual
questioning and "seeking" brought them closer to an understanding
of, and union with, their God. For example, as Elaine Pagels notes,
the Gospel of Thomas urges readers to: ...bring forth what is within you,
what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within
you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you." On the other hand, the strand of early Christianity which came
to dominate all others, and provides the foundation for modern Christianity,
stressed a hierarchical organization, a restriction of the priesthood to men,
and absolute obedience to a prescribed set of beliefs. This is the
Christianity Tertullian defends below. Tertullian begins on a
reassuring note, assuring his audience that the emergence of heresies should
not disturb any orthodox believer. 1. The times we live in provoke me to remark that we ought not
to be surprised either at the occurrence of the heresies, since they were
foretold, or at their occasional subversion of faith, since they occur
precisely in order to prove faith by testing it. To be scandalized, as many
are, by the great power of heresy is groundless and unthinking. What power
could it have if it never occurred? When something is unquestionably destined
to come into existence, it receives, together with the purpose of its
existence, the force by which it comes to exist and which precludes its
non-existence. He emphasizes that the most dangerous heresies claim to embody
the "true" inheritance of Jesus of Nazareth and his teachings. 4. Instead of dwelling on such things let us keep in mind the
Lord's sayings and the apostles' letters, which warned us that heresies would
come and ordered us to shun them. Feeling, as we do, no alarm at their
occurrence, we need not be surprised at their ability to perform that which
compels us to shun them. The Lord
teaches that many ravening wolves will come in sheep's clothing. What is this
sheep's clothing but the outward profession of the name
"Christian"? The ravening wolves are the crafty thoughts and
impulses lurking within to attack Christ's flock. The false prophets are the
false preachers, the false apostles the spurious evangelists, the
antichrists, now as ever, the rebels against Christ. Today heresy plays this
part. The assaults of its perverse
teaching upon the Church are no whit less severe than the dreadful
persecutions which the anti-christ will carry out
in his day. In fact they are worse. Persecution at least makes martyrs:
heresy only apostates. Tertullian next assembles
linguistic evidence to prove how antithetical heresy is to the orthodox
Christian. He reserves his greatest contempt for the idea of choice: for him,
Christianity is a revealed truth, interpreted by the orthodox priesthood,
which the ordinary believed need never question. 6. I need say no more on that point, for it is the same Paul
who elsewhere, when writing to the Galatians, classes heresy among the sins
of the flesh, and who counsels Titus to shun a heretic after the first
reproof because such a man is perverted and sinful, standing self-condemned.
Besides, he censures heresy in almost every letter when he presses the duty of avoiding false doctrine,
which is in fact the product of heresy. This is a Greek word meaning
choice, the choice which anyone exercises when he teaches heresy or adopts
it. That is why he calls a heretic self-condemned; he chooses for himself the
cause of his condemnation. We
Christians are forbidden to introduce anything on our own authority or to
choose what someone else introduces on his own authority. Our authorities are
the Lord's apostles, and they in turn chose to introduce nothing on their own
authority. They faithfully passed on to the nations the teaching which they
had received from Christ. So we should
anathematize even an angel from heaven if he were to preach a different
gospel. The Holy Ghost had
already at that time foreseen that an angel of deceit would come in a virgin
called Philumene, transforming himself into an
angel of light, by whose miracles and tricks Apelles
was deceived into introducing a new heresy. Tertullian reserves his
greatest contempt for classical
philosophy, which encourages individuals to question, to doubt and to
decide for themselves what actions and beliefs might constitute Christianity.
Marcion and Valentinus,
whom he mentions below, were Gnostic teachers from the later second century
CE. 7. These are human and demonic
doctrines, engendered for itching ears by the ingenuity of that worldly
wisdom which the Lord called foolishness, choosing the foolish things of the
world to put philosophy to shame. For worldly wisdom culminates in philosophy
with its rash interpretation of God's nature and purpose. It is philosophy
that supplies the heresies with their equipment. From philosophy come the aeons and those infinite forms--whatever they are--and Valentinus's human trinity. He had been a Platonist. From
philosophy came Marcion's God, the better for his
inactivity. He had come from the Stoics. The idea of a mortal soul was picked
up from the Epicureans, and the denial of the restitution of the flesh was
taken over from the common tradition of the philosophical schools. Zeno
taught them to equate God and matter, and Heracleitus
comes on the scene when anything is being laid down about a god of fire.
Heretics and philosophers perpend the same themes
and are caught up in the same discussions. What is the origin of evil, and
why? The origin of man, and how? And-Valentinus's
latest subject-what is the origin of God? No doubt in Desire and Abortion! A plague on Aristotle, who taught them
dialectic, the art which destroys as much as it builds, which changes its
opinions like a coat, forces its conjectures, is stubborn in argument, works
hard at being contentious and is a burden even to itself. For it reconsiders
every point to make sure it never finishes a discussion. From philosophy come those fables and endless genealogies and
fruitless questionings, those "words that creep like as doth a
canker." To hold us back from such things, the Apostle testifies
expressly in his letter to the Colossians that we should beware of
philosophy. "Take heed lest any
man circumvent you through philosophy or vain deceit, after the tradition of
men," against the providence of the Holy Ghost. He had been at Tertullian believed that once
an individual had chosen Christianity as a faith s/he must abandon "seeking"
for any further enlightenment. Further seeking led inevitably to error and to
heresy. In the following sections of the Prescription, Tertullian
sets out his argument. 9. However, I shall now make you a present of that point.
Suppose that "Seek, and ye shall
find" was said to us all. Even then it would be wrong to determine
the sense without reference to the guiding principles of exegesis. No word of
God is so unqualified or so unrestricted in application that the mere words
can be pleaded without respect to their underlying meaning. My first principle is this. Christ laid down one definite system of truth which the world must
believe without qualification, and which we must seek precisely in order to
believe it when we find it. Now you cannot search indefinitely for a
single definite truth. You must seek until you find, and when you find, you
must believe. Then you have simply to keep what you have come to believe,
since you also believe that there is nothing else to believe, and therefore
nothing else to seek, once you have found and believed what he taught who
bids you seek nothing beyond what he taught. If you feel any doubt as to what
this truth is, I undertake to establish that Christ's teaching is to be found
with us. For the moment, my confidence in my proof allows me to anticipate
it, and I warn certain people not to seek for anything beyond what they came
to believe, for that was all they needed to seek for. They must not
interpret, "Seek, and ye shall find,"
without regard to reasonable methods of exegesis. 10. The reasonable exegesis of this saying turns on three
points: matter, time, and limitation. As to matter, you are to consider what
is to be sought; as to time, when; and as to limitation, how far. What you must seek is what Christ taught,
and precisely as long as you are not finding it, precisely until you do find
it. And you did find it when you came to believe. You would not have
believed if you had not found, just as you would not have sought except in
order to find. Since finding was the object of your search and belief of your
finding, your acceptance of the faith debars any prolongation of seeking and
finding. The very success of your seeking has set up this limitation for you.
Your boundary has been marked out by him who would not have you believe, and
so would not have you seek, outside the limits of his teaching. But if we are bound to
go on seeking as long as there is any possibility of finding, simply
because so much has been taught by others as well, we 'shall be always seeking and never believing. What end will there
be to seeking? What point of rest for belief? Where the fruition of
finding? With Marcion? But Valentinus
also propounds: "Seek, and ye shall find."
With Valentinus? But Apelles
also will knock at my door with the same pronouncement, and Ebion and Simon and the whole row of them can find no
other way to ingratiate themselves with me and bring
me over to their side. There will be no end, as long as I meet everywhere
with, "Seek and ye shall find," and I shall wish I had never begun
to seek, if I never grasp what Christ taught, what should be sought, what
must be believed. 11. We may go astray without harm if we do not go wrong though
to go astray is to go wrong; we may wander without harm, I mean, if no
desertion is intended. However, if I once believed what I ought to believe
and now think I must seek something else afresh, presumably I am hoping that
there is something else to be found. But I should never have hoped that,
unless I had either never believed, though I seemed to, or else had stopped
believing. So in deserting my faith I am shown up as an apostate. Let me say
once for all, no one seeks unless there is something he did not possess or
something he has lost. The old woman in the parable had lost one of her ten
pieces of silver, and so she began to seek it. When she found it, she stopped
seeking. The neighbour had no bread, so he began to
knock. When the door was opened and he was given the bread, he stopped
knocking. The widow kept asking to be heard by the judge because she was not
being granted an audience. When she was heard, she insisted no longer.... 12. Even if we ought to be seeking now and always, where
should we seek? Among the heretics, where everything is strange and hostile
to our truth, men we are forbidden to approach? What slave expects his food
from a stranger, let alone his master's enemy? What soldier hopes to get
bounty or pay from neutral, let alone hostile, kings? Unless of course he is
a deserter or a runaway or a rebel! Even the old woman was seeking the piece
of silver inside her own house. Even the man who was knocking hammered at his
neighbour's door. Even the widow was appealing to a
judge who, though hard, was not hostile. Instruction and destruction never
reach us from the same quarter. Light and darkness never come from the same
source. So let us seek in our own territory, from our own friends and on our
own business, and let us seek only what can come into question without
disloyalty to the Rule of Faith. |
1. Will to Power vs. Self-Preservation. Physiologists should think before
putting down the instinct of self-preservation as the cardinal instinct of an
organic being. A living
thing seeks above all to discharge its strength- — life itself is will
to power; self-preservation is only one of the indirect and most frequent
results. (Beyond Good and Evil, Section 13)
2. Truth and Will to
Power. The
falseness of a judgment is for us not necessarily an objection to a judgment;
in this respect our new language may sound strangest. The question is to what extent it is
life-promoting, species-preserving, perhaps even
species-cultivating. (Beyond Good and Evil, Section 4)
3. Will to Power and
Organic Functions.
Suppose we succeeded in explaining our entire instinctive life as the
development and ramification of one basic form of the will — namely, of the
will to power, as my proposition has it; suppose all organic functions could be
traced back to this will to power and one could also find in it the solution of
the problem of procreation and nourishment — then one would have gained the
right to determine all efficient force univocally as will to power. The world
viewed from the inside, the world defined and determined according to its
"intelligible character" — it would be "will to power" and
nothing else. (Beyond Good and Evil, Section 36)
4. Will to Power and
Equality. To
refrain from mutual injury, mutual violence, mutual exploitation, to equate
one’s own will with that of another: this may In a certain rough sense become
good manners between individuals if the conditions for it are present (namely,
if their strength and value standards are in fact similar and they both belong
to one social group). As soon as there is a desire to take this principle
further, however, and if possible even an the
fundamental principle of society, it at once reveals itself for what it is: as
the will to the denial of life, as the principle of dissolution and decay. Life itself is essentially
appropriation, injury, overpowering of the strange and weaker, suppression,
severity, imposition of one’s own forms, incorporation
and, at the least and mildest, exploitation. ‘Exploitation’ does not pertain to
a corrupt or imperfect or primitive society: it pertains to the essence of the
living thing as a fundamental organic function, it is
a consequence of the intrinsic will to power which is precisely the will of
life. (Beyond Good and Evil, Section 259)
5. Life and Obedience. But that you may understand my teaching
about good and evil, I shall relate to you my teaching about life and about the
nature of all living creatures. Wherever I found living creatures, there, too,
I heard the language of obedience. All living creatures are obeying creatures.
And this is the second thing: he who cannot obey himself will be commanded. That is the nature
of living creatures. . . .What persuades the living creature to obey and to
command and to practice obedience even in commanding? Where I found a living
creature, there I found will to power: and even in the will of the servant I
found the will to be master. The will of the weaker persuades it to serve the
stronger; its will wants to be master over those weaker still: this delight
alone it is unwilling to forgo. And as the lesser surrenders to the greater,
that it may have delight and power over the least of all, so the greatest, too,
surrenders and for the sake of power stakes — life. He who shot the doctrine of — will to existence —
at truth certainly did not hit the truth: this will does not exist. For
what does not exist cannot will; but that which is in existence, how could it
still want to come into existence? Only where life is, there is also will: not
will to life, but — so I teach you — will to power. The living creature values
many things higher than life itself: yet out of this evaluation itself speaks
—the will to power. (Thus Spoke Zarathustra,
II, Of Self-Overcoming)
II. Noble and Slave Moralities
1. Nobility. The
noble type of man experiences itself as determining values; it does not need
approval; it judges, "what is harmful to me is harmful in itself";
it knows itself to be that which first accords honor to things; it is
value-creating. Everything it knows as part of itself it honors: such a
morality is self-glorification. In the foreground there is the feeling of
fullness, of power that seeks to overflow, the happiness of high tension, the
consciousness of wealth that would give and bestow: not from pity, but prompted
more by excess of power over himself, who knows how to speak and be silent, who
delights in being severe and hard with himself and respects all severity and
hardness. (Beyond Good and Evil, Section 260)
[So “noble man” makes the values of good and then says that
utilitarianism is that which does the most good for the most people.]
2. Pathos of Distance.
Now it is plain to me, first of all, that in this theory [Utilitarianism] the
source of the concept "good" has been sought and established in the
wrong place: the judgment "good" did not originate with those
to whom "goodness" was shown! Rather it was "the good" themselves, that is to
say, the noble, powerful, high-stationed and high-minded, who felt and
established themselves and their actions as good, that is, of the first rank,
in contradistinction to all the low, low-minded, common and plebeian. It
was out of this pathos of distance that they first seized the right to
create values and to coin names for values: what had they to do with utility!
The viewpoint of utility is a remote and inappropriate as it possibly could be
in face of such a burning eruption of the highest rank-ordering, rank-defining
value judgments: for here feeling has attained the antithesis of that low
degree of warmth which any calculating prudence, any calculus of utility,
presupposes -- and not for once only, not for an exceptional hour, but for
good. The pathos of nobility and distance, as aforesaid, the protracted and
domineering fundamental total feeling on the part of a higher ruling order in
relation to a lower order, to a "below" -- that is the origin
of the antithesis "good" and "bad." (From Genealogy of
Morals, First Essay, section 2)
3. Whom Do You Call
Bad? — Those who always want to put to shame. What do you consider most
humane? — to spare someone shame. What is the seal of attained
freedom? — no longer being ashamed in front of
oneself. (Gay Science, Sections 273 - 275) [i.e. the noble man
doesn’t let shame overtake him.]
4. Slave Morality.
It is different with the
second type of morality, slave morality. Suppose the violated, the
oppressed, suffering, unfree,
who are uncertain of themselves and weary, moralize: what will their moral
valuations have in common? Probably, a pessimistic suspicion about the whole
condition of man will find expression, perhaps a condemnation of man along with
his condition. The slave’s
eye is not favorable to the virtues of the powerful: he is skeptical and
suspicious, subtly suspicious, of all the "good" that is honored
there — he would like to persuade himself that even their happiness is not
genuine. Conversely, those qualities are brought out and flooded with
light which serve to ease existence for those who suffer: here pity, the
complaisant and obliging hand, the warm heart, patience, industry, humility,
and friendliness are honored — for here these are the most useful qualities and
almost the only means for enduring the pressure of existence. Slave morality is essentially a
morality of utility. (Beyond Good and Evil, Section 260)
5. Slave Morality: A Morality of Reaction. The slave revolt in
morality begins when resentment itself becomes creative and gives birth to
values: the resentment of natures that are denied the true reaction, that of
deeds, and compensate themselves with an imaginary revenge. While every noble morality
develops from a triumphant affirmation of itself, slave morality from the
outset says No to what is "outside," what is "different,"
what is "not itself"; and this No is its creative deed. This
inversion of the value-positing eye -- this need to direct one's view outward
instead of back to oneself -- is of the essence of resentment: in order to
exist, slave morality always first needs a hostile external environment: it
needs, physiologically speaking, external stimuli in order to act at all -- its
action action is fundamentally reaction.
The reverse is the case with the noble mode of valuation: it acts
and grows spontaneously, it seeks its opposite only so as to affirm itself more
gratefully and triumphantly -- its negative concept "low,"
"common," "bad" is only a subsequently-invented pale,
contrasting image in relation to its positive basic concept -- filled with life
and passion through and through -- "we noble ones, we good beautiful,
happy ones!" (From Genealogy of Morals, First Essay, section 10)
6. "Good and Bad" vs. "Good and Evil." To be incapable of taking one's
enemies, one's accidents, even one's misdeeds seriously for very long -- that
is the sign of strong, full natures in whom there is an excess of the power to
form, to mold, to recuperate and to forget. . . Such a man shakes off
with a single shrug many vermin that eat deep into others; here alone genuine
"love of one's enemies" is possible -- supposing it to be possible at
all on earth. How much reverence has a noble man for his enemies! -- and such reverence is a bridge to love. -- For he desires his enemy for
himself, as his mark of distinction; he can endure no other enemy than one in
whom there is nothing to despise and very much to honor! In contrast to
this, picture "the enemy" as the man of resentment conceives him --
and here precisely is his deed, his creation: he has conceived "the evil
enemy," "the Evil One," and this in fact is his basic concept,
from which he then evolves, as an afterthought and pendant, a "good
one" -- himself!
This, then, is quite the contrary of what the noble
man does, who conceives the basic concept
"good" in advance and spontaneously out of himself and only then
creates for himself an idea of "bad"! This "bad" of noble origin and that
"evil" out of the cauldron of unsatisfied hatred -- the former an
after-production, a side issue, a contrasting shade, the latter on the contrary
the original thing, the beginning, the distinctive deed in the conception of a
slave morality -- how different these words "bad" and
"evil" are, although they are both apparently the opposite of the
same concept "good." But it is not the same concept
"good"; one should ask rather precisely who is
"evil" in the sense of the morality of resentment. The answer, in all
strictness, is: precisely the "good man" of the other morality,
precisely the noble, powerful man, the ruler, but dyed in another color,
interpreted in another fashion, seen in another way by the venomous eye of
resentment. (From Genealogy of Morals, First Essay, sections 10
and 11)
7. The Primary Function of Ascetic Morality. It will be immediately
obvious that such a self-contradiction as the ascetic appears to represent, —
life against life — is, physiologically, a simple absurdity. It can only be
apparent . . . Let us replace the usual interpretation of asceticism with a
brief formulation of the facts of the matter: the ascetic ideal springs from
the protective instinct of a degenerating life which tries by all means to
sustain itself and to fight for its existence; it indicates a partial
physiological obstruction and exhaustion against which the deepest instincts of
life, which have remained intact, continually struggle with new expedients and
devices. The ascetic ideal is such an expedient; the case is therefore the
opposite of what those who reverence this ideal believe; life wrestles in it
and through it with death and against death; the ascetic ideal is an artifice for the preservation of
life. (Genealogy of Morals, III, 13)
8. The Genesis of
Ascetic Values. Would anyone like to take a look into the secret of how
ideals are made on earth? Who has the courage? — Very well! Here is a point we
can see through into this dark workshop. . . — I see
nothing, but I hear more. There is a soft, wary, malignant muttering and
whispering coming from all the corners and nooks. It seems to me one is lying;
a saccharine sweetness clings to every sound. Weakness is being lied into something meritorious,
no doubt of it, and lowliness which does not requite into ‘goodness of heart’;
anxious lowliness into ‘humility’; subjection to those one hates into
obedience’ (that is, to one of whom they say he commands this subject — they
call him God). The inoffensiveness of the weak man, even the cowardice of which
he has so much, his lingering at the door, his being ineluctably compelled to
wait, here acquire flattering names, such as ‘patience,’ and are even called
virtue itself; his inability for revenge is called unwillingness to revenge,
perhaps even forgiveness. They also speak of ‘loving one’s enemies’ — and sweat
as they do. (From Genealogy of Morals, III, 14)
9. Altering the direction of Resentment. We must count the ascetic
priest as the predestined savior, shepherd, and advocate of the sick herd. .
Indeed, he defends his sick herd well enough, this strange shepherd — he also
defends it against itself, against the baseness, spite, malice, and whatever
else is natural to the ailing and sick and smolders within the herd itself; he
fights with cunning and severity and in secret against anarchy and
ever-threatening disintegration within the herd, in which the most dangerous of
all explosives, resentment, is constantly accumulating. So to detonate this
explosive that it does not blow up herd and herdsman is his essential art, as
it is his supreme utility;
if one wanted to express the value of the priestly existence in the briefest
formula it would be: the priest alters the direction of resentment. For
every sufferer instinctively seeks a cause for his suffering; more exactly, an
agent; still more specifically, a guilty agent who is susceptible to suffering
— in short, some living thing upon which he can vent his affects: for the
venting of his affects represents the greatest attempt on the part of the
suffering to win relief, anesthesia. . ."I suffer: someone must be to blame for it — thus
thinks every sickly sheep. Someone must be to blame for it: but you are
yourself this someone, you alone are to blame for it — you alone are to blame
for yourself!" — This is brazen and false enough: but one thing at
least is achieved by it, the direction of resentment is altered. (Genealogy
of Morals, III, 13)
10. Giving Meaning to Suffering. Apart from the ascetic ideal, man, the
human animal, had no meaning so far. His existence on earth contained no goal; "why man at all?"
— was a question without an answer; the will for man and earth was lacking;
behind every great human destiny there sounded as a refrain a yet greater
"in vain." This is precisely what the ascetic ideal means: that
something was lacking, that man was surrounded by a fearful void — he did not
know how to justify, to account for, to affirm himself; he suffered from the
problem of his meaning. He also suffered otherwise, he was in the main a sickly
animal: but his problem
was not suffering itself, but that there was no answer to the crying question,
-why do I suffer?-
Man, the bravest of animals and the one most
accustomed to suffering, does not repudiate suffering as such; he desires it,
he even seeks it out, provided he is shown a meaning for it, a purpose of
suffering. The meaninglessness of suffering, not suffering itself, was the
curse that layover mankind so far — and the ascetic ideal offered man meaning!
In it, suffering was interpreted; the tremendous void seemed to have been
filled; the door was closed to any kind of suicidal nihilism. . But all this
notwithstanding — man was saved thereby, he possessed a meaning, he was
henceforth no longer like a leaf in the wind, a plaything of nonsense — the
-senseless" — he could now will something; no matter at first to what end:
the will itself was saved.
We can no longer conceal from ourselves what is
expressed by all that willing which has taken its direction from the ascetic
ideal: this hatred of the human, and even more of the animal, and more still of
the material, this horror of the senses, of reason itself, this fear of
happiness and beauty, this longing to get away from all appearance, change,
becoming, death, wishing, from longing itself — all this means — let us dare to
grasp it — a will to nothingness, an aversion to life, a rebellion against the
most fundamental presuppositions of life; but it is and remains a will. . .
And, to repeat in conclusion what I said at the beginning: man would rather will
nothingness than not will. (Genealogy of Morals, III, 28)
11. Morality as Anti-Nature. Admitting that you have understood the
villainy of such a mutiny against life as that which has become almost
sacrosanct in Christian morality, you have fortunately understood something besides;
and that is the futility, the fictitiousness, the absurdity and the falseness
of such a mutiny. For the condemnation of life by a living creature is after
all but the symptom of a definite kind of life: the question as to whether the
condemnation is justified or the reverse is not even raised. In order even to
approach the problem of the value of life, a man would need to be placed
outside life, and moreover know it as well as one, as many, as all in fact, who
have lived it. These are reasons enough to prove to us that this problem is an
inaccessible one to us. When we speak of values, we speak under the
inspiration, and through the optics of life: life itself values through us when
we determine values. From which it follows that even that morality which is
antagonistic to life, and which conceives God as the opposite and condemnation
of life, is only a valuation of life — of what life?
But I have already answered the question: it is the valuation of declining, of
enfeebled, of exhausted and of condemned life. Morality, as it has been understood hitherto is the
instinct of degeneration itself, which converts itself into an imperative: it
says "Perish!" It is the death sentence of men who are already doomed.
(Twilight of the Idols, 5)
III. Religion and
Science.
1. The Ascetic Will to Truth. That which constrains idealists of knowledge, this
unconditional will to truth, is faith in the ascetic ideal itself even if as an
unconscious imperative — don’t be deceived about that — it is faith in a
metaphysical value, the absolute value of truth, sanctioned and guaranteed by
this ideal alone (it stands or falls with this ideal). (Genealogy of Morals,
III, 25)
2. Science and the
Ascetic Ideal. The
truthful man, in the audacious and ultimate sense presupposed by the faith in
science, thereby affirms another world than that of life, nature and history;
and insofar as he affirms this "other world" does this not mean that
he has to deny its antithesis, this world, our world?.
. it is still a metaphysical faith that underlies our faith in science — and we
men of knowledge of today, we godless men and anti-metaphysicians, we, too,
still derive our flame from the fire ignited by a faith millennia old, the
Christian faith, which was also Plato’s, that God is truth, that truth is
divine. — But what if this belief is becoming more and more unbelievable, if
nothing turns out to be divine any longer unless it be
error, blindness, lies — if God himself turns out to be our longest lie? (Gay
Science, 344)
3. The Common Ground
of Science and Religion. No! Don’t come to me with science when I ask for the natural antagonist
of the ascetic ideal, when I demand: "where is the opposing will
expressing the opposing ideal?" Science is not nearly self-reliant enough
to be that; it first requires in every respect an ideal of value, a
value-creating power, in the service of which it could believe in itself — it
never creates values. Its relation to the ascetic ideal is by no means
essentially antagonistic; it might even be said to represent the driving force
in the latter’s inner development. It opposes and fights, on closer inspection,
not the ideal itself but only its exteriors, its guise and masquerade, its
temporary dogmatic hardening and stiffening, and by denying what is exoteric in
this ideal, it liberates what life is in it. This
pair, science and the ascetic ideal, both rest on the same foundation — I have
already indicated it: on the same overestimation of truth (more exactly: on the
same belief that truth is inestimable and cannot be criticized). Therefore they
are necessarily allies, so that if they are to be fought they can only be
fought and called in question together. A depreciation of the ascetic ideal
unavoidably involves a depreciation of science. (Genealogy of Morals,
III, 25)
IV. The Death of God
and Nihilism
1. The Death of God as the Self-Overcoming of Christianity. What, in all strictness has really conquered
the Christian God? The answer may be found in my Gay Science (section
357): "Christian morality itself, the concept of truthfulness taken more
and more strictly, the confessional subtlety of the Christian conscience
translated and sublimated into the scientific conscience, into intellectual
cleanliness at any price. To view nature as if it were a proof of the good and
providence of a God; to interpret history to the glory of a divine reason, as
the perpetual witness to a moral world order and moral intentions; to interpret
one’s own experiences, as pious men long interpreted them, as if everything
were preordained, everything a sign, everything sent for the salvation of the
soul — that now belongs to the past, that has the conscience
against it, that seems to every more sensitive conscience indecent,
dishonest, mendacious, feminism, weakness, cowardice: it is this rigor if
anything that makes us good Europeans and the heirs of Europe’s longest
and bravest self-overcoming.
All great things bring about their own destruction
through an act of self-overcoming: thus the law of life will have it, the law
of the necessity of "self-overcoming" in the nature of life — the
law-giver himself eventually receives the call. . . In this way Christianity as a
dogma was destroyed by its own morality; in the same way Christianity as
morality must now perish too: we stand on the threshold of this event. After
Christian truthfulness has drawn one inference after another, it must end by
drawing its most striking inference, its inference against itself.
2. The Madman.
Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning
hours, ran to the marketplace and cried incessantly: ‘I am looking for God! I am looking for God — As many
of those who did not believe in God were standing together there he excited
considerable laughter. Have you lost him then?’ said one. ‘Did he lose his way
like a child?’ said another. ‘Or is he hiding? I he afraid of
us? Has he gone on a voyage?’ — Thus they shouted and laughed. The
madman sprang into their midst and pierced them with his glances. ‘Where has
God gone?’ he cried. ‘I shall tell you. We have killed him — you and I. We are
all his murderers. But how have we done this? How were we able to drink up the
sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What did we do
when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither
are we moving now? Away from all suns? Are we not
perpetually falling? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there
any up or down left? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing? Do we
not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is more and more
night not coming on all the time? Must not lanterns be lit in the morning? Do
we not hear anything yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God?
Do we not smell anything yet of God’s decomposition? — gods,
too, decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How
shall we, the murderers of all murderers, console ourselves? That which was
holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet possessed has bled to death
under our knives — who will wipe this blood off us? With what water could we
purify ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we need
to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we not
ourselves become gods simply to seem worthy of it?’
‘There
has never been a greater dead — and whoever shall be born after us, for the
sake of this deed he shall be part of a higher history than all history
hitherto.’ Here the madman fell silent and again regarded his listeners;
and they, too, were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw
his lantern to the ground and it broke and went out. ‘I come too early,’ he
said then; ‘my time has not yet come. This tremendous event is still on its
way, still traveling — it has not yet reached the ears of men. Lightning and
thunder require time, deeds require time after they have been done before they
can be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than the most
distant stars -and yet the have done it themselves’ — It has been related
further that on that same day the madman entered diverse churches and there
sang a requiem aeternam deo.
Led out and quieted, he is said to have retorted each time: ‘What are these
churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchers of God?’ (Gay Science,
section 125.)
3. What does nihilism mean? That the highest values devaluate
themselves. The aim is lacking; — why?— finds
no answer. (Will to Power, 2)
4. Christian Morality
and Nihilism. What were the advantages of the
Christian moral hypothesis? (1) It granted man an absolute value, as opposed to
his smallness and accidental occurrence in the flux of becoming and passing
away. (2) It served the advocates of God insofar as conceded to the world, in
spite of suffering and evil, the character of perfection: evil appeared full of
meaning. (3) It posited that man had a knowledge of
absolute values and thus adequate knowledge precisely regarding what is most
important. (4) It prevented man from despising himself as man, from taking sides
against life; from despairing of knowledge: it was a means of preservation. In
sum: morality was the great antidote against practical and theoretical nihilism.
(Will to Power, 4)
5. The Destructive
Phase of Nihilism.
But among the forces cultivated by morality was truthfulness. This eventually
turned against morality, discovered its teleology, its partial perspective —
and now the recognition of this inveterate mendaciousness that one despairs of
shedding becomes a stimulant. Now we discovering ourselves needs implanted by
centuries of moral interpretation — needs that now appear to us as needs for
untruth; on the other hand, the value for which we endure life seems to hinge
on these needs. This antagonism — not to esteem what we know, and not to be allowed
any longer to esteem the lies we should like to tell ourselves — results in a
process of dissolution. (Will to Power, 5)
6. Nihilism as a
Transitional Stage.
The supreme values in whose service man should live, especially when they were
very hard on him and exacted a high price — these social values were erected
over man to strengthen their voice, as if they were commands of God, as
reality,- as the -true" world, as a hope and future world. Now that the
shabby origin of these values (i.e., in resentment) is becoming clear, the
universe seems to have lost value, seems "meaningless" — but that is
only a transitional stage. (Will to Power, 7)
7. Decline of Cosmological Values. Nihilism as a psychological state
will have to be reached, first, when we have sought a "meaning" in
all events that is not there: so the seeker eventually becomes discouraged.
Nihilism, then, is the recognition of the long waste of strength, the agony of
the "in vain," insecurity, the lack of any opportunity to recover and
to regain composure — being ashamed in front of oneself,
as if one had deceived oneself all too long. This meaning could have been: the
"fulfillment" of some high esthetical canon in all events, the moral
world order; or the growth of love and harmony in the intercourse of beings; or
the gradual approximation of a state of universal an annihilation — any goal at
least constitutes some meaning. What all these notions have in common is that
something is to be achieved through the process — and now one realizes that becoming
aims at nothing and achieves nothing. Thus, disappointment regarding an alleged
aim of becoming as a cause of nihilism: whether regarding a specific aim or,
universalized, the realization that all previous hypotheses about aims that
concern the whole -evolution" are inadequate (man no longer the
collaborator, let alone the center, of becoming).
Nihilism as a psychological state is reached,
secondly, when one has posited a totality, a systematization, indeed any
organization in all events, and underneath all events, and a soul that longs to
admire and revere has wallowed in the idea of some supreme form of domination
and administration (if the soul be that of a logician, complete consistency and
real dialectic are quite sufficient to reconcile it to everything). Some sort
of unity, some form of "monism": this faith suffices to give man a
deep feeling of standing in the context of, and being dependent on, same whole
that is infinitely superior to hit, and he sees himself as a made of the deity.
— "The well-being of the universal demands the devolution of the
individual" — but behold, there is no such universal At bottom, man has
lost the faith in his own value when no infinitely valuable whole works through
him; i.e., he conceived such a whole in order to be able to believe in his own
value.
Nihilism as psychological state has yet a third and
last form. Given these two insights, that becoming has no goal and that
underneath all becoming there is no grand unit" in which the individual
could immerse himself completely as in an element of supreme value, an escape
remains: to pass sentence on this whole world of becoming as a deception and to
invent a world beyond it, a true world. But as soon as man finds out how that
world is fabricated solely from psychological needs, and how he has absolutely
no right to it, the last form of nihilism comes into being: it includes
disbelief in any metaphysical world and forbids itself any belief in a true
world. Having reached this standpoint, one grants the reality of becoming as
the only reality, forbids oneself every kind of clandestine access to
afterworlds and false divinities — but cannot endure this world though one does
not want to deny it.
What has happened, at bottom? The feeling of valuelessness was reached with the realization that the
overall character of existence may not be interpreted by means of the concept
of "aim," the concept of "unity," or the concept of
"truth." Existence has no goal or end; any comprehensive unity in the
plurality of events is lacking: the character of existence is not
"true," is false. One simply lacks any reason for convincing oneself
that there is a true world. Briefly: the categories — "aim,"
"unity," "being" which we used to project some value into
the world — we pull out again; so the world looks valueless.
Suppose we realize how the world may no longer be
interpreted in terms of these three categories, and that the world begins to
become valueless for us after this insight: then we have to ask about the sources
of our faith in these three categories. Let us try if it is not possible to
give up our faith in them. Once we have devaluated these three categories, the
demonstration that they cannot be applied to universe is no longer any reason
for devaluating the universe.
Conclusion: The faith in the categories of reason is
the cause of nihilism. We have measured the value of the world according to
categories that refer to a purely fictitious world. Final conclusion: All the
values by means of which we have tried so far to render the world estimable for
ourselves and which then proved inapplicable and therefore devaluated the world
— all these values are, psychologically considered, the results of certain
perspectives of utility, designed to maintain and increase human constructs of
domination — and they have been falsely projected into the essence of things.
What we find here is still the hyperbolic naiveté of man: positing himself as the meaning and measure of the value of things. (Will
to Power, 12)
1. The Will to Eternal
Recurrence. What,
if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest
loneliness and say to you: "This life as you now live it and have lived
it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will
be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh
and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to
you, all in the same succession and sequence — even this spider and this
moonlight between the trees and even this moment and I myself. The eternal
hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and again, and you with it,
speck of dust!"
Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth
and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous
moment when you would have answered him: — "You are a god and never have I
heard anything more divine." — If this thought gained possession of you,
it would change you as you are or perhaps crush you. The question in each and
every thing, "Do you desire this once more and innumerable times
more?" would lie upon your actions as the greatest weight. Or how well
disposed would you have to become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more
fervently than this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal? (Gay Science,
341)
2. Eternal Recurrence
and Nihilism. Let
us think this thought in its most terrible form: existence as it is, without
meaning or aim, yet recurring inevitably without any finale of nothingness: the
eternal. This is the most extreme form of nihilism: the nothing (the
meaningless), eternally! The European form of Buddhism: the energy of knowledge
and strength compels this belief. It is the most scientific of all possible
hypotheses. We deny end goals: if existence had one it would have to have been
reached. (Will to Power, 55)
3. Eternal Recurrence
and Spinoza’s Pantheism. So one understands that an antithesis to pantheism is attempted here:
for "everything perfect, divine, eternal"
also compels a faith in the "eternal recurrence." — Question: does
morality make impossible this pantheistic affirmation of all things too? At
bottom, it is only the moral god that has been overcome. Does it make sense to
conceive a god — beyond good and evil—? Would a pantheism
in this sense be possible? Can we remove the idea of a goal from the process
and then affirm the process in spite of this? This would be the case if
something were attained at every moment within this process — and always the
same. Spinoza reached such an affirmative position in so far as every moment
has a logical necessity, and with his basic instinct, which was logical, he
felt a sense of triumph that the world should be constituted that way. (Will
to Power, 55)
4. Eternal Recurrence
and the World Affirmation beyond All Pessimism. Whoever has endeavored with some
enigmatic longing, as I have, to think pessimism through to its depths and to
liberate it from the half-Christian, half-German narrowness and simplicity in
which it has finally presented itself to our century, namely, in the form of
Schopenhauer's philosophy; whoever has really, with an Asiatic and
supra-Asiatic eye, looked into, down into the most world-denying of all
possible ways of thinking -- beyond good and evil and no longer, like the
Buddha and Schopenhauer, under the spell and delusion of morality -- may just
thereby, without really meaning to do so, have opened his eyes to the opposite
ideal: the ideal of the most high-spirited, alive, and world-affirming human
being who has not only come to terms with whatever was and is, but who wants to
have what was and is repeated into all eternity, shouting insatiably da capo -- not only to himself but at bottom
to him who needs precisely this spectacle -- and who makes it necessary because
again and again he needs himself -- and makes himself necessary. ---- What? And
this wouldn't be -- circulus vitiosus deus?
(Beyond Good and Evil, Section 56)
Plato
Provided by The Internet Classics Archive.
See bottom for copyright. Available online at http://classics.mit.edu//Plato/euthyfro.html Euthyphro
By Plato Translated by Benjamin Jowett Persons of the Dialogue
Euthyphro
By Plato
Written 380 B.C.E
Translated by Benjamin Jowett
Persons of the Dialogue
SOCRATES
EUTHYPHRO
Scene
The Porch of the King Archon.
Euthyphro. Why have you left the Lyceum, Socrates? and what are you doing in the Porch of the
King Archon? Surely you cannot be concerned in a suit before the
King, like myself?
Socrates. Not in a suit, Euthyphro;
impeachment is the word which the Athenians use.
Euth. What! I suppose that some one has been prosecuting you, for I cannot believe that you are the prosecutor of another.
Soc. Certainly not.
Euth. Then some one else has been prosecuting you?
Soc. Yes.
Euth. And who is he?
Soc. A young man who is little known, Euthyphro; and I hardly know him: his name
is Meletus, and he is of the deme
of Pitthis. Perhaps you may remember
his appearance; he has a beak, and long straight hair, and a
beard which is ill grown.
Euth. No, I do not remember him, Socrates. But what is
the charge which he brings against you?
Soc. What is the charge? Well, a very serious
charge, which shows a good deal of character in the young man,
and for which he is certainly not to be despised. He says he
knows how the youth are corrupted and who are
their corruptors. I fancy that he must be a wise man, and seeing that I am the reverse of a wise man, he has found me out, and is going
to accuse me of corrupting his young friends. And of this our
mother the state is to be the judge. Of all our political men he
is the only one who seems to me to begin in the right way, with
the cultivation of virtue in youth; like a good husbandman, he
makes the young shoots his first care, and clears away us who
are the destroyers of them. This is only the first step; he will
afterwards attend to the elder branches; and if he goes on as he has begun, he will be a very great public benefactor.
Euth. I hope that he may; but I rather fear, Socrates,
that the opposite will turn out to be the truth. My opinion is
that in attacking you he is simply aiming a blow at the
foundation of the state. But in what way does he say that you
corrupt the young?
Soc. He brings a wonderful accusation against
me, which at first hearing excites surprise: he says that I am a
poet or maker of gods, and that I invent new gods and deny the existence of old ones; this is the
ground of his indictment.
Euth. I understand, Socrates; he means to attack you
about the familiar sign which occasionally, as you say, comes to
you. He thinks that you are a neologian,
and he is going to have you up before the court for this. He
knows that such a charge is readily received by the world, as I
myself know too well; for when I speak in the assembly about divine things,
and foretell the future to them, they laugh at me and think me a
madman. Yet every word that I say is true. But they are jealous of us all; and we must be brave and go at them.
Soc. Their laughter, friend Euthyphro,
is not a matter of much consequence. For a man may be thought
wise; but the Athenians, I suspect, do not much trouble
themselves about him until he begins to impart his wisdom to
others, and then for some reason or other, perhaps, as you say, from
jealousy, they are angry.
Euth. I am never likely to try their temper in this way.
Soc. I dare say not, for you are reserved in
your behaviour, and seldom impart your
wisdom. But I have a benevolent habit of pouring out myself to
everybody, and would even pay for a listener, and I am afraid that
the Athenians may think me too talkative. Now if, as I was saying, they
would only laugh at me, as you say that they laugh at you, the time might
pass gaily enough in the court; but perhaps they may be in earnest, and
then what the end will be you soothsayers only can predict.
Euth. I dare say that the affair will end in nothing,
Socrates, and that you will win your cause; and I think that I
shall win my own.
Soc. And what is your suit, Euthyphro?
are you the pursuer or the defendant?
Euth. I am the pursuer.
Soc. Of whom?
Euth. You will think me mad when I tell you.
Soc. Why, has the fugitive
wings?
Euth. Nay, he is not very volatile at his time of life.
Soc. Who is he?
Euth. My father.
Soc. Your father! my
good man?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. And of what is he accused?
Euth. Of murder, Socrates.
Soc. By the powers, Euthyphro!
how little does the common herd know of
the nature of right and truth. A man
must be an extraordinary man, and have made great strides in
wisdom, before he could have seen his way to bring such an
action.
Euth. Indeed, Socrates, he must.
Soc. I suppose that the man whom your father
murdered was one of your relatives-clearly he was; for if he
had been a stranger you would never have thought of prosecuting
him.
Euth. I am amused, Socrates, at your making a distinction
between one who is a relation and one who is not a relation;
for surely the pollution
is the same in either case, if you knowingly associate with the
murderer when you ought to clear yourself and him by proceeding against him. The real question is whether the murdered man has been
justly slain. If justly, then your duty is to let the matter
alone; but if unjustly, then even if the murderer lives under
the same roof with you and eats at the same table, proceed
against him. Now the man who is dead was a poor dependent of
mine who worked for us as a field labourer on our
farm in
Soc. Good heavens, Euthyphro! and is your knowledge of religion and of
things pious and impious so very exact, that, supposing the circumstances to be as you state them, you are not afraid lest you too may be
doing an impious thing in bringing an action against your
father?
Euth. The best of Euthyphro, and that which distinguishes him,
Socrates, from other men, is his exact knowledge of all such matters. What should I be good for without it?
Soc. Rare friend! I think that I cannot do better than be your disciple. Then before the trial with
Meletus comes on I shall challenge him,
and say that I have always had a great interest in religious questions, and now, as he charges me with rash imaginations and innovations
in religion, I have become your disciple. You, Meletus, as I shall say to him, acknowledge Euthyphro to be a great theologian, and sound in his opinions;
and if you approve of him you ought to approve of me, and not
have me into court; but if you disapprove, you should begin by
indicting him who is my teacher, and who will be the ruin, not
of the young, but of the old; that is to say, of myself whom he
instructs, and of his old father whom he admonishes and
chastises. And if Meletus refuses to listen to me,
but will go on, and will not shift the indictment from me to
you, I cannot do better than repeat this challenge in the
court.
Euth. Yes, indeed, Socrates; and if he attempts to indict
me I am mistaken if I do not find a flaw in him; the court
shall have a great deal more to say to him than to me.
Soc. And I, my dear friend, knowing this, am
desirous of becoming your disciple. For I observe that no one
appears to notice you- not even this Meletus;
but his sharp eyes have found me out at once, and he has
indicted me for impiety. And therefore, I adjure you to tell me the
nature of piety and impiety, which you said that you knew so well, and
of murder, and of other offences against the gods. What are they? Is not piety in every action always the same? and
impiety, again- is it not always the opposite of piety, and
also the same with itself, having, as impiety, one notion which
includes whatever is impious?
Euth. To be sure, Socrates.
Soc. And what is piety, and what is impiety?
Euth. Piety is doing as I am doing; that is to say,
prosecuting any one who is guilty of murder, sacrilege, or of
any similar crime-whether he be your father or mother, or
whoever he may be-that makes no difference; and not to
prosecute them is impiety. And please to consider, Socrates, what
a notable proof I will give you of the truth of my words, a proof which
I have already given to others:-of the principle, I mean, that the impious,
whoever he may be, ought not to go unpunished. For do not men regard
Zeus as the best and most righteous of the gods?-and yet they admit that he bound his father (Cronos)
because he wickedly devoured his sons, and that he too had
punished his own father (Uranus) for a similar reason, in a
nameless manner. And yet when I proceed against my father, they are angry with me. So inconsistent are they in their way of talking
when the gods are concerned, and when I am concerned.
Soc. May not this be the reason, Euthyphro,
why I am charged with impiety-that I cannot away with these
stories about the gods? and therefore
I suppose that people think me wrong. But, as you who are well informed
about them approve of them, I cannot do better than assent to your
superior wisdom. What else can I say, confessing as I do, that I know nothing about them? Tell me, for the love of Zeus, whether you
really believe that they are true.
Euth. Yes, Socrates; and things more wonderful still, of which the world is in ignorance.
Soc. And do you really believe that the gods,
fought with one another, and had dire quarrels, battles, and
the like, as the poets say, and as you may see represented in
the works of great artists? The temples are full of them; and
notably the robe of Athene, which is carried up to the Acropolis at the great Panathenaea,
is embroidered with them. Are all these tales of the gods true,
Euthyphro?
Euth. Yes, Socrates; and, as I was saying, I can tell
you, if you would like to hear them, many other things about
the gods which would quite amaze you.
Soc. I dare say; and you shall tell me them at
some other time when I have leisure. But just at present I
would rather hear from you a more precise answer, which you
have not as yet given, my friend, to the question, What is "piety"? When asked, you only replied,
Doing as you do, charging your father
with murder.
Euth. And what I said was true, Socrates.
Soc. No doubt, Euthyphro;
but you would admit that there are many other pious acts?
Euth. There are.
Soc. Remember that I did not ask you to give me two or three examples of piety, but to explain the general idea which makes all
pious things to be pious. Do you not recollect that there was
one idea which made the impious impious,
and the pious pious?
Euth. I remember.
Soc. Tell me what is the nature of this idea, and then I shall
have a standard to which I may look, and by which I may measure actions, whether yours or those of any one else, and then I shall be able
to say that such and such an action is pious, such another impious.
Euth. I will tell you, if you like.
Soc. I should very much like.
Euth. Piety, then, is that which is dear to the gods, and
impiety is that which is not dear to them.
Soc. Very good, Euthyphro; you have now given
me the sort of answer which I wanted. But whether what you say
is true or not I cannot as yet tell, although I make no doubt
that you will prove the truth of your words.
Euth. Of course.
Soc. Come, then, and let us examine what we are saying. That
thing or person which is dear to the gods is pious, and that thing or
person which is hateful to the gods is impious, these two being the extreme opposites of one another. Was not that said?
Euth. It was.
Soc. And well said?
Euth. Yes, Socrates, I thought so; it was certainly said.
Soc. And further, Euthyphro,
the gods were admitted to have enmities and hatreds and
differences?
Euth. Yes, that was also said.
Soc. And what sort of difference creates enmity
and anger? Suppose for example that you and I, my good friend,
differ about a number; do differences of this sort make us
enemies and set us at variance with one another? Do we not go
at once to arithmetic, and put an end to them by a sum?
Euth. True.
Soc. Or suppose that we differ about magnitudes,
do we not quickly end the differences by measuring?
Euth. Very true.
Soc. And we end a controversy about heavy and
light by resorting to a weighing machine?
Euth. To be sure.
Soc. But what differences are there which
cannot be thus decided, and which therefore make us angry and
set us at enmity with one another? I dare say the answer does
not occur to you at the moment, and therefore I will suggest
that these enmities arise when the matters of difference are
the just and unjust, good and evil, honourable and dishonourable. Are not these the points
about which men differ, and about which when we are unable
satisfactorily to decide our differences, you and I and all of
us quarrel, when we do quarrel?
Euth. Yes, Socrates, the nature of the differences about which we quarrel is such as you describe.
Soc. And the quarrels of the gods, noble Euthyphro, when they occur, are of a like
nature?
Euth. Certainly they are.
Soc. They have differences of opinion, as you
say, about good and evil, just and unjust, honourable
and dishonourable: there would have
been no quarrels among them, if there had been no such differences-would there now?
Euth. You are quite right.
Soc. Does not every man love that which he
deems noble and just and good, and hate the opposite of them?
Euth. Very true.
Soc. But, as you say, people regard the same
things, some as just and others as unjust,-about these they
dispute; and so there arise wars and fightings
among them.
Euth. Very true.
Soc. Then the same things are hated by the gods
and loved by the gods, and are both hateful and dear to them?
Euth. True.
Soc. And upon this view the same things, Euthyphro,
will be pious and also impious?
Euth. So I should suppose.
Soc. Then, my friend, I remark with surprise
that you have not answered the question which I asked. For I
certainly did not ask you to tell me what action is both pious
and impious: but now it would seem that what is loved by the
gods is also hated by them. And therefore, Euthyphro,
in thus chastising your father you may very likely be doing
what is agreeable to Zeus but disagreeable to Cronos or Uranus, and what is acceptable to Hephaestus
but unacceptable to Here, and there may be other gods
who have similar differences of opinion.
Euth. But I believe, Socrates, that all the gods would be
agreed as to the propriety of punishing a murderer: there would
be no difference of opinion about that.
Soc. Well, but speaking of men, Euthyphro, did you ever hear any one
arguing that a murderer or any sort of evil-doer ought to be
let off?
Euth. I should rather say that these are the questions
which they are always arguing, especially in courts of law:
they commit all sorts of crimes, and there is nothing which
they will not do or say in their own defence.
Soc. But do they admit their guilt, Euthyphro, and yet say that they ought not
to be punished?
Euth. No; they do not.
Soc. Then there are some things which they do
not venture to say and do: for they do not venture to argue
that the guilty are to be unpunished, but they deny their
guilt, do they not?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. Then they do not argue that the evil-doer
should not be punished, but they argue about the fact of who
the evil-doer is, and what he did and when?
Euth. True.
Soc. And the gods are in the same case, if as
you assert they quarrel about just and unjust, and some of them
say while others deny that injustice is done among them. For
surely neither God nor man will ever venture to say that the
doer of injustice is not to be punished?
Euth. That is true, Socrates, in the main.
Soc. But they join issue about the
particulars-gods and men alike; and, if they dispute at all,
they dispute about some act which is called in question, and
which by some is affirmed to be just, by others to be unjust.
Is not that true?
Euth. Quite true.
Soc. Well then, my dear friend Euthyphro, do tell me, for my better
instruction and information, what proof have you that in the opinion
of all the gods a servant who is guilty of murder, and is put in chains
by the master of the dead man, and dies because he is put in chains before he who bound him can learn from the interpreters of the
gods what he ought to do with him, dies unjustly; and that on
behalf of such an one a son ought to proceed against his father
and accuse him of murder. How would you show that all the gods
absolutely agree in approving of his act? Prove to me that they
do, and I will applaud your wisdom as long as I live.
Euth. It will be a difficult task; but I could make the matter very dear indeed to you.
Soc. I understand; you mean to say that I am
not so quick of apprehension as the
judges: for to them you will be sure to prove that the act is
unjust, and hateful to the gods.
Euth. Yes indeed, Socrates; at least if they will listen to me.
Soc. But they will be sure to listen if they
find that you are a good speaker. There was a notion that came
into my mind while you were speaking; I said to myself: "Well, and what if Euthyphro does
prove to me that all the gods regarded the death of the serf as
unjust, how do I know anything more of the nature of piety and
impiety? for granting that this action
may be hateful to the gods, still piety and impiety are not adequately
defined by these distinctions, for that which is hateful to the
gods has been shown to be also pleasing and dear to them." And therefore, Euthyphro, I do not ask you to prove
this; I will suppose, if you like, that all the gods condemn
and abominate such an action. But I will amend the definition
so far as to say that what all the gods hate is impious, and
what they love pious or holy; and what some of them love and others hate is both or neither. Shall this be our definition of piety and
impiety?
Euth. Why not, Socrates?
Soc. Why not! certainly,
as far as I am concerned, Euthyphro, there
is no reason why not. But whether this admission will greatly assist you in the task of instructing me as you promised,
is a matter for you to consider.
Euth. Yes, I should say that what all the gods love is
pious and holy, and the opposite which they all hate, impious.
Soc. Ought we to enquire into the truth of this, Euthyphro,
or simply to accept the mere statement on our own authority and
that of others? What do you say?
Euth. We should enquire; and I believe that the statement
will stand the test of enquiry.
Soc. We shall know better, my good friend, in a
little while. The point which I should first wish to understand
is whether the pious or holy is beloved by the gods because it
is holy, or holy because it is beloved
of the gods.
Euth. I do not understand your meaning, Socrates.
Soc. I will endeavour
to explain: we, speak of carrying and
we speak of being carried, of leading and being led, seeing and being seen. You know that in all such cases there is a difference, and
you know also in what the difference lies?
Euth. I think that I understand.
Soc. And is not that which is beloved distinct
from that which loves?
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. Well; and now tell me, is that which is
carried in this state of carrying because it is carried, or for
some other reason?
Euth. No; that is the reason.
Soc. And the same is true of what is led and of
what is seen?
Euth. True.
Soc. And a thing is not seen because it is
visible, but conversely, visible because it is seen; nor is a
thing led because it is in the state of being led, or carried
because it is in the state of being carried, but the converse
of this. And now I think, Euthyphro, that my meaning will be intelligible; and
my meaning is, that any state of action or passion implies
previous action or passion. It does not become because it is
becoming, but it is in a state of becoming because it becomes; neither does it suffer because it is in a state of suffering, but it is in
a state of suffering because it suffers. Do you not agree?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. Is not that which is loved in some state
either of becoming or suffering?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. And the same holds as in the previous
instances; the state of being loved follows the act of being
loved, and not the act the state.
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. And what do you say of piety, Euthyphro: is not piety, according to your
definition, loved by all the gods?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. Because it is pious or
holy, or for some other reason?
Euth. No, that is the reason.
Soc. It is loved because it is holy, not holy
because it is loved?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. And that which is dear to the gods is
loved by them, and is in a state to be loved of them because it
is loved of them?
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. Then that which is dear to the gods, Euthyphro, is not holy, nor is that which
is holy loved of God, as you affirm; but they are two different
things.
Euth. How do you mean, Socrates?
Soc. I mean to say that the holy has been acknowledge by us to be loved of God because
it is holy, not to be holy because it is loved.
Euth. Yes.
Soc. But that which is dear to the gods is dear
to them because it is loved by them, not loved by them because
it is dear to them.
Euth. True.
Soc. But, friend Euthyphro,
if that which is holy is the same with that which is dear to
God, and is loved because it is holy, then that which is dear
to God would have been loved as being dear to God; but if that
which dear to God is dear to him because loved by him, then that which
is holy would have been holy because loved by him. But now you see that
the reverse is the case, and that they are quite different from one another. For one (theophiles) is of a
kind to be loved cause it is loved, and the other (osion) is loved because it is of a kind to be loved. Thus you appear to me, Euthyphro, when I ask
you what is the essence of holiness, to offer
an attribute only, and not the essence-the attribute of being loved by all the gods. But you still refuse to explain to me the
nature of holiness. And therefore, if you please, I will ask
you not to hide your treasure, but to tell me once more what
holiness or piety really is, whether dear to the gods or not
(for that is a matter about which we will not quarrel) and what
is impiety?
Euth. I really do not know, Socrates, how to express what
I mean. For somehow or other our arguments, on whatever ground
we rest them, seem to turn round and walk away from us.
Soc. Your words, Euthyphro,
are like the handiwork of my ancestor Daedalus;
and if I were the sayer or propounder
of them, you might say that my arguments walk away and will not
remain fixed where they are placed because I am a descendant of
his. But now, since these notions are your own, you must find
some other gibe, for they certainly, as you yourself allow,
show an inclination to be on the move.
Euth. Nay, Socrates, I shall still say that you are the Daedalus who sets arguments in motion;
not I, certainly, but you make them move or go round, for they
would never have stirred, as far as I am concerned.
Soc. Then I must be a greater than Daedalus: for whereas he only made his own
inventions to move, I move those of other people as well. And
the beauty of it is, that I would rather not. For I would give the wisdom of Daedalus,
and the wealth of Tantalus, to be able to detain them and keep
them fixed. But enough of this. As I perceive
that you are lazy, I will myself endeavor to show you how you
might instruct me in the nature of piety; and I hope that you
will not grudge your labour. Tell me,
then-Is not that which is pious necessarily just?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. And is, then, all which is just pious? or, is that which is pious all just, but
that which is just, only in part and not all, pious?
Euth. I do not understand you, Socrates.
Soc. And yet I know that you are as much wiser
than I am, as you are younger. But, as I was saying, revered
friend, the abundance of your wisdom
makes you lazy. Please to exert yourself, for there is no real
difficulty in understanding me. What I mean I may explain by an illustration of what I do not mean. The poet (Stasinus)
sings-
Of Zeus, the author and creator of all these things,
You will not tell: for where there is fear there is also
reverence. Now I disagree with this poet. Shall I tell you in what respect?
Euth. By all means.
Soc. I should not say that where there is fear
there is also reverence; for I am sure that many persons fear
poverty and disease, and the like evils, but I do not perceive
that they reverence the objects of their fear.
Euth. Very true.
Soc. But where reverence is, there is fear; for
he who has a feeling of reverence and shame about the
commission of any action, fears and is afraid of an ill
reputation.
Euth. No doubt.
Soc. Then we are wrong in saying that where
there is fear there is also reverence; and we should say, where
there is reverence there is also fear. But there is not always
reverence where there is fear; for fear is a more extended
notion, and reverence is a part of fear, just as the odd is a
part of number, and number is a more extended notion than the
odd. I suppose that you follow me now?
Euth. Quite well.
Soc. That was the sort of question which I
meant to raise when I asked whether the just is always the
pious, or the pious always the just; and whether there may not
be justice where there is not piety; for justice is the more
extended notion of which piety is only a part. Do you dissent?
Euth. No, I think that you are quite right.
Soc. Then, if piety is a part of justice, I
suppose that we should enquire what part? If you had pursued
the enquiry in the previous cases; for instance, if you had
asked me what is an even number, and what part of number the
even is, I should have had no difficulty in replying, a number
which represents a figure having two equal sides. Do you not agree?
Euth. Yes, I quite agree.
Soc. In like manner, I want you to tell me what
part of justice is piety or holiness, that I may be able to
tell Meletus not to do me injustice,
or indict me for impiety, as I am now adequately instructed by
you in the nature of piety or holiness, and their opposites.
Euth. Piety or holiness, Socrates, appears to me to be
that part of justice which attends to the gods, as there is the
other part of justice which attends to men.
Soc. That is good, Euthyphro;
yet still there is a little point about which I should like to
have further information, What is the meaning
of "attention"? For attention can hardly be used in the same sense when applied to the gods as when applied to other things. For
instance, horses are said to require attention, and not every
person is able to attend to them, but only a person skilled in
horsemanship. Is it not so?
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. I should suppose that the art of
horsemanship is the art of attending to horses?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. Nor is every one qualified to attend to
dogs, but only the huntsman?
Euth. True.
Soc. And I should also conceive that the art of
the huntsman is the art of attending to dogs?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. As the art of the ox herd is the art of
attending to oxen?
Euth. Very true.
Soc. In like manner holiness or piety is the
art of attending to the gods?-that would be your meaning, Euthyphro?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. And is not attention always designed for
the good or benefit of that to which the attention is given? As
in the case of horses, you may observe that when attended to by
the horseman's art they are benefited and improved, are they
not?
Euth. True.
Soc. As the dogs are benefited by the
huntsman's art, and the oxen by the
art of the ox herd, and all other things are tended or attended
for their good and not for their hurt?
Euth. Certainly, not for their hurt.
Soc. But for their good?
Euth. Of course.
Soc. And does piety or holiness, which has been
defined to be the art of attending to the gods, benefit or
improve them? Would you say that when you do a holy act you
make any of the gods better?
Euth. No, no; that was certainly not what I meant.
Soc. And I, Euthyphro,
never supposed that you did. I asked you the question about the
nature of the attention, because I thought that you did not.
Euth. You do me justice, Socrates; that is not the sort of attention which I mean.
Soc. Good: but I must still ask what is this attention
to the gods which is called piety?
Euth. It is such, Socrates, as servants show to their masters.
Soc. I understand-a sort of ministration to the
gods.
Euth. Exactly.
Soc. Medicine is also a sort of ministration or service, having
in view the attainment of some object-would you not say of health?
Euth. I should.
Soc. Again, there is an art which ministers to
the ship-builder with a view to the attainment of some result?
Euth. Yes, Socrates, with a view to the building of a ship.
Soc. As there is an art which ministers to the housebuilder with a view to the building of
a house?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. And now tell me, my good friend, about the
art which ministers to the gods: what work does that help to
accomplish? For you must surely know if, as you say, you are of
all men living the one who is best instructed in religion.
Euth. And I speak the truth, Socrates.
Soc. Tell me then, oh tell me-what is that fair work which the
gods do by the help of our ministrations?
Euth. Many and fair, Socrates, are the works which they do. Soc. Why, my friend, and so are those
of a general. But the chief of them is easily told. Would you
not say that victory in war is the chief of them?
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. Many and fair, too, are the works of the
husbandman, if I am not mistaken; but his chief work is the
production of food from the earth?
Euth. Exactly.
Soc. And of the many and fair
things done by the gods, which is the chief or principal one?
Euth. I have told you already, Socrates, that to learn
all these things accurately will be very tiresome. Let me
simply say that piety or holiness is learning, how to please
the gods in word and deed, by prayers and sacrifices. Such piety, is the salvation of families and states, just as the impious, which is unpleasing to the gods, is their ruin and
destruction.
Soc. I think that you could have answered in
much fewer words the chief question which I asked, Euthyphro, if you had chosen. But I see
plainly that you are not disposed to instruct me-dearly not: else why,
when we reached the point, did you turn, aside? Had you only answered me I should have truly learned of you by this time the-nature of
piety. Now, as the asker of a question is necessarily dependent
on the answerer, whither he leads-I must follow; and can only
ask again, what is the pious, and what is piety? Do you mean
that they are a, sort of science of praying and sacrificing?
Euth. Yes, I do.
Soc. And sacrificing is giving to the gods, and
prayer is asking of the gods?
Euth. Yes, Socrates.
Soc. Upon this view, then piety is a science of
asking and giving?
Euth. You understand me capitally, Socrates.
Soc. Yes, my friend; the. reason
is that I am a votary of your science, and give my mind to it,
and therefore nothing which you say will be thrown away upon
me. Please then to tell me, what is the nature of this service
to the gods? Do you mean that we prefer requests and give gifts
to them?
Euth. Yes, I do.
Soc. Is not the right way of asking to ask of
them what we want?
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. And the right way of giving is to give to
them in return what they want of us. There would be no, in an
art which gives to any one that which he does not want.
Euth. Very true, Socrates.
Soc. Then piety, Euthyphro,
is an art which gods and men have of doing business with one
another?
Euth. That is an expression which you may use, if you like.
Soc. But I have no particular liking for
anything but the truth. I wish, however, that you would tell me
what benefit accrues to the gods from our gifts. There is no
doubt about what they give to us; for there is no good thing
which they do not give; but how we can give any good thing to
them in return is far from being equally clear. If they give
everything and we give nothing, that must be an affair
of business in which we have very greatly the advantage of
them.
Euth. And do you imagine, Socrates,
that any benefit accrues to the gods from our gifts?
Soc. But if not, Euthyphro,
what is the meaning of gifts which are conferred by us upon the
gods?
Euth. What else, but tributes of honour;
and, as I was just now saying, what pleases them?
Soc. Piety, then, is pleasing to the gods, but not beneficial or dear to them?
Euth. I should say that nothing could be dearer.
Soc. Then once more the assertion is repeated
that piety is dear to the gods?
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. And when you say this, can you wonder at
your words not standing firm, but walking away? Will you accuse
me of being the Daedalus who makes
them walk away, not perceiving that there is another and far greater
artist than Daedalus who makes them go round in a
circle, and he is yourself; for the argument, as you will
perceive, comes round to the same point. Were we not saying
that the holy or pious was not the same with that which is
loved of the gods? Have you forgotten?
Euth. I quite remember.
Soc. And are you not saying that what is loved
of the gods is holy; and is not this the same as what is dear
to them-do you see?
Euth. True.
Soc. Then either we were wrong in former
assertion; or, if we were right then, we are wrong now.
Euth. One of the two must be true.
Soc. Then we must begin again and ask, What is piety? That is an enquiry which I
shall never be weary of pursuing as far as in me lies; and I
entreat you not to scorn me, but to apply your mind to the utmost,
and tell me the truth. For, if any man knows, you are he; and therefore I must detain you, like Proteus, until you tell. If you had not
certainly known the nature of piety and impiety, I am confident
that you would never, on behalf of a serf, have charged your
aged father with murder. You would not have run such a risk of
doing wrong in the sight of the gods, and you would have had
too much respect for the opinions of men. I am sure, therefore, that
you know the nature of piety and impiety. Speak out then, my dear Euthyphro, and do not hide your knowledge.
Euth. Another time, Socrates; for I am
in a hurry, and must go now.
Soc. Alas! my companion, and will you leave me
in despair? I was hoping that you would instruct me in the
nature of piety and impiety; and then I might have cleared
myself of Meletus and his indictment. I would have told him that I had been enlightened by Euthyphro,
and had given up rash innovations and speculations, in which I
indulged only through ignorance, and that now I am about to
lead a better life.
THE END