Lazarus and Miracles

The raising of Lazarus in John 11:1-46 is a unique miracle not because it drastically breaks the form of the synoptic miracles, but because it uses that form for a grander purpose. In this miracle story, John reveals an emotional side of Jesus: he weeps. This is surprising as well as extremely moving. Jesus shows an emotional aspect of his personality. Furthermore, the miracle Jesus performs in this story is truly miraculous: He raises a man from the dead. This serves to glorify Jesus’ power, as well as set him above any other healer. 

John uses the same typical features of miracles as the synoptics: setting, action, proof, the response of the onlookers, and a purpose. The story of Lazarus is set in an ordinary town (Bethany), as are many of the synoptic miracles, and begins much the same as the other miracles. 

Jesus follows the formulaically simple method of healing, exclaiming, “Lazarus, come out!” (Jn 11:43). This phrase immediately brings to mind the healing of Jairus’ daughter, who was thought to be dead, with the simple words “‘Talitha cum...Little girl, get up!’” (Mk 5:41). Indeed, these two miracles highlight the many similarities between the raising of Lazarus and the synoptic miracles. But it also highlights the differences between the stories. In both cases, Jesus is called upon to heal someone who is dead. The difference is that in the case of Jairus’ daughter, the proof of her death comes from an onlooker, rather than an authoritative source. In the case of Lazarus, John tells us in the narrative that “when Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days” (Jn 11:17). Jesus also says, “Lazarus is dead” (Jn 11:14). This would seem to point to a plan: rather than wandering through a city and responding to a call for help (Mk 5:35-36), Jesus deliberately waits until Lazarus is dead before going to his aid. 

This delay serves to heighten the effect of the cure of Lazarus. When Lazarus walks out of the tomb, alive and well, it is a strong image: a dead man walking, still wrapped in his burial cloth. In the case of Jairus’ daughter, the argument could be made that she really was just sleeping, as Jesus said (Mk 5:39), But in the case of Lazarus, this rationalization of the miracle is impossible. Lazarus died, was prepared for burial, entombed, and “already there [was] a stench” of death about the tomb (Jn 11:39). Lazarus is definitely dead until Jesus resurrects him, and Jesus performs a true miracle. 

The response of the onlookers is also unique in the story of the raising of Lazarus for two reasons. The first is that there is much more text devoted to it than in the case of the synoptic miracles, which usually explain that Jesus either commanded the people that “no one should know” (Mk 5:43), or to tell everyone. However, in the case of Lazarus, Jesus gives no command whatsoever, and the people are split in their attitude towards him. Some come to believe in Jesus as the Messiah, while others go to warn the Pharisees (Jn 11:45-46). Here, John reveals a glimpse of the plot to kill Jesus: devoting twelve verses to this plot where normally one sentence suffices to state the onlookers’ reactions. 

The purpose of this miracle, in the words of Jesus, is “for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it” (Jn 11:4). Jesus is not simply helping someone in need, as is the case with Jairus’ daughter. He deliberately waits until Lazarus dies so that he can perform this miracle, and by doing so, glorify God and his own work. John introduces a calculation that had not been evident before. In the synoptic miracle stories, Jesus does not have an obvious ulterior motive: in this case he very clearly does. 

The raising of Lazarus is also very different from the synoptic miracles because Jesus shows an emotion: he weeps for the death of Lazarus. This man was a dear friend of his (Jn 11:3). This serves to make Jesus seem more human, while also making the moment all the more powerful. This is not a small task for Jesus: he did not want Lazarus to die: it bothers Jesus that he did. 

These similarities and differences between the raising of Lazarus and the synoptic miracles serve to set a new message in a familiar format. John uses the synoptic format to enhance and glorify Jesus’ power in a way the synoptics did not. With the raising of Lazarus, Jesus is set apart from every other healer. His power to heal is above anyone else’s. When he says, “I am the resurrection and the life” (Jn 11:25), it is not an idle statement. We are given proof of this ability. John enhances and increases the majesty of Jesus’ powers and abilities by making sure that anyone who reads or hears the story of Lazarus knows that Jesus made the impossible possible: he made the dead live again. 

John does not drastically change the format of the miracle narrative from that of the synoptic miracles. Rather, he uses the familiar format to bring a previously unknown element into the picture: a true miracle with a motive. John introduces a Jesus who anguishes over the death of his friend, even though he knows it was the plan all along for Lazarus to die and be resurrected. The story of Lazarus serves to set Jesus apart from anyone else of his time, for he completes an impossible task.

The Wisdom of King Solomon

King Solomon is widely known for his great wisdom and association with the queen of Sheba. Most people have heard the story of two mothers fighting over one child (1 Kings 3:16-28), and the construction of the first temple would probably sound familiar. King Solomon is often an idealized biblical figure: a man of unequaled wisdom, wealth, and prosperity. Where Solomon’s wisdom stems from, and how that relates to his dealings with foreigners such as the queen of Sheba and the building of the temple is somewhat less clear, and the end of his story less well known. 

King Solomon was not born wise. Rather, his wisdom is given to him by God. God speaks to him and says, “ask what I should give you” (1 Kings 3:5), to which Solomon responds that he desires wisdom, so that he may “govern this your great people” (1 Kings 3:9). He does not ask for riches, military might, or even wisdom for himself. King Solomon’s wisdom is a wisdom for his people, the people of Israel. Due to the divine nature of his wisdom, Solomon is accorded the distinction of being the wisest man that ever lived or that will live (1 Kings 3:12). He uses his wisdom to “discern what is right” (1 Kings 3:12) as a great judge of Israel. King Solomon becomes well known for his great intelligence and wisdom, for “ the wisdom of God was in him, to execute justice” (1 Kings 3:28). It is important to remember that he used his wisdom for justice, and not personal gain. The Lord recognized this, and therefore granted Solomon “riches and honor all [his] life,” promising, “no other king shall compare with you” (1 Kings 3:13), though Solomon did not wish for these things. 

Solomon’s immense wisdom enabled him to quickly gain power throughout Israel and the surrounding areas. We are reminded that because Solomon’s wisdom was “as vast as the sand on the seashore...his fame spread throughout all the surrounding nations” (1 Kings 4:29-31). King Solomon becomes a beacon of knowledge because of his divine gift. People come from all over the middle east to hear the wisdom of King Solomon, to ask advice of him (1 Kings 4:34). 

One such traveler is the queen of Sheba, who comes to test King Solomon with riddles (1 Kings 10:1). We see his power revealed in the great gifts of “spices, and very much gold, and precious stones” (1 Kings 10:2; cf. 10:10). This great camel caravan of gifts brings with it the image of a vassal paying tribute to their Lord: in many ways it appears that the queen of Sheba, once she has determined the validity of Solomon’s wisdom and the wealth of his court, has submitted to it and his power (1 Kings 10:4-5). Perhaps because of his great wealth and power, King Solomon is highly tolerant of foreigners, even explicitly asking God to “do according to all that [a foreigner] calls to you, so that all the peoples of the earth my know your name and fear you” (1 Kings 8:41-43). In contrast to many of his predecessors who slaughtered entire cities, King Solomon allows “all the people...who were not of Israel...who were still left in the land, whom the Israelites were unable to destroy completely” to live in Israel as slaves (1 Kings 9:20-21). 

But this foreign influence is corrupting. While foreigners in the general population are disrupting Israelite society, Solomon is blatantly ignoring God’s restrictions on marrying foreigners, “for they will surely incline your heart to follow their gods,” (1 Kings 11:1-2) and instead loves many foreign women. Indeed it comes to pass that King Solomon leaves the fold of the Lord, and “followed Atarte the goddess of the Sidonians, and Milcom the abomination of the Ammonites” (1 Kings 11:5). Because of his interactions with foreigners, and especially foreign women, Solomon’s kingdom is destroyed during the life of his son (1 Kings 11:12). The Bible shows quite clearly the cost paid by allowing too much mingling with foreigners: they will corrupt even the best of men, and tempt them away from God. These passages are a clear warning to the Israelites and anyone reading the book not to fully trust a foreigner, and not allow them into your lands. 

Prior to the corruption of Solomon, and the breaking of his agreement with God, Solomon is favored by the Lord, and is destined to build the first temple in Israel (1 Kings 5:5). For ancient readers, the descriptions of the temple would have greatly impressed them with “the splendor of Solomon’s reign” (editor’s comment 1 Kings 6:1-22), while today they seem excessively long and overly detailed. At the time of their writing, however, they would have instilled a sense of awe and wonder in the reader, or more likely, the listener. The description of the temple paints a very detailed mental image of the temple: anyone who knew of this section would have known the important aspects of the architecture of the temple. The temple is to be the house of the Lord, for him to dwell within as he looks over Israel. But it is also a great unifying event for Israel. “All the people of Israel assembled to King Solomon...all the elders of Israel came...” (1 Kings 8:2-4) to sacrifice to the Lord, and reaffirm their commitment to the commandments of God. Such is the people’s commitment to this cause that they stay for seven days, and “on the eighth day [Solomon] sent the people away...and [they] went to their tents, joyful and in good spirits because of all the goodness that the Lord had shown...his people” (1 Kings 8:66). This event is very important to all the Israelites. 

The three themes of wisdom, foreigners, and the building of the first temple are linked in First Kings through their effects on Solomon and Israel as a whole. Solomon’s wisdom is tied to the temple, for it was preordained that he would be the one to build it (1 Kings 5:5), and as a result of being the one chosen, is granted great wisdom. Furthermore, it is wise of Solomon to build the temple, for it brings all of Israel together for a momentous event in their history. For the first time, the nation has a true center: a great temple to the Lord their God. The one condition God has is that “you will walk before me, as David...walked, with integrity of heart and uprightness, doing according to what I have commanded...and keeping my statutes and my ordinances” (1 Kings 9:3-5). Failure to do so will bring about utter ruin for Israel. Through foreigners, and in Solomon’s case specifically foreign women, this ruin comes to pass. Foreigners are the wedge driven between Solomon and God: they tempt and seduce him away from the righteous path. Because they are not bound by God’s covenant, they are outside the social system of the Israelites, but because they are allowed to remain within it as slaves and aliens (and in some cases wives), they serve to fracture Israel from within. 

Despite King Solomon’s great wisdom and power, and the monumental achievement he makes in constructing the first temple in Israel, he is still a man. And as a man, he is tempted by foreign women and their foreign gods (1 Kings 11:5). After the well known accounts of wisdom and incredible wealth comes the less often heard fall of Solomon, and the ensuing exile of Israel. Foreigners and their influence on even the wisest of Israelites brought about the destruction of a kingdom, and are the reason for the resettlement of Israelites to Babylon. 

Human good in accordance with Excellence

In Book I, chapter seven of the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle makes an argument for human good being a life of reason: including activities in accordance with human excellence. He uses three fundamental steps to make this argument: first, Aristotle gives an account of the good and what it is. Next, he defines the function of man, for this helps clarify what the good is. Finally, he explains how the function of man relates to the good, and why his argument for a life of reason is correct. I will mirror these steps: describing Aristotle’s account of the good, the function of man, and finally explaining how the function of man is related to the good. 

Aristotle’s account of the good begins by stating what the good is, and acknowledges that there are many different goods. Next, he addresses incomplete and complete ends. Finally, Aristotle defines the most complete of all ends: happiness. I will address these topics as well: describing each of these points and their use in the overarching argument for the human good. 

The good is the end for which all things are done (1097a, 20). Every action has an end, and the end of that action is the good. The good defines the proper goal of everything. It is important to note that every end requires an action. You cannot achieve an end or the good without an action to move you from the proposed idea to an end. The good of an action cannot be reached without first doing the action. For instance, you cannot achieve music without playing an instrument: music being the end, and the playing of the instrument the action. According to Aristotle, there are also many different goods. In sharp contrast to Plato, Aristotle does not perceive the Form of the Good as the end of all things. Rather, every action has its own individual good. For instance, the good of medicine is health, strategy victory, and architecture a house (1097a, 20). In each of these cases, an action is required to move from the inconclusive idea to the concrete end result. 

The idea of complete and incomplete ends is vital to the continuation of this idea of ends and goods, and is a large part of what sets Aristotle’s conception of the good apart from Plato’s. According to Aristotle, an incomplete end is an end that is accomplished for the achievement of something else (1097a, 25). For instance, you desire wealth (the end of wage-earning) in order to to buy food and other necessities or luxuries. You do not desire wealth for the sake of wealth. An incomplete end defines one good among many: many actions are taken for many different goods, and each of these goods is aimed towards the achievement of a greater good. 

Opposite this idea of incomplete ends, complete ends are those ends that are desired for themselves in and of themselves: a complete end is “desirable in itself and never for the sake of something else” (1097a, 30). A complete end is independent of any other end. To be more precise, the more worthy something is of pursuit in and of itself rather than for some other end, the more complete it is. In other words, the more desirable something is for itself, the more complete an end it is (1097a, 30). In the definition of incomplete ends, I used wealth as an example of an incomplete end, for we use it to gain another end: the procurement of goods. If, however, wealth were a complete end, we would desire wealth for the sake of wealth and wealth alone. We would desire all the wealth imaginable, but not wish to do anything with it. We would simply want to posses endless wealth without any further purpose. A complete end describes a good that is desired for itself and nothing else. It is possible that there may be more than one complete end, and therefore more than one final good, but to be truly complete, it seems that there must be only one complete end. This will become important when describing the most complete of all ends: the chief good. 

Aristotle states that we are seeking the most complete end of all complete ends, if we assume that more than one complete end exists (1097a, 30). Why Aristotle qualifies the statement with this idea of multiple complete ends is unclear, for he certainly seems to think only one true complete end exists. However, this does not affect the argument in any way, for in any case, we are looking for the most complete of complete ends (the complete end that includes all the lesser complete ends). This final complete end must be self-sufficient, meaning that which when “isolated makes life desirable and lacking in nothing” (1097b, 15). This ultimate end, according to Aristotle, is considered happiness. We desire happiness because the possession of it makes us happy, and it is the ultimate end of every end. Happiness is not desired because it will help us achieve any other end: we do not desire happiness because it will bring us more wealth. We desire wealth because it may bring us happiness. In all things, the goal is to increase our happiness through the achievement of the end of the action. Ultimately, we do things because they make us happy. Happiness is “complete and self-sufficient, and is the end of action” (1097b, 20). 

I have just described Aristotle’s account of what the good is, what incomplete and complete ends are, and why happiness is the chief good. These definitions and the account of the good will help define the function of man and how that function relates to the good. I will first discuss why we need to know the function of things in order to know if those things are good. This will include the need to define the function of man (and why man must have a function), and why man has a unique function apart from other living things. I will then address what exactly that function is, and the two major components of man’s function. 

Aristotle believes that we must define the function of man in order to more clearly define the good, for the good “is thought to reside in the function” (1097b, 25). What is good about a given thing is present in its function because without the real use of the thing, it is impossible to know if something is good. Aristotle references “a flute-player, a sculptor, or any artist” (1097b, 25), for the argument for the good residing in function can perhaps be best illustrated through examples. A flute-player plays the flute: a good flute-player plays the flute well. A good sculptor sculpts well. The function of an eye is to see: a good eye sees well. The function of the thing, and whether it is well done, determines whether or not the thing itself is good. In other words, if you know what a thing is supposed to do (what its apparent function is), you know what it should do well. For instance, a knife’s function is to cut: a good knife is sharp. A dull knife may still cut, and fulfill its function as a thing that cuts, but it will cut only soft objects, and will cut them uncleanly and with great effort. A dull knife therefore will not be called a good knife. A sharp knife will cut quickly and cleanly: it fulfills its function as something that cuts, and also does so well. A sharp knife, therefore, will be called a good knife. It fulfills its function, and it carries out its function well. Therefore, a good thing is defined as that which fulfills its given function well. 

Now that we have established why the good resides in the function of a thing, we must determine the function of man, for we are obviously interested in the good as it relates to man rather than any any other creature or object. It is therefore very important to determine what unique quality man has apart from everything else. Aristotle’s first statement is that man must have a function, for if carpenters and tanners have functions, why wouldn’t man? If eyes, ears, limbs, and all the parts of man have functions, man must also have one, and that function must be apart from the the parts that compose man (1097b, 30). Just as an arm consists of fingers to touch and hold, a hand to grasp, an elbow to bend, bicep to lift, and so on; a man consists of his individual parts. But just as an arm does not have the same function as a hand, or a finger, an elbow, or a bicep individually; neither does a man have the same function as his eye or his leg. The interaction of the parts of an arm help determine the function of an arm, so perhaps the interaction of the parts of man can help determine his function. 

We have confirmed that the function of a thing is not simply drawn from the individual functions of its parts, so the function of man is not simply drawn from the parts of man. But the parts and their interactions are related to the function of the thing, and so must be considered in determining the function of man. Therefore, Aristotle first considers life as a function in terms of growth and nutrition (1098a, 1). This would mean that the function of man is to grow and take in nutrients (to live: in the most basic sense of the word). Obviously, this function is not unique to man: plants and animals also possess life in these terms. It therefore seems that growth and nutrition are the function of the purely physical body or form. Physical digestive systems, growth plates, limbs, and organs determine growth and nutrition in all forms of life. Growth and nutrition cannot be unique functions of man. Aristotle next questions that which is more unique than life: perception. Men perceive the world around them. But, as in the case of life, perception is not unique to man. Perception is “common even to the horse, the ox, and every animal” (1098a, 1), for every animal (including man) uses senses to interact with the world around them. The senses of sight, hearing, touch, and so on are not unique in any way to man. Every animal possesses these senses, and though the relative abilities differ (for dogs possess a highly developed sense of smell, and so on), they are all used in the same fundamental ways. 

What function, then, is singularly unique to man and defines his function? Aristotle concludes that this function is “an active life of the element that has a rational principle” (1098a, 1). Aristotle thinks that this is the quality that sets men apart from any other lifeform: the ability to think rationally. Rather than reacting instinctually or in direct response to stimuli, as an animal would, Aristotle is stating here that men can think beyond their immediate needs and desires, and understand why they are doing the things they are doing, choose to do those things, and decide in what fashion they wish to do them. This life with a rational element (1098a, 1)is composed of two parts: the first being obedience to a rational principle, and second the possession of a rational principle and utilization of thought. 

The first part of this life consists of obedience to a rational principle. There is a system in place based upon reason and a given rational principle which governs the way man thinks about and reacts to the world around him. The presence of this rational principle in life does not mean anything unless man obeys it. The function of man cannot consist of “an active life of the element that has a rational principle (1098a, 1) if man does not accept that rational principle and obey it. If man can be shown to go against or otherwise deny the rational principle, it can be shown that this type of life is not the function of man. It is possible that this rational principle exists for animals also, but they do not fulfill the second part of the definition of this type of life. 

The second part: the possession of a rational principle and utilization of thought, ties into the first part, for if there is a rational principle, it is essential that man possess that rational principle, and utilize the rational principle through thought. This second part of the definition of this life is what truly sets man apart from animals. To fulfill his function, man must possess the rational principle, for if he does not possess it, he cannot obey it, mad if he does not obey it, it is impossible for the rational principle to define the unique function of man. Man must own the rational principle and understand it as intimately as he understands his most precious possessions. Man must use the rational principle at all times, and he must utilize the rational principle through thinking and problem solving. Utilization of the rational principle through thought defines the actions of men: and therefore the unique function of man. The rational principle, and the utilization of it, is what defines higher intelligence. The ability to plan in advance, strategize, philosophize, theorize, and carry out rational actions based upon non-sensory input is what defines a life involving the rational principle. Animals do not fulfill this requirement, for they do not think beyond their immediate sensory needs and desires. Man must fulfill the three requirements of a life involving the rational principle. First, he must accept and obey reason and the rational principle. Second, he must possess that rational principle and make it his own. Third, man must use the rational principle to determine his actions through rational thought. By doing these things, man will act in accordance with the rational principle. As shown earlier, the action is required for every end and every function. Neither can be achieved without the action having been taken first. Once the action has been taken (such as cutting), we can discern the theoretical function of the thing acting (the function of a knife being to cut), and based upon the result of the action we can discern whether or not the thing is good (a good knife is one that cuts well). Therefore, if man acts in a rational way, or in a way otherwise in accordance with the rational principle, we can state that “the function of man is an activity of soul in accordance with, or not without, rational principle” (1098a, 5). 

I have just defined the function of man by showing that reason and the ability to posses and exercise thought are qualities unique to man, if he acts in accordance with a rational principle. The element of life that possesses rational principle is singularly human (1098a, 5). I will now use Aristotle’s argument to show how the the function of man (activity of the soul in accordance with rational principle) is related to the good, and why Aristotle’s original argument for human good as the activity of the soul in accordance with excellence is correct and logical. I will begin by defining the function of a good man, before showing how that relates to the conclusion of Aristotle’s argument. 

Aristotle bridges the gap between a man and a good man with a very simple transitive argument: anything that has a function has the same function as the ‘good’ thing: “a so-and-so and a good so-and-so have a function which is the same in kind” (1098a, 5). The difference is that the good version carries out the function better than the non-qualified version. For instance, the end of a carpenter and a good carpenter may be construction: it doesn’t matter if the carpenter in question is good, bad, or somewhere in between. The difference is that a good carpenter does the job better: a good carpenter is better at construction. The aim and function is the same, but the end result of the action has a different quality. Therefore, if we are looking for the most complete end, or the chief good (1097a, 30), then we must be looking for the best version of everything. In the case of man, then, we are in search of what the function of a good man is. According to Aristotle, this function is “the good and noble performance” of “actions of the soul implying a rational principle” (1098a, 10). A good man, to Aristotle, is one that is good at applying the unique function of man: thought and actions related to reason. 

According to Aristotle, an action “is well performed when it is performed in accordance with the appropriate excellence” (1098a, 10). Therefore, in the argument of man, the qualifier “eminence in respect to excellence” is added to the description of man’s function in order to describe the good man, and from here onwards we will discuss the ‘good’ man (1098a, 10) in agreement with the goal of defining the most complete version of the chief good. Remembering that the most current definition of the function of man we have discussed thus far is the “activity of soul in accordance with, or not without, rational principle” (1098a, 5), it is not difficult to modify the function of man to agree with the new idea of excellence in relation to function. Therefore, the final definition of the function of man turns out to be that “human goodness turns out to be an activity of soul in conformity with excellence” (1098a, 15) of the rational principle over the course of a complete life. The qualifier of a complete life is critically important, for a single instance does not define a man, nor the function of man. It is the persistent use of excellence in relation to reason that makes a good man, and which is most indicative of the chief good. 

I have just shown how Aristotle transitions from the original definition of the function of man as “an activity of soul in accordance with, or not without, rational principle” (1098a, 5) to the intermediate stage of a good man’s function being “the good and noble performance” of “actions of the soul implying a rational principle” (1098a, 10), to the final definition of the function of man as and “activity of soul in conformity with excellence” (1098a, 15) of the rational principle over the course of a complete life. This final definition of the function of man brings us back to the original argument: that human good is a life of reason involving activity in accordance with human excellence. 

In this paper, I have done three things: I have described Aristotle’s account of the good in terms of complete and incomplete ends, and the chief good: happiness. I applied this account of the good to the definition of the function of man to determine that “the function of man is an activity of soul in accordance with, or not without, rational principle” (1098a, 5). I then used Aristotle’s argument for the pursuit of the best of all things to show why the definition of a good man is the good or noble pursuit of actions involving the rational principle, and I further used this argument to show that the ultimate function of man is a life of reason full of actions in accordance with excellence.

Socrates’ Argument for Censorship of Stories

In books II and III of the Republic, Socrates asserts that the stories told in his city must be censored before they are told to the citizens and guardians. Socrates finds stories in three main genres particularly problematic. These three genres are stories about the gods and heroes, the underworld of Hades, and stories about human beings. In this paper I will do four things. First, I will address Socrates’ overarching argument for censorship: the impressionability of the general population and youths in particular. Then, I will describe the three genres of stories. After each description, I will address Socrates’ argument for censoring that particular type of story. Finally, I will address the validity of Socrates’ arguments. 

Socrates’ argument for censorship of poets and storytellers in his city stems from the idea that people are impressionable, and are particularly impressionable at a young age. He asserts that “the beginning of any process is most important, especially for anything young and tender” (377b). Therefore, it is essential that the youths of the city are told only stories that are beneficial to society, because “the opinions they absorb at that age are hard to erase, and apt to become unalterable). The youth are, in Socrates opinion, extremely impressionable and apt to internalize the values they hear in stories when they are young. Therefore, it is extremely important for Socrates that the youth be exposed only to stories that will improve their virtues and promote justice. Socrates has no problem with the fact that most stories that are told to youths are false (377a), as long as they they have some truth in them that can benefit the society. These stories are told to provide examples of just behavior, and models of how to live a just and moderate life. As long as the story imparts correct values to the youths, the overall truth of the story is unimportant. Conversely, it is therefore essential that any story that is not directly beneficial to the wellbeing of the city be thrown out (377c), or revised until it becomes useful. Socrates argues that, unfortunately, “the young can’t distinguish what is allegorical from what isn’t” (378d). This means that the youth cannot tell what is true from what isn’t, and are liable to believe anything they are told. For the sake of the city, it is therefore important to ensure that they are only told that which is beneficial to their training as citizens and guardians. In this way, they can be educated in justice and the desired values of the city, while remaining ignorant of any stories that may corrupt their souls. 

I have just described Socrates’ overarching concern for the training of the youth, and his broad argument for the censorship of stories. The youth are impressionable, so they should only be told stories that are beneficial to their training. I will now address the three main genres of concern for Socrates: the gods and heroes, the underworld of Hades, and stories pertaining to human beings. I will also address Socrates’ argument for the censorship of each genre. 

Socrates’ concerns regarding stories about gods and heroes can be broken down into four main categories: stories that pertain to the gods or heroes fighting amongst themselves or committing what we consider terrible crimes, stories that describe gods as tricking or lying to humans, stories that show gods doing bad things to people, and stories that portray gods and heroes being overcome by their desires or passion. I will describe each category and address Socrates’ argument for censorship of each. 

Greek mythology abounds with stories of the gods or heroes fighting each other and acting in ways that are completely unacceptable in civilized society, and especially Socrates’ ideal city. Greek gods are constantly plotting against each other, and fighting each other (378c). The Greek creation myth describes the terrible crimes of Ouranos against his children, and the drastic punishment meted out my Cronos against him, followed by the rise of Zeus over Cronos (377e). Achilles is known to have “dragged the dead Hector around the tomb of Patroclus or massacred the captives on his pyre” (391b), and that Theseus “engaged in terrible kidnappings” (391c). Heroes and gods alike in Greek mythology act in extreme fashions. Socrates maintains that these stories must be censored to ensure that a criminal does not argue that “in committing the worst crimes he’s doing nothing out of the ordinary” because if “he inflicts every type of punishment on an unjust father, he’s only doing the same as the first and greatest of the gods” (378b). If the gods fight and plot against each other, it seems logical that people would as well. Based on the precedence of the gods and heroes, it becomes acceptable for human beings to do likewise if they can point to “similar things...done in the past by close descendants of the gods” (391e). Socrates is attempting to create a city in which “the guardians...think that it’s shameful to be easily provoked into hating one another” (378c). It is therefore essential that in their training they are not told stories of the gods themselves hating each other. If Socrates is to convince the “people that no citizen has ever hated another and that it’s impious to do so” (378c), then it is unacceptable for the first beings (the gods), and their human counterparts (heroes) to have acted that way. If the citizens of the city are to use the gods and heroes as examples of piety and correct behavior, the stories told about them must be conducive to that end. 

Greek mythology also contains many stories in which the gods trick people by appearing an another form than their true self (381d). Myths often tell of Zeus taking different forms to woo mortal women, and of various other gods and goddesses disguising themselves in their dealings with mortals. Socrates finds these stories terribly inaccurate, for if the gods are “the most beautiful and best possible” (381c), they could not possibly cloak themselves as something else, for it is inconceivable that “anyone, whether god or human, would deliberately make himself worse in any way” (381c). Stories of this sort are, to Socrates, simply logically impossible and incorrect. Therefore, they are not to be told to the people of the city. Furthermore, a god could not simply trick a human into thinking they had changed form without actually changing form because no one can be “false to one’s soul about the things that are” (382b), and that form of “true falsehood...is hated by all gods and humans” (382a). 

It is important to note that though Socrates finds stories about the gods committing crimes or acting unjustly incorrect and illogical, he does not necessarily object to them because they are fundamentally untrue, though he has philosophical arguments for why they are in fact false and incorrect accounts of the gods. He objects to them because they illustrate elements of life and morality that he does not want the youth to know of, regardless of the validity of the story. To Socrates, the truth of a story is less important than the message it imparts on the listener. This is why he does not care that the youth are raised being told stories that are, for the most part, complete falsehoods. This ‘brainwashing’ as we might describe it, is not objectionable to Socrates because that is precisely his goal. Socrates wants to indoctrinate the youth of his city with the values that he believes are valuable, to the exclusion of any other values. He does not want unjust or immoderate thoughts to enter the minds of the youth of his city. Therefore, he will educate the youth with only justice and what is right. They will not be exposed to any alternative, and will therefore not exhibit anything immoral or unjust: for how can you be that which you have no knowledge of or have never experienced? In pursuit of this goal, the city must tell falsehoods to the youth in order for them to believe that this is so: that there is nothing but justice and truth. Stories must support this, and so must be tailored to fit this end. 

Socrates takes further issue with stories that claim that both good and bad things come from the gods (380b). Homer claims that “there are two urns at the threshold of Zeus, one filled with good fates, the other with bad ones” (379d). The idea being that all things flow from the gods: the good and the bad, for Zeus is “the distributor of both good and bad” (379e). Socrates, contrary to Homer’s claim, argues that if a god is truly good (which it is agreed they are), then he cannot do harm. If he cannot do harm, he cannot be the cause of anything bad (379b). It also stands to reason, therefore, that if a god is good, he is responsible for good things. Socrates can then claim that “since a god is good, he is not...the cause of everything that happens to human beings but of only a few things, for good things are fewer than bad ones” (379c). It is therefore incorrect to blame bad things on the gods. These stories are deemed “not pious, not advantageous to us, and not consistent with one another” (380c), and should be censored and not told to the youths or the general population. 

Stories about desire and passion overcoming the senses of gods and heroes are also common in Greek mythology, and they pose another problem to Socrates’ city. Often, gods are overtaken by sexual desire, such as in the case of Zeus and Hera, and “the chaining together of Ares and Aphrodite” (390c). Other times, the gods are overcome by “violent laughter” that is “unquenchable” (388e-389a). Achilles is depicted as overcome by “slavishness accompanied by the love of money...and arrogance towards gods and humans” (391c). Socrates does not think that these stories are “suitable for young people to hear––not, in any case, with a view to making them moderate” (390a). If the citizens and guardians of the city are to be moderate, they must not be exposed to tales of gods and heroes acting in such immoderate ways. 

I have just shown why Socrates argues for the censorship of stories dealing with infighting amongst the gods, trickery of humans by the gods, shapeshifting by the gods, and descriptions of the gods being overcome by passion. In each of these cases, Socrates finds fault with either the message the listener could take from the story, or with the logic of the story itself. In either of these cases, the story must not be told to the population or the youths. I will now address Socrates’ concerns about stories pertaining to the underworld: Hades. 

Hades is the dreary underworld of Greek mythology: it is a place to be feared and to avoid, for it is “hated even by the gods” (386d). The afterlife is not pleasant in Hades, and souls “[go] screeching...as when bats fly in an awful cave” (387a). The underworld is to be feared, and people greatly lament those who have died and travelled there. Socrates takes issue with both these ideas: the first being that death should be feared, and the second that the dead should be lamented. Death, Socrates argues, should not be feared, for it will make the guardians cowardly and weak (387c). Instead, the underworld should be praised (386b) and described favorably so that guardians will not fear death. If the guardians are to “fear slavery more than death” (387b) they must not be terrified by Hades. Only if this is true can they truly defend the city and fight to their full capacity. It must be fear of defeat and fear of slavery that motivates them to fight hardest: not fear of death. To the second idea, that the dead should be missed and lamented, Socrates asserts that “a decent man doesn’t think that death is a terrible thing for someone decent to suffer...[and] he won’t mourn for him as for someone who has suffered a terrible fate” (387d). It is cowardly and womanly to mourn the dead (388a). If a man has lived a good life, he should have nothing to fear in the afterlife. It then follows that those left behind (the living) should not mourn his passing, for it is not such a terrible thing after all. Therefore, any story that seeks to convince the listener that Hades is to be feared, or that the dead should be mourned should be banned from the city and not told to the population. 

I have just shown why Socrates argues for the censorship of stories dealing with the underworld of Hades and the afterlife. It is counterproductive in the city to have guardians who fear death and mourn the dead. To be fully effective guardians, they must prefer death to defeat, and not lament the passing of another, for it is not a bad thing to die. I will now address stories told about human beings, and Socrates argument for censorship of those stories. 

Socrates maintains that the issue of stories dealing with human beings cannot be fully resolved, because it requires knowledge about “what sort of thing justice is and how by nature it profits the one who has it” (392c) that they do not yet posses. But, he does list a few of the types of stories that should be censored in the city. Socrates maintains that poets and writers misinform the public by telling us that “many unjust people are happy and many just ones wretched, that injustice is profitable...and that justice is another’s good but one’s own loss” (392b). Further examination of these types of stories is held off for another time, but it is not difficult to see why Socrates would like to see these sort of statements censored. If the three statements about justice and injustice above are true, then there is very little (if any) incentive to be just, and a great deal of incentive to be unjust. If Socrates is to build a city based on justice, where the guardians in particular are unable to act unjustly, it is counterproductive to introduce them to such subversive ideas. 

I have just completed my study of the three genres of stories that Socrates finds problematic: stories about the gods and heroes, the underworld of Hades, and stories about human beings. I have also shown why Socrates argues for the censorship of these types of stories. I will now explain why these arguments for the censorship of stories are successful. 

Socrates argues that young people are malleable and impressionable, that it is unacceptable for the gods and heroes to commit crimes and fight amongst themselves, that the gods do not disguise themselves or trick humans, that the gods are responsible for good things but not bad, that if guardians are to be moderate they must not be told stories of divine passion and desires, that the guardians must not be taught to fear death and the underworld, and that justice must not be portrayed as bad for the individual who is acting justly. If these principles are indoctrinated into the citizens and guardians from a very young age, it is readily apparent that the strategy should work. You can only be that which you have experienced: there is no motivation for acting in a way contrary to what you know. For this reason, the youth, and eventually the guardians, will not act unjustly or immorally, for if they are raised knowing only justice and what is right, they cannot act in any other way. For instance, if a guardian is never exposed to stories telling of infighting amongst the gods, or of the terrors of Hades, there is no reason for him to act similarly towards his fellow citizens, or to fear death. If he never hears about the passion of Achilles (391c), he will not be inspired to act similarly, or use similar historical accounts as an excuse. He will not act in these ways because he will not know that those modes of behavior exist. According to Socrates, this can be accomplished in the ideal city over the course of several generations, given ideal conditions and flawless education by philosophers. By eliminating the telling of these types of stories and themes, Socrates is able to eliminate these harmful elements from his city, and take away any possible justification if someone does act in these fashions. 

In Socrates’ ideal city, it would perhaps be possible for this censorship of stories and general knowledge to take place. However, it the world that we live in, especially in modern times, this tactic of indoctrination is not as realistic a proposition as it might seem. The sheer amount of control that would have to be exercised on the population by the government to promote this system is staggering. There could be no such thing as the internet, international phone calls, free press, or any type of communication with alternative viewpoints. In a city-state such as Athens, or another greek city, this type of isolation could theoretically be possible due to small population and limited contact of the average citizen with outside influences. In this society, the average person had no reason to talk to anyone from outside their city, and in any case would have limited opportunities to do so. The philosopher-kings would have to control the speech of traders, certain merchants, and certain members of the military and government who would be in contact with other city-states. But the general population would not necessarily be a concern, isolated as it would be. 

This is completely different than today, where the average citizen has access to nearly limitless information at the click of a button. Certainly, censorship is possible: China and certain other nations are prime examples of how the government can suppress outside views and commentary. But, there are always whispers of dissent and rumors of different accounts of events. The world today is connected in many more and much more complex ways than the ancient world of Socrates. In practicality, it would be impossible in most situations to completely eliminate dissent or conflicting opinions. 

To complete the task that Socrates proposes in the modern world would require the same idealized situation he proposes in the Greek world: the raising of children from infancy in a morally sterile environment. Imagine, perhaps, a pristine laboratory in which children are exposed only to carefully controlled and monitored stimuli and education, with any signs of deviation eliminated swiftly. Supposing that the regimen is perfect and that those in control of the situation execute the program perfectly, it is theoretically possible for a group of entirely innocent people to be raised. But would these people be truly just? Or would the program fail? This we cannot know. Socrates would argue that it is possible, given the right conditions. But, in any case, how likely is a scenario such as this? The creation of a city or even small group of people with the qualities Socrates desires is as remote a possibility today as it was in his own time. 

In this paper I have done four things. I addressed Socrates’ overarching argument for censorship: the impressionability of the general population and youths in particular. Then, I described the three genres of stories: gods and heroes, the underworld of Hades, and human beings. I also addressed Socrates’ argument for censoring each particular type of story. Finally, I addressed the validity of Socrates’ arguments, and found them sound in theory, though impractical or even impossible in the real or modern world.

Socrates’ Rejection of Care for the Gods as Piety

At line 12e of the Euthyphro, Euthyphro asserts that “the godly and pious is the part of the just that is concerned with the care of the gods.” In this paper I will show that Socrates finds this definition problematic for two reasons. The first overarching reason is the effects of caring for something. This reason is separated into the question of whether humans can improve the gods, and a rejection of Euthyphro’s argument that humans can serve the gods as a slave serves a master. I will also show that Socrates’ rejection of this definition of piety serves to end the Euthyphro dialogue by destroying Euthyphro’s argument and proving that Euthyphro has no true knowledge of the definition of piety.

Socrates’ argument against Euthyphro’s position (that piety is caring for the gods) stems from the basic act of caring for something. The problem with Euthyphro’s argument is where he relates it to humans and their care of the gods. Socrates makes three main points under this broad argument. First, he notes that caring for something usually improves the thing cared for. Next, he provides an answer to the question of how humans can improve the gods. Finally, he ponders what the gods accomplish through our pious actions.

Socrates’ first and overarching concern with Euthyphro’s belief is that Euthyphro seems to be asserting that we care for the gods in much the same way as a horse breeder or hunter cares for horses and dogs (13a). The problem with this is that horse breeders and hunters improve the lives of horses and dogs. A horse breeder or a hunter provides attention that allows a horse or a dog to live better than it otherwise could. More generally, the caregiver elevates the thing cared for to a level it could not otherwise attain. The caregiver makes the thing cared for better than the thing could naturally be on its own. Socrates assumes that Euthyphro does not “mean the care of the gods in the same sense as the care of other things” (13a), but Euthyphro assures him that he does mean it that way. This leads Socrates to the conclusion that by caring for the gods, humans are improving them in some way. This is an immediate problem for Socrates and Euthyphro, who exclaims “by Zeus, no” (13c) he does not mean to say that “when you do something pious you make some one of the gods better” (13c). Though the line of reasoning he confirmed as correct (the idea of horses and horse breeders) is what led to this conclusion, he cannot accept the conclusion as true. If this were true, that humans do something for the gods that they could not do themselves, it would undermine the power of the gods and elevate humans. As a priest, Euthyphro cannot agree to the idea of humans making the gods better in a way they could not improve themselves.

Socrates’ second counterpoint to Euthyphro’s argument addresses the issue of humans improving the gods. Socrates bluntly asks Euthyphro, “is piety...to benefit the gods and make them better?” (13c), to which Euthyphro responds that what he means is a relationship between humans and the gods similar to the relationship of slaves and masters. In this relationship, humans provide “the kind of care...that slaves take of their masters” (13d) to the gods, and in return, there is “no good that we do not receive from them” (15a). What this means is that we do not actually improve the gods, but do them a service that helps them in return for the blessings we receive. “The many fine things that the gods achieve” (14a) are accomplished “using us as their servants” (13e). The distinction between improving and providing a service for the gods is that in the first case we do something that they could not otherwise do themselves (improve them as a hunter and dogs), while in the second case we are doing something that is good for the gods, but that they could do themselves (as a slave and his master).

Slightly modifying Socrates’ example of the horse breeder and horses (13a) and Euthyphro’s example of slaves and masters (13d) can provide a very good illustration of Socrates’ second point. A horse breeder cares for horses by feeding them, among other activities. By feeding the horses, the horse breeder accomplishes something that the horses could not do on their own: they are able to live in a confined space in large numbers. Without the horse breeder to feed them and care for them, the horses would starve or succumb to disease, provided all other variables remained constant. If the relationship of humans to the gods were the same as that of horses and horse breeders, it would stand to reason that our pious actions accomplish something positive for the gods that would otherwise be impossible for them to achieve. In the second scenario (where humans are slaves and the gods their masters), however, we can see that the problem with the first example is no longer an issue. A slave does nothing that the master could not do himself. For instance, if a slave runs errands for his master, the master may pursue other activities in the mean time, or simply save the money that it would cost to hire a courier. In either case, the master could do the thing, but the slave makes it easier without changing the parameters of the situation.

I have just shown that if humans are slaves and gods the masters, the validity of the argument seems to remain intact. If humans care for the gods as slaves care for their masters, then we simply make the gods lives easier. In this case, we do nothing the gods could not accomplish themselves if they chose. Now I will address Socrates’ third counterpoint, which refutes this seemingly valid example.

Socrates’ issue with the slave-master relationship is the question of what do the gods accomplish through us? “What is that excellent aim that the gods achieve, using us as their servants?” (13e). Socrates’ argument circles back to the issue of improving the gods’ through our actions, leading Euthyphro to ask if Socrates thinks “that the gods are benefitted by what they receive from us” (15a). Euthyphro suggests that perhaps what we do for the gods is not a material action, but “honor, reverence...” (15a), which leads Socrates to conclude that piety is what pleases the gods, though it holds no beneficial value for them. In this case, piety is “pleasing to the gods, but not beneficial or dear to them” (15b). Therefore, even though the example of the slave-master relationship is valid in its own parameters, it is invalidated by Socrates’ assertion, and Euthyphro’s agreement, that humans simply cannot provide anything beneficial to the gods (15b). Euthyphro’s statement of the pious being dear to the gods circles back to the argument earlier in the Euthyphro dialogue about “the pious is...what is dear to the gods” (15b).

In that argument, Euthyphro, maintains that “what is dear to the gods is pious, what is not is impious” (7a). Socrates questions this statement, for he and Euthyphro have already stated that “the gods are in a state of discord [and] that they are at odds with each other” (7b). If you put those two statements together, you arrive, as Socrates does, at the conclusion that “different gods consider different things to be [pious], for they would not be at odds with one another unless they differed about [this] subject” (7e). This idea results in a paradox of something being pious to one god, but impious to another (8a). Socrates continues to question Euthyphro, and they arrive at a new but related definition of piety: “that the pious is being loved [because] it is pious, but it is not pious because it is being loved” (10e). The reasoning here is that if it cannot be pious because it is loved by the gods (as in the previous definition), then it must be loved by the gods because it is pious. This claim seems to make sense, until Socrates reminds Euthyphro that if this is the case, then “the pious has the quality of being loved by all the gods, but you have not yet told me what the pious is” (11a-b). It may be true that the gods love pious things because they are pious, but even if that is the case, that doesn’t tell us what is pious because we don’t know what the gods love. This also relates back to Socrates’ proof that piety is not what is dear to the gods, because the gods do not agree on what is good (7e). Therefore, if the gods cannot agree on what is good, it follows that they do not love the same things. If the gods love things that are pious, but do not love the same things, then we have hit a problem with the argument.

These two proofs effectively render these two definitions of piety useless. If the gods cannot agree on what is dear to them and loved by them, then what is pious is obviously not pious because is dear to the gods or loved by the gods. That which is pious is not pious because it is dear to the gods. And that which is loved by the gods is not god-loved because it is pious.

I have addressed the first major point of this paper: Socrates’ issue with the act of caring for something. The second point of this paper is to explain what Socrates’ rejection of the definition of piety as “the part of the just that is concerned with the care of the gods” (12e) means for the Euthyphro dialogue as a whole. The conclusion of Socrates’ third counterpoint to the definition of piety as “what is dear to the gods is the pious” (15c) is the basis of the repercussions of Socrates’ rejection in the dialogue. Socrates quickly disproves Euthyphro’s first definition of piety, that “what is dear to the gods is pious, what is not is impious” (7a), by showing that “different gods consider different things to be just, ...good, and bad” (7e). Therefore, it follows that if the gods cannot agree on what is good and bad, then many things would be “both pious and impious” (8a) at the same time: a contradiction which finishes the discussion of piety as that which is dear to the gods.

The reversion to former definitions of piety, that what is dear to the gods is pious and that which is pious is god-loved, dismantles Euthyphro’s entire argument. He has come to the same incorrect conclusion as before, but through a different line of reasoning. As with many of the Socratic dialogues, this circling back to a previous definition shows that Euthyphro truly has nothing more to say about the topic, for “whatever proposition [they] put forward goes around and refuses to stay where [they] establish it” (11b). There is no further argument he can make, for no matter what he does, he is going to end up at the same conclusion as one of his other faulty definitions. It is seemingly impossible for Euthyphro to come up with a definition of piety that does not conflict with an earlier claim that Socrates has already disproved. They have examined piety in every way that Euthyphro can think of, and every time he thinks he has a new idea, Socrates disproves it. This shows that Euthyphro does not truly know anything about what defines piety, for he cannot come up with even the beginning of a true definition of it. Therefore, Euthyphro is not the authority on the gods that he claimed to be at the beginning of the dialogue (5a, 6b). Shortly after Socrates disproves Euthyphro’s definition of piety as ‘care of the gods,’ Euthyphro simply abandons his conversation with Socrates, claiming that he is “in a hurry...and it is time for [him] to go” (15e). Socrates’ rejection of the ‘care of the gods’ definition of piety utterly destroys Euthyphro’s final argument and brings his earlier arguments back into play, showing them to be false as well. This ensures the end of the Euthyphro dialogue.

In this paper I have shown that Socrates rejects Euthyphro’s definition of piety as “the part of the just that is concerned with the care of the gods “ (12e) because humans cannot improve the gods by caring for them, and furthermore I have disproved Euthyphro’s assertion that humans can serve the gods as slaves serve masters. I have also shown that Socrates’ rejection and disproval of this definition of piety serves to end the Euthyphro by completely destroying Euthyphro’s argument and showing that Euthyphro has no true knowledge of the nature of piety.