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title: "Religion and Rational Belief"
date: 2021-07-22T15:50:59Z
tags: ["belief","assent","newman",""]
topics: ["philosophy","theology"]
image: /img/flammarion.jpg
draft: true
---
This paper is an analysis of the following argument that denies the possibility of rationality in religious faith:
1) Rational belief is belief that is proportioned to the evidence.
2) Religious faith is belief that is unsupported by the evidence.
3) C) Therefore, religious faith is never rational.
To assess this argument properly, a number of key assumptions need to be examined and critiqued. First, premise 1 implies without explanation a nature of belief that allows for proportionality. Second, premise 1 also asserts a proportionality standard of rationality which is contestable on a proper understanding of belief as assent. This means that the first two premises anchor proportionality in a notion of evidence. Third, premise 2 asserts a definition of faith that erroneously eliminates the possibility of rationality by making it wholly dependent upon its prior assumptions about proportionality and evidence. Finally, it draws a conclusion which cannot be sustained even if we were to accept the first two premises.
The argument of this paper will proceed by addressing each of these enumerated assumptions in turn. First, it will briefly outline a plausible notion of religious belief as assent, inspired by John Henry Newman. Next, it will reject proportionality as a standard for rational belief, on the ground that assent cannot be proportional. It will then explore two notions of rationality provided by Alvin Plantinga to show that idea of rationality employed by the syllogism under scrutiny is inadequate to its conclusion. The essay will then address the question of evidence, from both the perspective of metaphysics and the philosophy of science, to show that the syllogism is relying on the concept for too much. Next, it will offer a condensed formulation of the idea of faith from contemporary research, taking the clarified concept of rationality into account. Finally, this paper will conclude that, given this more complete understanding of belief, rationality, evidence, and faith, the argument under scrutiny is unconvincing.
**I. Apprehension Precedes Belief**
Apprehension, according to philosopher and theologian John Henry Newman, is ‘the imposition of a sense on the terms of which [propositions] are composed'[^1] and more broadly, ‘simply an intelligent acceptance of the idea or fact which a proposition enunciates’, and he differentiates assent from inference to make the point, saying, ‘we cannot assent to a proposition without some intelligent apprehension of it; whereas we need not understand it at all in order to infer it’.[^2] To borrow the examples from his *Grammar of Assent*, we cannot give assent to the proposition that ‘x is z’ until we are told something about the terms. However, it is easy enough to understand the meanings of the words in a proposition like ‘pride comes before a fall’ or ‘Napoleon died at St. Helena’. Though, it need not be the case that I know where St. Helena is, or what sort of falls proceed from pride or why pride would precipitate a fall, in order to apprehend the propositions.
According to Newman, apprehension comes in two forms: real and notional. As he puts it,
> the terms of a proposition do or do not stand for things. If they do, then they are singular terms, for all things that are, are units. But if they do not stand for things they must stand for notions, and are common terms. Singular nouns come from experience, common from abstraction. The apprehension of the former I call real, and the latter, notional.[^3]
Referring back to the examples above, then, Napoleon dying at St. Helena would be an example of real apprehension, because we have ‘an experience *or information* about a concrete’.[^4] The individual man Napoleon, and the individual place St. Helena. But pride coming before a fall would be an example of *notional* apprehension, because what is in mind, is an abstraction drawn from the recognition of patterned likenesses, and as David Hume might put it, a constant conjunction of prideful attitudes, followed by falls.
In employing the idea of ‘notional apprehension’, Newman is borrowing the concept of categories from Aristotle. Newman describes the process this way:
> …we apprehend… that man is like man, yet unlike; and unlike a horse, a tree, a mountain, or a monument; yet in some, though not in the same respects, like each of them. And in consequence…we are ever grouping and discriminating… and thereby rising from particulars to generals, that is from images to notions.[^5]
It is possible, according to Newman, to arrive at a notional apprehension without a direct experience. In fact, Newman says the habit in society is to ‘regard things not as they are in themselves, but mainly as they stand in relation to one another’,[^6] and in so doing, abstract away the real being of particular things into their definitional classifications. As he put it,
> …individual propositions about the concrete almost cease to be, and are diluted or starved into abstract notions… all that fullness of meaning which I have described as accruing to language from experience, now that experience is absent, necessarily becomes to the multitude of men nothing but a heap of notions, little more intelligible than the beauties of a prospect to the short-sighted man, or the musice of a great master, to the listener who has no ear.[^7]
Newman argues that the real and the notional are complementary forms of apprehension, but that real apprehension is primary. He says, ‘without the apprehension of notions, we would forever pace around in one small circle of knowledge… however real apprehension has precedence, as being the scope and end and the test of the notional’, and, ‘to apprehend notionally is to have breadth of mind, but to be shallow; to apprehend really, is to be deep but to be narrow-minded’.[^8] This complementarity of real and notional apprehension is an essential prerequisite for assent. Thus, the more clear and distinct the apprehension (to borrow Descartes’ phrase), the more cause we have for assent, and the more like a real apprehension one has, the more clear and distinct that apprehension. As Newman puts it (in very Humean terms), ‘what is concrete exerts a force and makes an impression on the mind which nothing can rival… the mind is ever stimulated in proportion to the cause stimulating it’,[^9] and nothing stimulates the mind more, than direct experience. He concludes:
> As notions come of abstractions, so images come of experiences; the more fully the mind is occupied by an experience, the keener will be its assent, and on the other hand, the duller will be its assent and the less operative, the more it is engaged with an abstraction…[^10]
**II. Belief Understood as Assent**
While it is true that apprehension attenuates with the category of object upon which the mind is fixed (being either real or notional), it is not the case that assent is tethered to apprehension in the same variable way. Newman puts it this way:
I observe that it is this variation in the mind’s apprehension of an object to which it assents, and not any incompleteness in assent itself, that leads us to speak of strong and weak assents, as if assent itself admitted of degrees. In either mode of apprehension, be it real or notional, the assent preserves its essential characteristic of being unconditional.[^11]
The object of an assent is the truth of a given proposition. You either believe a proposition to be true, or you do not. There is no sliding scale of intellectual commitment. Newman offers a clarifying distinction by way of example: ‘… to infer, is to hold on sufficient grounds that free-trade may, must, or should be a benefit; to assent to the proposition, is to hold that free-trade is a benefit.’[^12]
Thus, the man who infers is not necessarily assenting, and the man who assents is not necessarily assenting to a proposition that has been inferred as the conclusion of an inference. However, Newman says, ‘we can at once infer and assent… Indeed, in a multitude of cases we infer truths, or apparent truths, before, while, and after we assent to them’.[^13] This means that we often assent to truths before we have the logic to justify them to ourselves by inference alone. In other words, intelligent assent is not *necessarily* dependent upon an inference from sound logical reasoning, even if the assent is about a notional apprehension (aka an abstraction). Newman uses ‘sufficient grounds’ in the quote above, to signal the requirements of traditional logic: propositions exhibiting transitivity, and conclusions that follow necessarily. A sound argument is sufficient ground for an inference. But assent requires no such ground. An inference may contribute to assent, but it is not necessary.
The importance of this distinction can be seen by example. ‘I hate you’, is just as eligible for assent as, ‘the sun is shining’. Or, to borrow Newman’s example, ‘there is revealed religion’, and ‘there is no revealed religion’ are both propositions that are eligible for assent, which is to say, are intelligible propositions that one can hold as a belief. In Newman’s example, it might be argued that reasons are needed to judge the belief *rational*, and that rationality is necessary as a justification for a belief, and that only justified beliefs are worthy of respect. So, whether or not revealed religion is real, requires some rationale. But it would make no sense to make the same complaint of propositions like, ‘the sun is shining’, or ‘I hate you’. On Newman’s interpretation, both of these propositions would constitute expressions of real assent. And, as was shown, no inference can be offered for real assent. It is the result of a direct impression on the mind, as a result of sense experience or internal feeling. What’s more, the more compelling the experience, the more compelled the assent. So, for example, ‘I am drowning’ would be a proposition immediately assented to, in a situation in which I was being dragged under the surf by a heavy weight wrapped around my ankle. But assent to that proposition is no more or less proportioned than assenting to, say, ‘Jesus died on the cross’.
The first proposition of the original argument under scrutiny was that a rational belief is one that is proportioned to the evidence. If the argument of this section is correct, then we are warranted in rejecting the first premise of the original argument. What has been shown so far, is that belief is one of two kinds of assent (real and notional) and that assent is not proportioned, but is rather immediate and total, even in situations where inference is involved. Furthermore, we have seen that the lack of inferential support does not necessarily imply that a belief is false. In the worst-case scenario where direct experience and inferential support are both lacking, what could be said is that the status of the belief was undetermined. But as we have seen, either some direct experience (whether as sensory witness, or as consumer of information), or inference, or testimony or revelation lies behind all assent, because all assents are the recognition of the truth of a proposition.[^14]
But what of these various means of forming propositions? What are they and how should we regard them? The next section will address questions of standards of rationality and the role of evidence in justifying beliefs, in an attempt to answer these questions, and to give grounds for rejecting premise two of the scrutinized argument.
**III. What Makes a Belief Rational?**
Having put the question of belief and proportionality to bed in the last section, it is necessary to foreclose on the notion of rationality, which was left behind by the last section, before fully addressing the question of evidence.
Alvin Plantinga offers five plausible definitions for rationality in his book Warranted Christian Belief. He lists them as (a) Aristotelian human nature, (b) proper mental function, (c) within or conforming to the deliverances of reason, (d) utilitarian (‘means-ends’) cunning, and (e) deontological rationality.[^15] There are two definitions from this list that concern this essay. First, is proper mental function, and the second is the idea of rationality as that which is within or conforming to the ‘deliverances of reason’. If it can be shown that certain religious beliefs are held (propositions are assented to) due to some malfunction in the rational faculty, or that the beliefs held are not in conformity with the deliverances of reason, then it could be said that those beliefs are irrational. While this would not fully support the conclusion of the argument under scrutiny, it would at least open the door to its possibility.
The rationality of proper mental function is essentially asking whether religious belief is the product of dysfunction of the rational faculty. It is to interpret the idea of the rational as the ‘sane’. Plantinga makes a distinction here between ‘internal rationality’, which he describes as ‘proper function of all belief-producing processes downstream from experience’, and the ‘upstream’ experiences, which he divides into two types: phenomenal (sensuous) imagery, and doxastic experience.[^16] Beliefs formed as a result of phenomenal imagery are formed ‘in response to sensuous imagery and on the basis of such imagery’. They are beliefs of the kind expressed by Newman as ‘the sun is shining’, or ‘I see an elephant, and not a pink flamingo’. Proper functioning, here, would be to hold the belief that the sun is shining or that there is a pink flamingo before you, when you are in fact presented with the sense experience of sunshine or pink flamingos. Internal rationality, on Plantinga’s view, would prevent the perceptions from being understood as anything other than what they actually are. If there were an incongruity, it would have to be as a result of a malfunction in the senses, not the ‘belief-producing processes’.
Beliefs formed by way of doxastic experience, on the other hand, are beliefs grounded in phenomenal experiences unaccompanied by sense evidence. Such things as memories, the feeling of certainty itself, a priori understanding, and the awareness of the self, are all instances of doxastic experience, according to Plantinga, because they accompany belief formation but are unaccompanied by sense experience. So, for example, the memory of a party you attended in Cleveland, the feeling of certainty that it was *Cleveland* and not *New York*, the a priori understanding that a city is not a set, and the awareness that it is *you* who is recalling the memory of the party, and not your brother Tom in Toledo, would all be examples of doxastic experiences leading to specific beliefs. Here, it is is possible to exhibit ‘external’ irrationality, while still exhibiting internal rationality. Plantinga borrows Descartes’ famous example of the madmen who believe their heads are made of pottery. If the mind is ‘so troubled and clouded by the violent vapours of black bile that they… imagine that they have an earthenware head'[^17] then it would be internally rational to believe so, and it would be pragmatically rational to, say, always wear a helmet, or to wash one’s head with dish soap or glass cleaner.
Here, one might think it easy to identify signs of external irrationality in religious beliefs. But this would be to assume the conclusion being sought. Plantinga defines external rationality as, ‘proper function with respect to the formation of the sensuous experience on which perceptual belief is based, and… in the formation of the right kind of doxastic experience — that is, the sort of doxastic experience required by proper function.'[^18] So, to show that the beliefs of, say, a Christian, are irrational, one would have to show that both his perceptual and doxastic beliefs are the product of a perceptual or cognitive malfunction. But, everyday experience shows that this is not the case, at least cognitively. Most Christians are functional enough to raise families and hold steady jobs (some, even as academics, as Plantinga points out). So, a demonstration of irrationality on these grounds would require an appeal to evidence, and something Plantinga calls ‘warrant’ will address that move. This point will be concluded in the section on evidence.
The second kind of rationality is essentially Cartesian certainty. As Plantinga puts it, rationality ‘is the faculty or power whereby we see the truth of self-evident propositions… together with propositions that are self-evident consequences of [self-evident propositions]’.[^19] So, a proposition ‘is rational if [it’s affirmation] is among the deliverances of reason, and irrational if its denial is among the deliverances of reason’. Plantinga asks and answers the question central to this essay, quite frankly: ‘Is Christian belief rational in this sense? No; the central truths of Christianity are certainly not self-evident, nor so far as anyone can see, are they such that they can be deduced from what is self-evident.'[^20] Plantinga rightly points out, however, that this is not sufficient for condemning Christian belief as such. If it did mean that, then the same would hold for what is taught in courses on history, physics, and biology, because none of the central truths of those fields of study are self-evident.
But, is it possible that Christian belief is *irrational* on this account? In other words, are there propositions whose denial are among the deliverances of reason (either self-evident, or the self-evident consequences of deductions)? Plantinga does not think so. Even in the case of horny questions like the trinity and the incarnation, Plantinga argues that there are interpretational difficulties with the claim that these beliefs are internally contradictory or inconsistent.[^21] So, even where a Christian may mistakenly hold one of these inconsistent formulations, he could still change his mind when presented with a consistent version. Thus, on this account of rationality, the believer is not necessarily irrational. What’s more, given that at least some Christian beliefs can be shown to be rational on this view, the conclusion of the argument under scrutiny could not possibly be true. It is not the case that religious faith is *never* rational.
**IV. What Is the Evidence?**
However, the charge levied against religious belief in the syllogism under scrutiny in this essay, was not that it was internally inconsistent, or logically fallacious, but that it was not ‘evidence proportional’ (as David Hume might have put it). A common criticism of the empiricist argument, from which evidentialism is derived, is that its own premises fail the test of empiricism. If nothing can be reasonably assented to that has not been received through sense experience, then why should we assent to the proposition that rational beliefs are proportioned to the evidence? It seems there is nothing compelling the assent.
But, what about *apprehension of a proposition itself*? Newman would have considered propositions, when expressed sincerely, to be evidence of certain kinds of beliefs. However, he would have balked at urging assent in the case of Hume’s famous proposition that ‘the wise man proportions his belief to the evidence’.[^22] As has been shown already, belief is itself not a proportional matter. But, more to the point here, it’s also because what matters with regard to evidence, is not quantity, but quality. To put the point slightly differently, what sort of evidence is *appropriate* to religious belief? What counts as evidence? What makes one item relevant, and another not? This has been as much of a vexxing question in the philosophy of science, as it has for religion. As Peter-Godfrey Smith states, ‘What connection between an observation and a theory makes that observation evidence for the theory? In some ways, this has been the fundamental damental problem in the last hundred years of philosophy of science.'[^23]
When asking questions that have things in the material world as their object, empiricism — the view that ‘the only source of real knowledge about the world is experience'[^24] — is a good common sense starting point. This is (at least indirectly) what Hume had in mind, when he wrote his famous maxim about wise men in On Miracles.[^25] How hot must water be, to boil? How tall is the Eiffel Tower? What is the average air speed velocity of an unladen swallow? We could, with a bit of effort, devise ways of discovering the answers to these questions on our own. Putting a thermometer into the kettle and waiting until the bubbles show up; going to Paris and using a few tricks of ancient Greek geometry and mathematics to ‘eyeball’ the size of the structure relative to the surrounding buildings; or, say, using a radar gun to measure the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow.[^26]
Is this the kind of evidence that could be used to provide support for religious beliefs? Perhaps some beliefs would be amenable to physical evidence. For example, take belief in the phenomena of stigmata. We might be able to collect blood or skin tissue samples during the time someone is having an episode, or record certain physical conditions present at the moment of eruption of the phenomenon, or even take testimony from eye witnesses. But what does this information have to offer us? In the case of the Eiffel Tower, the information we collect seems directly connected to the question we are asking: namely, how tall is the structure? Linear measurements of the shadow, combined with calculations using distance to the structure and angle to its peak, will in fact give us (roughly speaking) the height at the peak. But what is the question we are asking about the person experiencing an episode of stigmata (or reporting that he had witnessed one)? The naive question is to ask whether or not its real, but what do we mean by ‘real’? Hume asked a slightly more sophisticated version: is it reasonable to believe that this person experienced a miracle? But this is in effect, the same question. Are miracles ‘real’?
Setting aside the adjudication of Hume’s case against them, the point here is to consider what evidence, understood as information collected from experience (understood as the systematic collection of material evidence), would help us answer that question? The Roman Catholic church adheres to a list of twelve criteria[^27] — all of them forms of material evidence — that must be satisfied, before they will accept the phenomenon as a miracle. But the list has two interesting peculiarities. First, one of its primary purposes is to rule out imitators. For example, criteria 11 is ‘the wounds do not close perfectly and instantaneously’. This criteria exists because many have attempted to emulate stigmata by surreptitiously dabbing blood in their palms and ankles, to emulate the ‘real’ effect of stigmata. Second, it presupposes the reality of the incarnation. Critiera 1 says that the stigmata must be present on the body in all five places where Christ was wounded, and Criteria 12, says that the person experiencing the stigmata must be undergoing intense physical and moral suffering when the phenomenon ocurrs (congruent with the intense physical and moral suffering Christ underwent on the cross). To put it in the form of a modus pones: ‘if the incarnation is true, then then for a stigmata to be authentic it must exhibit the full effects of the crucifixion. The incarnation is true, and this particular stigmata does exhibit the effects of the crucifixion. Therefore this particular stigmata is authentic’.
The second point is the important one, here. If we accept just for the moment, that stigmata are instances of supernatural phenomena, it would not immediately follow that the phenomena were demonstrations of the truth of Christianity. Indeed, the church itself admits that the phenomenon can be classified into four different categories: (a) divine origin, (b) diabolical origin, (c) unknown origin, (d) psychological origin. By ‘divine origin’, the church just assumes Christian conception of God (which includes Christ as part of the Trinity), and everything else less than divine by degrees, concluding finally with a natural origin. But, setting aside the question of the assumed Christian theodicy, we can still ask if the presence of the background assumption of supernaturalism in general is reasonable, and whether physical evidence is indeed at least indicitive of that super nature. The case of stigmata does suggest that there is indeed a discernable difference between a hoaxer, a psychologically troubled person, and a genuine miracle, and (if the Catholic criteria is to be taken seriously) that physical evidence can provide support for assent in particular cases.
But suppose someone were to insist that the background assumption is enough to discredit this belief (recall, tha this is the charge of the original syllogism – that religious beliefs are unsupported). In that case, they would be condemning empiricism (and indeed all scientific beliefs) along with the religious beliefs. To show this in sharp relief, let’s zoom out a bit and consider the question of why it is that evidence is a support for any belief at all. Whether we take a confirmationist or a falsificationist view (or some combination of the two) of the role of evidence in a rational belief, we need to first ask ourselves what reason we have for ‘expecting patterns observed in our past experience to hold also in the future’.[^28] This is the problem of induction, of course, and inductive skeptics might complain that we are just as foolish to expect tomorrow’s sunrise, as the Christian is to expect Christ’s return, because the physical evidence does not support the belief.
The inductive skeptic is correct to identify the position that the empiricist is in (though he may be overstating his case a bit), but what is key here, is what the condemnation implies. The empiricist is relying on an undefended background assumption. That background assumption is the belief that the universe is orderly and predictable, and that it always will be so. In more theological terms, the empiricist implictly assents to the proposition that the universe exhibits a self-evident design. If we take that presupposition as the major premise in a deductive syllogism, suddenly, the problem of induction in science doesn’t look like much of a problem anymore, because all reasoning ultimately resolves to a deduction beginning with the order of the universe. But what gives us sufficient reason to take this first premise as read? What evidence sustains the expectation? Ultimately, again, we are stuck with Hume’s ten thousand sunrises, and not much else.[^29]
The point here, is not necessarily to prove the existence of God or even the existence of an overarching supernature. Rather, it is to highlight the need for something else besides mere evidence (even as it is rigorously conceived of in the scientific disciplines) in order to make a rational case. To say that the order of the universe is just a ‘brute fact’ or an axiom of which no question can be asked coherently, is to say that the universe itself is fundamentally irrational, despite all the order apparent to our sense experience, because there can be no explanation for it.[^30] But if we are to remain committed to the implicit standard of the original syllogism (that beliefs must be rational to be respectable, and evidence-sensitive to be rational), then there are certain questions that cannot be answered rationally even if we take evidence into account, without also allowing for the possibility of explanations that extend beyond matter in motion. Thus, it might even be said that religious belief is not only supported by the evidence, but also it would be irrational to reject certain religious beliefs that are strongly suggested by the the very idea of evidence itself. For example, a belief in the existence of God.
**V.** **Faith As Co-Estensive With Rationality**
> ‘By means of what is material and temporary, we may lay hold upon that which is spiritual and eternal.’ ~ Augustine, De doctrina christiana[^31]
The argument under scrutiny clearly defines faith as a religious belief, and simply asserts that a belief held on religious grounds is just what it means to be a belief held without evidence. This definition has been shown to be erroneous on several counts. But this still leaves us without a clear understanding of what faith is. The goal of this section, then, will be to outline a concept of faith that is in concord with the deliverances of reason (as Plantinga might put it), and incorporates evidence that is appropriate to the religious belief being considered, yet clearly distinguishes it from belief derived solely from inferences (whether evidence-sensitive or not).
According to John Bishop[^32] , conceptions of faith can be roughly divided into various different categories, some of which overlap. In the most broad sense, he distinguishes between faith understood as an individual ‘act’, and faith understood as the ‘state’ an individual is in. Taking the notion of faith as a state, understandings of faith can then further be divided into two groups of either cognitive or non-cognitive ‘models’. Under the cognitive head, he includes ‘special knowledge’, the ‘belief’, and the ‘doxastic venture’.
The ‘belief model’ of faith can be summarized as belief that propositions with theological content are true. This model of faith is one tightly coupled to reason, as its justifying method. Rational beliefs are obviously, then, beliefs that are justified to the degree that their arguments are rational, and supported by evidence. Swinburn (via Bishop) seems to think this could enable some religious beliefs to qualify as knowledge on the Justified True Belief theory of epistemology. For certain religious beliefs, this seems possible. For example, there are dozens of good arguments that purport to demonstrate the existence of God. Some begin with the assumption of God’s existence (similar to the case of stigmata above), and argue in modus ponens fashion to a state of affairs in the world. Others begin with an observation of a state of affairs in the world, and reason to God from it. Several of of the latter are highly convincing, as well as evidence-sensitive.[^33] This is the kind of faith that Thomas Aquinas had in mind, and what is commonly refered to, today, as ‘natural theology’. It is the reasoned belief that existence includes the supernatural, and that the supernatural is where God can be found. This is, more or less, the implicit conception of faith this paper has been relying upon.
But this cannot be enough. If we can rest our belief in the existence of God on rationally inferred conclusions to arguments that drawn in particular from direct experience of things like change and order, why can we not simply call this a rational belief? What does the idea of faith add to our understanding of faith? If one can reason one’s way to the bare fact of the existence of God, then perhaps faith is not operative in that belief. How would we know the difference? According to Bishop, what distinguishes mere rational inferences from faith beliefs, is the content of the belief. So, for example, an argument for the existence of quarks or dark matter that resulted in firmly held beliefs that quarks and dark matter existed, would constitute natural beliefs. But arguments for the existence of God or sin or angels that led to beliefs that these things existed, would constitute faith beliefs. This raises all sorts of questions, of which there is unfortunately, no space left to address.
In any case, there seems to be a more significant problem with this conception of faith. Inferences of the kind that have been hinted at here (involving inductions from evidence) are not the kind that could result in the kind of certitude that, for example, Aquinas had in mind (Newman agrees on this point, as we saw at the beginning). ‘Full and direct comprehension'[^34] of God is only achievable by a gift of Grace, according to Aquinas. What’s more, as he says at the end of Question 2a2 of the Summa Theologiae, ‘the truths about God that St. Paul says we can know by our natural powers of reasoning… are not articles of faith. They are *presupposed* by them. For faith presupposes natural knowledge, just as grace does nature…’.[^35]
It might appear that what is being suggested here, is that faith is simply a mechanism for supplying a degree of psychological confidence that inferred conclusions cannot, but this is not quite right. Rather, as was hinted at in the section on Newman, faith is something that stands alongside reason, so to speak. Assent is something that is granted, whether or not an inference accompanies it. Granting is an act, not a state.
Belief derived from inference, is a state that one arrives at that is not volitional. Assent, on the other hand, while something that must be induced, is nonetheless subject to the will. But what would induce a moment of choice like this? According to Aquinas, it is when God reveals the truth of articles of faith to us. Faith is the act of assenting to that revelation. On the belief model of faith, this is limited to propositional truths, but revelation is not limited to that. Mystical experiences of the kind that Paul had on the road to Damascus would also count. As well as everything in between. Paul did not have to believe that what happened to him was a visitation from Christ. Indeed, the ambiguity of the evidence in such a situation would enough to give anyone pause. But he chose to accept the supernatural explanation. Paul was a well educated man who was well versed both in Jewish and Christian scriptures, according to reports. So, it seems arbitrary to expect that he choose the purely natural explanation, when everything he’d learned up to that point suggested the reality of Christ instead.
So, the best conception of faith seems to be a version of Bishop’s belief model coupled with the special knowledge model. Reason gives us knowledge of the natural and provides us with clues to what must lie beyond. Faith gives us the capacity to know the God that reason tells us must be there somewhere, just beyond the senses.
**Conclusion**
This paper has shown that the first premise of the argument under scrutiny is false, because belief is not a proportional state, but a binary one. It has shown that the second premise is false, because religious beliefs are in fact evidence-sensitive, in spite of not being proportioned, and it has shown the conclusion to be erroneous because religious beliefs are at least sometimes rational as well as being evidence-sensitive.
Had the argument concluded with something a bit less ambitious than ‘never rational’, it may have had a point. Surely, there must be some specific beliefs we could identify as irrational. There are very definitely some beliefs within the Christian religion that are monstrously difficult to justify (as hinted at by Plantinga, for example, in the section on rationality). Another approach might have been to make a distinction as to what kinds of evidence were appropriate to certain beliefs (as argued in the section on evidence).
Yet, for all of its misguided oversimplification, the syllogism opening this paper rightly implies the difficulty a philosopher is faced with when considering the question of faith. This paper has been teetering on the very edge of what is not only reasonable to believe, but what it is even possible to believe, and at times it is difficult not to sound like a theologian. Metaphorically speaking, at the furthest edge of science, lies metaphysics; and, at the furthest edge of metaphysics, lies theology. As Aristotle puts it:
> …who can doubt that, if there is Divinity anywhere in the universe, then it is in the nature studied by First Science [theology] that It is to be found. And it is also for the Supreme Science to study the Supreme Genus [being itself]. And contemplative study is to be chosen above all other sciences, but it is this First Science of Theology that we must prefer to all other kinds of contemplation.[^36]
We could take this as a warning, or as an invitation. As a warning, we are seeing Aristotle through the eyes of a modern: someone trained in the habit of naturalism; suspicious of speculations of the immaterial and the infinite. But as an invitation, we are seeing Aristotle through the eyes of virtually every philosopher from Boethius to Spinoza: as a mind open to evidence of a kind not available to the naturalist (like fishermen who deny the reality of cows, because their nets only ever haul in fish). If the co-founder of all western philosophy is willing to take that invitation seriously, then perhaps we should, too. Like the seeker in Flammarion’s famous engraving, then, let us peel back the veil and peer into the infinite.
---
**Bibliography**
Alston, W. 1991: Perceiving God. Ithaca: Cornell University Press (Kindle Edition)
Aristotle, 2016: Metaphysics. Online: The Big Nest (thebignest.co.uk) (Kindle Edition)
Bishop, J. 2016: Faith (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy). [online] Plato.stanford.edu Available at: https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/faith/
Davies, B. and Leftow, B. (eds) 2006: Aquinas: Summa Theologiae, Questions on God. New York: Cambridge University Press
Feser, E. 2017: Five Proofs of the Existence of God. San Francisco: Ignatius Press
Forrest, P., 2017: The Epistemology of Religion (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy). [online] Plato.stanford.edu. Available at: https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/religion-epistemology
Godfrey-Smith, Peter 2003: Theory and Reality – An Introduction to the Philosophy of Science. London: The University of Chicago Press (Kindle Edition)
Harrison, P. 2015: The Territories of Science and Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press
Helm, P. (ed) 1999: Faith and Reason. Oxford: Oxford University Press
Hume, D. and Millican, P. (ed) 2007: An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding. New York: Oxford University Press (Kindle Edition)
John Paul II, Pope. 1998: Encyclical Letter – Fides et Ratio. London: The Incorporated Catholic Truth Society
Kenny, A. 1979: The God of the Philosophers. Oxford: Clarendon Press
Mitchell, B. (ed) 1971: Philosophy of Religion (Oxford Readings in Philosophy). Oxford: Oxford University Press
Monti, D. (ed) 2005: The Works of St. Bonaventure Volume IX – Breviloquium. New York: The Franciscan Institute
Newman, J. H. 2013: An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent. USA: Assumption Press
Penelhum, T. 1995: Reason and Religious Faith. Boulder: Westview Press
Plantinga, A. 2000: Warranted Christian Belief. New York: Oxford University Press (Kindle Edition)
Plantinga, A. 2011: Where the Conflict Really Lies: Science, Religion, and Naturalism. New York: Oxford University Press (Kindle Edition)
```[Imported from exitingthecave.com on 28 November 2021]```
[^1]: Newman, John Henry Cardinal, An Essay in Aid of A Grammar of Assent, University of Notre Dame Press. Kindle Edition, Pg. 8
[^2]: ibid, pg. 9
[^3]: ibid, pg. 22
[^4]: ibid, pg. 23
[^5]: ibid, pg. 31
[^6]: ibid, pg. 31
[^7]: ibid, pg. 32
[^8]: ibid, pg. 34
[^9]: ibid, pg. 36
[^10]: ibid, pg. 35
[^11]: ibid, pg. 37
[^12]: ibid, pg. 5
[^13]: ibid, pg. 6
[^14]: The most common alternative interpretation of Newman’s apprehension and assent is divergent from my own. It says that Newman held that numerous beliefs of high probability, when combined, somehow amount to ‘more than the sum of their parts’, so to speak. I reject this interpretation, in favor of the one outlined herein, mainly because it reads Beyesian probability theory backward into Newman. A more complete description of both interpretations can be found in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy under the head ‘The Epistemology of Religion’. https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/religion-epistemology/
[^15]: Plantinga, Alvin, Warranted Christian Belief, Oxford University Press, Kindle Edition, 2000, Pg. 109
[^16]: ibid, pg. 110
[^17]: Descartes, Meditation 1, by way of Plantinga, pg. 111
[^18]: Plantinga, Alvin, Warranted Christian Belief, Oxford University Press, Kindle Edition, 2000, pp. 112-113
[^19]: ibid, pg. 113
[^20]: ibid, pg. 114
[^21]: ibid, pg. 115
[^22]: Hume, David; Peter Millican. An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, Oxford World’s Classics, OUP Oxford. Kindle Edition, pg. 80
[^23]: Godfrey-Smith, Peter, Theory and Reality: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Science, Kindle Edition, 2003, Kindle Location 619
[^24]: ibid, Kindle Locations 179-185.
[^25]: Hume actually seemed more interested in validating testimony by way of reputation in On Miracles. However, in other writings (particularly his Treatise on Human Nature) he was very much interested in understanding what physical evidence could and could not tell us about the world.
[^26]: I leave it to the reader to choose African or European
[^27]: [Fr. Henry Vargas Holguín](https://aleteia.org/author/fr-henry-vargas-holguin/), What are the Stigmata and How do We Know if They are Authentic?, Aleteia [website], 8 Jan 2015, https://aleteia.org/2015/01/08/what-are-the-stigmata-and-how-do-we-know-if-they-are-authentic/
[^28]: Godfrey-Smith, Peter, Theory and Reality: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Science, Kindle Edition, Locations 620-621.
[^29]: Descartes also outlined this problem well in his Meditations, from the perspective of rational skepticism. In summary: there is no satisfactory way to demonstrate the truth of this piece of wax in my hand, without an appeal to a divine source of reason for that truth.
[^30]: For a thorough treatment of this point, I highly recommend Edward Feser’s book, ‘Five Proofs of the Existence of God’, particularly the arguments from Aristotle and Leibniz.
[^31]: Harrison, Peter, The Territories of Science And Religion, University of Chicago Press, 2015, Pg. 55
[^32]: Bishop, J. (2016). Faith. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Stanford, CA: Center for the Study of Language and Information.
[^33]: Aquinas’ Five Ways, or Ed Feser’s Five Arguments, for example. Or the case made by Plotinus, Bonaventure, and other neo-Platonists, if that is more to your taste. It is beyond the scope of this essay to evaluate particular arguments for the existence of God. But if at least one could be shown to be sound and convincing, the belief would be justified.
[^34]: Davies, B. & Leftow, B. (ed), Aquinas: Summa Theologiea, Questions On God, Cambridge University Press, 2006, Pg. 21
[^35]: ibid, Pg. 23
[^36]: Aristotle, Lawson-Tancred, Hugh (Ed), The Metaphysics Book 1, Penguin Books Ltd., 1998, Kindle Edition, Pg. 155

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---
title: "The Euthyphro Expansion Pack"
date: 2016-07-24T15:36:23Z
tags: ["socrates","euthyphro dilemma","platonism"]
topics: ["philosophy"]
image: /img/euthyphro.jpg
draft: false
---
## Introduction
I’ve decided to take on the challenge of re-writing the Euthyphro dialogue, [from this Coursera class](https://www.coursera.org/learn/plato/home/welcome), to explore alternative dialectical paths around the dilemma. When I first made this decision, I knew intuitively that if I took it seriously it would actually be a more challenging assignment than simply explicating Plato’s theory of the just soul from The Republic.
Plato’s dialogues are not just sets of step-by-step logical walk-throughs, within which you can simply change premises to arrive at new conclusions. They are Plato’s attempt to reimagine greek dramas – with all the subtext, allegory, and metaphor that comes with any good drama. Plato repeatedly breaks his own “fourth-wall” (at least implicitly) to remind us that he was aware of his project. So, the challenge with this exercise, is to somehow preserve the integrity of the drama, as Plato envisioned it, while exploring the possibility of alternative arguments and conclusions. In my preparation for this assignment, I have discovered that this is not only a more challenging assignment, it is nowhere near as easy as it sounds.
To show you what I mean, I’ve decided to include my stream of consciousness here, in some sort of organized form, in order to give the reader some context into the approach I took in the dialogue itself.
## What the Euthyphro Dilemma Is Not
In modern parlance, The dilemma presented by Socrates to Euthyphro is some sort of challenge to an idea in later Medieval Christian moral philosophy, known as “Divine Command Theory”. To state the problem as simply as possible: It is a monotheistic dilemma in which one horn says that God’s arbitrary will as expressed is the good, and the other horn points to a good that is metaphysically independent of God (to which he refers, when commanding us). The implicit contradiction that arises from this, is that God could not be all-powerful if he was referencing some “higher” objective metaphysical thing that he did not control; but on the other hand, he himself could not be “good”, in any objective sense, if he simply arbitrarily determined what was right and wrong, strictly according to his will. This apparent contradiction is often used as an argument in defense of atheism.
But this is not at all what Socrates and Euthyphro are debating, in the segment in which they engage the dilemma directly. Theirs is not even a debate about what the greek gods command. It’s not about commands at all. It’s a debate about what is, and is not, worthy of love – in particular, worthy of the love of a god (6e – 7a).
Of course, modern monotheists are free to reframe this dilemma all they want, in the formulation of their own theology. But if I am to answer this assignment honestly, I don’t think I can employ any of the common objections to this “modern” version of the dilemma. That would be to answer a different question than that which is posed in this assignment.
## Staying in Character
As I stated initially, I want to maintain the integrity of the narrative, in addition to the logical arguments. It’s important that Euthyphro remains the Euthyphro of this dialogue, and that Socrates remains the Socrates of Euthyphro (and doesn’t suddenly become the Socrates of The Phaedrus, or the Timaeus, for example).
Plato knew what he was doing when he wrote these dialogues. He knew that the narrative structure and the journey of the characters was just as important to his argument, as the arguments themselves. A great example of this, is in The Republic, Book IV and V, where Glaucon, Adeimantus, and Socrates are engaged in a three-way dialogue in search of the meaning of justice. If you read it carefully enough, you’ll find that the three men have been presented to us carefully, so that by the time this exchange takes place (at the home of Cephalus, I believe), they are the dramatic embodiment of the ideal soul, seeking knowledge of “justice”:
- Glaucon is the embodiment of the Timocratic man, the spirited aspect of the soul, and the virtue of Courage
- Adeimantus is the embodiment of the Oligarchic man, the appetitive aspect of the soul, and the virtue of Temperance
- Socrates is the embodiment of the Aristocratic man, the reasoning aspect of the soul, and the virtue of Wisdom
As the three move through their exchange, you can see in their responses to one another, and in the actions of those around them, that the dialectic process is actually elevating each of them. Glaucon is humbled, and assumes albeit briefly, the mantle of the Aristocratic Man. Adeimantus is emboldened, and after a prompt from Polemarchus (449b), challenges Socrates the way Glaucon might have a few pages earlier, becoming the Timocratic man. And even Thrasymachus and Polemarchus are elevated. Polemarchus, the strong-arming Democrat at the beginning of the dialogue, becomes an Oligarch. And, did you notice how in that break when Adeimantus is emboldened to demand that Socrates explain the fate of property and women, Thrasymachus volunteers to include his “vote” in favor of the motion (450a)? He was elevated by the dialectic from a tyrant, to a Democrat, for a time.
The point here, is that to rewrite the Euthyphro, I must necessarily break the dramatic structure that Plato has constructed for a purpose. But why should this destruction be absolute? Couldn’t we limit the damage to something minimal, at least? To my way of thinking, this would require understanding the characters as Plato understood them, and to try to work with them as he would have (at least to the extent that I am competent to do so). To that end, here is the rough sketch of identities, I’ll work with:
EUTHYPHRO:
He is one of a class of men known as the “manteis” (“mantis” in singular). This translates roughly as “seers”. These men served as counselors and advisors to the prominent members of Athenian society. They claimed to have access to divine knowledge, by way of divination powers they inherited at birth. Wikipedia identifies him as an “…Athenian citizen of the Prospalta deme old enough to have appeared multiple times before the Athenian assembly in 399, placing his birth somewhere in the mid-5th century. Euthyphro [according to the eponymous dialogue] had evidently farmed on Naxos, probably as part of the cleruchy established by Pericles in 447 to which his father may have belonged…”
This suggests a man with a great deal of social and political power. It also suggests a man whose own livelihood and power rested on his credibility as a mantis. In other words, a mantis that openly doubted his own powers of divination (access to divine knowledge), would essentially be destroying his own capacity to earn a living, gain any social status, and maintain any power.
SOCRATES:
The question here is not so much what his biography is, but rather, which Socrates is Plato giving us in The Euthyphro? The Socrates of The Republic or the Timaeus, or the Socrates of the Phaedrus or the Symposium, might have given a very different performance than the one that showed up here in the Euthyphro. One could speculate at length about the differences between them. For example, why is Socrates so skeptical of Euthyphro’s divination powers, and yet so enthusiastically credulous of Timaeus’ knowledge of the realm of the heavens? Why is he so tentative about asserting what the gods love and desire here in Euthyphro, and yet so certain of what they love and desire in Republic? These speculations are a topic for another day. But it is enough to show that a fair recasting of the Euthyphro dialogue will avoid the credulous Socrates, and lean toward the skeptical one.
## Moving The Goal Posts
As skeptical as he is, Socrates still volunteers to forego the epistemological question of how it is that Euthyphro knows what the gods love, and don’t love (6a – 6c). One possible reason for this, might be his fear of an even more serious charge of atheism being laid against him, after Meletus’ attack. In any case, he chooses to focus explicitly on the metaphysical question: what is holy (6d)? And, he never returns to the epistemological question in this dialogue.
If this were to become a question in the dialogue, it would have to be Euthyphro that returned them to it. But Euthyphro himself, as I point out above, is absolutely epistemologically committed to his knowledge of the gods, at least, insofar as their existence and the stories about their activities is concerned (6b/6c/6e). And, actually, it’s likely that both men are self-motivated to signal their own fervent belief to each other, for fear of being labelled an atheist. After all, Euthyphro’s own family is threatening to charge him with impiety, too (4d/4e).
So it seems to me, that diverting the dialogue into an epistemological debate about the existence of the gods, or more precisely, our knowing about their existence, would be to radically depart from the basic character motivations in the dialogue. This means, any response that Euthyphro gives to Socrates must presuppose both the existence of, and knowledge of the existence of, the gods and their preferences. Which is probably why Socrates explicitly stipulates to this, himself.
## Third-Party Solutions
I suppose another approach, might be to bring other actors into the dialogue. For example, I could give Protagoras, or Gorgias, or Parmenides a cameo. But then we’d end up with those dialogues, instead of the Euthyphro. And, since I am far less familiar with these characters, than say, Adeimantus or Euthyphro, I’d run a much greater risk of mischaracterizing them, along with getting the arguments wrong.
## Searching For An Entry Point
Dr. Meyer asks us to take up the challenge right at the point that Socrates asks the famous dilemma question, at 10a: “Just consider this question:—Is that which is pious loved by the gods because it is pious, or is it pious because it is loved by the gods?”
But directly preceding this, we miss an opportunity to give Euthyphro a second chance to not to take Socrates’ bait at 9c/9d, where he settles firmly on a definition: “Well, I should say that what all the gods love is pious and, on the other hand, what they all hate is impious.” What if, instead, Euthyphro had simply said, “I’ve already told you Socrates, the only god that matters in this particular case is Zeus, and as such, he is the only god that matters in any case”? But perhaps this is somewhat irrelevant (given point 4).
During the clarifying exchanges, Euthyphro repeatedly affirms his understanding of Socrates’ question, but then, at 10d, he inexplicably seems to switch opinion, and agree with Socrates:
```
Soc: It is loved by all the gods, is it not, according to what you said?
Euth: Yes.
Soc: For this reason: because it is holy, or for some other reason?
Euth: No, for this reason.
Soc: It is loved because it is holy, not holy because it is loved?
Euth: I think so.
```
So, Euthyphro is already vacillating on his assertion in 9d by the time we get to 10d. Shortly after, may be a place where we can believably interject an alternative Euthyphro – at the point where he complains about being confused by Socrates (the Daedalus jest at 11c). Alternatively diverting at 11e would derail Socrates’ exploration of piety as one of the constituent parts of justice, but might also give Euthyphro an opportunity to clarify much of what was confusing Socrates earlier.
Still, without this exploration of piety as a component part of justice, Euthyphro would not have an opportunity to make his assertion at 12e. An assertion that Socrates assents to. So, at this point, we have a basic agreement between them. What’s more, Socrates then goes off on what looks like a hair-splitting adventure around the word “care” (or “attention”, or “service”) at 13a. Here, Socrates equates the gods with pack animals and beasts of burden. Euthyphro could take Socrates to task for that, but here he already begins to diverge with Socrates on the nature of the “caring”.
Perhaps, then, the answer at 13d is a better place to give Euthyphro his redemption. He could respond by explaining that service to the gods is actually very different than that between a servant and a master. But he and Socrates would just end up back at the dead end of labeling what is pious as what is dear to the gods.
## Resignation
So where does that leave us? Near as I can tell, attempting to “improve” on what Plato has already written seems to me to be a fool’s errand. From my reading, these dialogues were never really meant to provide indisputable “answers” to the questions they posed. They were meant to act as demonstrations of the dialectic in action, to show how it can improve the soul — and to give Plato the space he needed to explore his own philosophical commitments. If you read The Laws, or The Parmenides, you’ll find that he actually starts to question all of the bedrock positions he established in dialogues like The Republic.
And it is The Laws that actually gave me the idea for how I could approach the rewrite. The Laws never mentions Socrates. It is an exchange between “an Athenian stranger”, and two other ordinary characters. The stranger is said to resemble Socrates, but many speculate that this stranger is actually Plato himself, attempting to work out a new “compromise” position on politics, that was somewhat less ambitious than what he laid out in The Republic.
This is how one could approach the Euthyphro safely: Instead of attempting to bend Euthyphro or Socrates to my will, I could simply inject myself into the dialogue, as a “traveling Abderan stranger”, who overhears Euthyphro and Socrates debating the idea of piety. But if I joined too soon, I would break the dramatic unity (tripartite dialectic, instead of binary). In fact, I don’t think I’d take this approach if the assignment were to do the same, with The Republic. The reason for this, is the point of view. Euthyphro is in the third-person. So, I could insert myself without having to provide any internal references from Socrates himself. But the Republic is in the first person. This would require Socrates to notice me, to make mention of it, and to actively invite me into the dialog. I don’t think he’d have done that in the context of that dialog.
## Euthyphro Expansion Pack
But what if the stranger appears near the end of the dialogue? At the point where Socrates is at the height of his desperation, and Euthyphro decides to bail out? This would allow us to maintain the dialogue as it is, and in its full context, we could continue the conversation with Socrates almost as if it were a new dialogue. Of course, it’s not going to match the dramatic subtlety or symmetry of Plato, but at least we’re not smashing up an ancient greek masterpiece just to piece it back together with Elmer’s glue. At the very worst, this would be gluing on a pair of easily removable handles.
As such, I think what I’ll do is provide two alternative dialogues. The first, is specific to the assignment, and it will feature a Euthyphro insisting that it is the arbitrary affection of the gods that imbues a thing with piety. The second, will see the dialogue to its conclusion, but interrupt Socrates at the point he is lamenting Euthyphro’s departure, and will re-engage Socrates as if it’s a new dialogue.
And, without further ado, I present to you: the Euthyphro Expansion Pack:
# Dialogue 1: Euthyphro Says No
```
-------- Starting at (9c), for the sake of context: ------------
```
> Soc. But they will be sure to listen if they find that you are a good speaker. [9c] 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, [9d] 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. [9e] 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. [10a] The point which I should first wish to understand is whether the pious is beloved by the gods because it is pious, or pious 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. [10b] 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, [10c] 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 undergo because it is in a state of undergoing, but it is in a state of undergoing because it undergoes. Do you agree?
> Euth. Yes.
> Soc. Is not that which is loved in some state either of becoming or undergoing?
> 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: [10d] is not piety, according to your definition, loved by all the gods?
> Euth. Yes.
> Soc. Because it is pious, or for some other reason?
```
------- DIVERGENCE BEGINS HERE ------------
```
> Euth: As I have stated repeatedly now, what the gods love is what is pious. Their love is what makes a thing a pious thing. Why is this so hard for you to understand?
> Soc: But isn’t this simply giving affection another name?
> Euth: What are you talking about?
> Soc: You’re talking in circles again. You’re saying, that which is loved by the gods is that which is loved by the gods. But you’re calling it piety. Is it love or is it piety? Or, is there any difference?
> Euth: Socrates, my unfortunate friend, we’ve been over this. The gods are mightier than we are. They have powers far beyond that of which we mere mortals are capable. I have offered to tell you of these things, but you refused in favor of this single-minded pursuit of yours. Now, you must listen to me:
> When the gods love a thing, their love covers and surrounds that object, like a vapor or a scent. That emmanation penetrates the object, and through this, it shares in their divine essence with them. It strengthens the object, making it appear admirable in a special way to humankind. This, we call “the pious”.
> Soc: This is remarkable, Euthyphro! I recall that I earlier doubted the stories of war amongst the gods, and still granted the case to you. But this is a tale of unimaginable oddness. How did you come to this knowledge?
> Euth: Come now, Socrates. You know that I am a Mantis. Are you mocking me?
> Soc: By Zeus, no! You are my teacher, and I am desperate for you to help me understand. Otherwise I’ll be left with nothing to defend myself from the wrath of Meletus. I am sorry for this Euthyphro, but I just don’t understand you. If the pious and the beloved are not two different things, then why do we give them two names? Surely, there is something that the gods recognize in a thing. Something that is inspiring their love for it?
> Euth: Now, you are asking for something I am not equipped to offer you. My access to the divine can only tell us what they do and do not love. It cannot tell us why they love what they love, or why hate what they hate. Perhaps you should make a pilgrimage to Delphi.
> Soc: Who is mocking whom, now? In any case, if the gods cannot tell us why they love what they love, and we cannot divine or discern the reasons for their love, what use is it to us?
```
------------------ rejoin briefly, at the end of 13e ------------------
```
> Euth: What use indeed! // 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— clearly 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?
```
------------ Divergence again, at [14c] ------------
```
> Euth: No, Socrates. You are fatiguing me. I already explained what piety is. What you are describing now, is religious ritual. That is the simple practice of asking and giving to and from the gods. It is not a science, as I explained. It cannot be a science. The things we do in the practice of our religion are pious, because the gods love it. The gods will therefore show us when we are acting with piety, if only we would act.
> Soc: I’m not sure what you mean, Euthyphro. If I cannot discover the meaning of their love, how can I be sure that changing my own behaviors will attract the love of the gods, and thereby insure my piety, before the court? Will you not help me to discover why the gods love what they love?
```
-------- Rejoin, at [15e] --------
```
> 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.
…And, poor Socrates ends in the same place he began. But what if this dialogue continued, just with another interlocutor?
# Dialogue 2: The Consolation Of A Stranger
```
-------- This dialogue continues the last passage of the original [15e-16a]: -------
```
> Socrates. 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.
> Abderan Stranger: Socrates, do not despair. I have been listening to your conversation with Euthyphro, and I would be glad to help you on your quest to discover what is piety.
> Socrates: But you are no Euthyphro. He is the one who has this information. Do you know what piety is? Did you already learn it from Euthyphro? Can you tell me?
> Abd: Alas, Socrates, no. I am no Mantis, and I have received no instruction from great Euthyphro. I admit that I do not know what piety is, but as you helped the proud Meno to see, perhaps if we can begin with the ideas you raised with Euthyphro, then we can continue the work together, to discover it.
> Soc: How do you know of my conversation with Meno?
> Abd: Word gets around, in Athens, Socrates. Everyone knows who you are. Your conversations are legendary. Can I give you another example?
> Soc: By all means. Tell me of how my words are reaching the ears of my fellow Athenians!
> Abd: Socrates, you were proposing to Euthyphro earlier that piety may be a part of justice. But this is confusing to me. Did you not already explain to Glaucon and Adeimantus, at the festival of the new Thracian goddess, what is justice?
> Soc: I did, indeed. It was a most beautiful explanation, if I do say so myself. I explained how the soul of man is comprised of three parts: the spirited, the appetitive, and the reasoning, and a balance of these three aspects is derived by educating them by means of the virtues of courage, temperance, and wisdom. And, if we did this consistently, the harmony of the three virtues at play within the soul would produce justice.
> Abd: Right, and now I ask: where does piety now fit into that perfect triangle of virtues? How is piety also produced as a “part” of the justice that is produced?
> Soc: You raise an interesting question, friend. Let’s examine the question together. Is it a part of what is produced, or a part of what produces?
> Abd: What do you mean?
> Soc: Would you say that piety is a virtue that helps to condition some part of the soul, or would you say that piety, in addition to justice, is a result of the three virtues working in harmony?
> Abd: Socrates, I’m not at all sure. If we accept the former, that would break the unity of the three virtues. If we accept the latter, then justice does not appear to be a complete whole, but rather an assemblage of parts.
> Soc: Let us grant the former for the moment, what would be the consequence?
> Abd: The soul would no longer be constituted as a triangle. It would be a square. But the simplest form is the triangle. Shouldn’t the soul follow suit?
> Soc: Yes, this is a problem. But perhaps I have been attacking this from the wrong frame of reference. Tell me, how many perfect solids are there?
> Abd: Well, according to you Socrates, there are five, yes?
> Soc: Yes, that’s quite right, and they are, the Tetrahedron, the Hexahedron, the Octahedron, the Dodecahedron, and the Icosahedron. Let’s start with the first. The Tetrahedron, what shape does it have?
> Abd: It’s a triangle, yes?
> Soc: Not quite. How many sides are needed for this shape?
> Abd: There are four sides to a Tetrahedron.
> Soc: Quite correct. And I see now, the mistake I’ve made with Glaucon and Adeimantus. I should wish to find them and explain it as quickly as possible! My daimon never warned me, but this is so clearly a mistake. I am beside myself.
> Abd: But what is the mistake, Socrates? I don’t understand. What have you discovered?
> Soc: I will draw a triangle in the sand, just here. Do you agree, this is a triangle?
> Abd: Yes, of course, and I can also see how each point can be understood as a point in the just soul, as you’ve so wondrously described it in the past.
> Soc: But this triangle lies flat on the ground. It is like the shadow of this stool, or that tree. It is not the thing itself, but an imperfect image of it. How can I perfect this shape?
> Abd: We should add a side to it. We should raise it out of the sand, so that it stands before us, as a house or tree would. That would give it all the sides of a Tetrahedron, yes?
> Soc: Yes! Exactly. A triangle has three sides. But the perfected form of the triangle has four. By the gods! How could I have missed this? But I see it so clearly now!
> Abd: Socrates, you’re scaring me. Are you alright? What have you discovered? What do you see?
> Soc: Did the storyteller who recounted my trip to Pireaus to you, also tell you of the story of the cave I told to Adeimantus and Glaucon?
> Abd: He did, Socrates, and it was amazing. If you were a poet, we should all be entranced by your tales.
> Soc: Nonsense, I am no poet. It served it’s purpose then, and it will serve it’s purpose again, now. In the allegory, I described men who carried carvings along a walkway, in front of a light. And I explained how the prisoners in the cave could only see the shadows of those objects, dancing on the cave wall in front of them. Do you recall?
> Abd: Yes. Yes, of course.
> Soc: And I described the one who escaped, as traveling to the surface, and finding himself blinded by the light of the bright sun, which he had never seen before, but gradually seeing the true forms of things on the surface, as his eyes adjusted.
> Abd: I remember, Socrates, yes. A very magnificent vision.
> Soc: And do you not see now, how the form of the triangle is like the shadow dancing on the cave wall, and the form of the Tetrahedron is the glimpse we have shared, of the true reality?
> Abd: Absolutely. But what does this have to do with Justice?
> Soc: My anonymous friend, because you have helped me so greatly, I will gladly share what I know with you: In the same way as the triangle is the shadow of the Tetrahedron, the soul I have constructed, and the the image of justice within it, is a mere shadow! The true soul, and the image of true justice within it, has four aspects, not three!
> In addition to Spirit, Appetite, and Reasoning, there is a fourth aspect. The aspect that is shared with the gods. The aspect that looks upward, not in the way that the Reasoning does, but toward the gods. The virtue that tempers it is Reverence or Piety. In the same way that Wisdom tempers the Reasoning aspect. The vice that corrupts this aspect is Vaingloriousness or Impiety, in the same way that Pride corrupts the Reasoning aspect. It is the third horse harnessed to the chariot of the soul. We shall call this aspect “Faith”.
> Abd: Socrates, I haven’t the breath to respond. This vision you have produced is overwhelming.
> Soc: Well, stranger, we’ve no time to lose. It is late, and I must make my way to Glaucon’s at once. Will you accompany me?
> Abd: Why, I would follow you anywhere! Lead on, teacher.
> Soc: By the way, what did you say your name was?
## Sources
Perseus Digital Library
Friesian.com
The Seer In Ancient Greece, Michael Flower
The Augustine Collective
The Play Of Characters In Plato’s Dialogues, Ruby Blondell
Wikipedia
Internet Encyclopedia Of Philosophy
Stanford Encyclopedia Of Philosophy
University of Washington
Plato, Socrates, And The Dialogues, Professor Michael Sugrue
Mathpages.com
```[Imported from exitingthecave.com on 28 November 2021```

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