Well, I figure since this thing has lain fallow for some time, I'd use it to post up some old stuff I wrote years and years ago. Maybe I'll get back to putting something current up, but not any time soon. So here we go.
An Open Letter to Socrates,
Socrates, greatest of men, what ills have befallen the race of man since you were unjustly put to death! The day of your passing was indeed the darkest day ever lived by any man in any epoch of time. For when those cruel purveyors of law sentenced you to death, they condemned the best of all men. Would that the earth itself had refused your death, and the hemlock you drank turned to the fairest of wines!
How can I express to you how sorely we now require your guidance? I fear words are unable to capture our need, our dire need, for your assurance, your presence. With each passing day I see man falling further and further into the cave; you were the one who held the key to our bonds, the one who could free our heads and our legs so we could see that there was light. You were the first of men to be freed, and whether by divine providence or the resilience of the human spirit, your fetters were shattered. Yours were the eyes that first gazed upon the light, and you stood there on the path, hand outstretched, beckoning us to join you.
Alas, the hearts of men were tied too strongly to corporeal accouterments, our shackles too firmly fastened of our own devices. Willingly we chose the path of the blind man, and the hand you held out to us was rejected. Had we but embraced you as you hoped we would, every sunrise following that day would be brighter and more beautiful than the next! Instead, each day the sun rises it shines a glimmer less, and the beacons that are the lives of men shimmer not as brightly as the preceding shone.
The defamation of you, Socrates, and the denunciation of your words were symbolic of man spurning wisdom for the perils of folly. Instead of the Just, we have the Law. Instead of the Beautiful, we have the Glamorous. Instead of the Excellent, we have the Moral. Instead of the True, we have the Believed. Instead of the Reasoned, we have the Supposed. Instead of the Contemplative, we have the Ignorant. Instead of the United, we have the Divided. Instead of the Loved, we have the Hated. Instead of the Philosopher, we have the King.
You, Socrates, were the Philosopher. You were the lover of wisdom, the paragon of excellence, the embodiment of reason. Upon your death we were given the King, the truly ignorant, he who believed he knew. And the King spread through the hearts and minds of men, whispered in their ears of images they thought to be the Forms. The imagination replaced the intellection.
Oh Socrates, today more than any other day we require your aid! The men who chart our course steer our vessel more and more awry. The shadows upon the wall of the cave are almost no longer merely our perceived verity; our masters deign to make the illusory the reality.
The Kings seek to tell humanity who they are; but you, the Philosopher, knew you could only tell us who we were not. Ah, the frailty of man that drove so many to the false assurances of Kings for comfort! Socrates, how we have need of you and your maieutic teachings! You, great catalyst, could drive us to open our eyes and awaken to the Virtuous. With you, our path would be set!
But no, those sophists of Athens, those twisted and warped sinners against wisdom, sealed off that hope for us. And thus we are left in a cave, knowing not what we are, only what we are not: just, beautiful, excellent, true, reasoned, contemplative, united, loved- wise.
An Open Letter to Socrates,
Socrates, greatest of men, what ills have befallen the race of man since you were unjustly put to death! The day of your passing was indeed the darkest day ever lived by any man in any epoch of time. For when those cruel purveyors of law sentenced you to death, they condemned the best of all men. Would that the earth itself had refused your death, and the hemlock you drank turned to the fairest of wines!
How can I express to you how sorely we now require your guidance? I fear words are unable to capture our need, our dire need, for your assurance, your presence. With each passing day I see man falling further and further into the cave; you were the one who held the key to our bonds, the one who could free our heads and our legs so we could see that there was light. You were the first of men to be freed, and whether by divine providence or the resilience of the human spirit, your fetters were shattered. Yours were the eyes that first gazed upon the light, and you stood there on the path, hand outstretched, beckoning us to join you.
Alas, the hearts of men were tied too strongly to corporeal accouterments, our shackles too firmly fastened of our own devices. Willingly we chose the path of the blind man, and the hand you held out to us was rejected. Had we but embraced you as you hoped we would, every sunrise following that day would be brighter and more beautiful than the next! Instead, each day the sun rises it shines a glimmer less, and the beacons that are the lives of men shimmer not as brightly as the preceding shone.
The defamation of you, Socrates, and the denunciation of your words were symbolic of man spurning wisdom for the perils of folly. Instead of the Just, we have the Law. Instead of the Beautiful, we have the Glamorous. Instead of the Excellent, we have the Moral. Instead of the True, we have the Believed. Instead of the Reasoned, we have the Supposed. Instead of the Contemplative, we have the Ignorant. Instead of the United, we have the Divided. Instead of the Loved, we have the Hated. Instead of the Philosopher, we have the King.
You, Socrates, were the Philosopher. You were the lover of wisdom, the paragon of excellence, the embodiment of reason. Upon your death we were given the King, the truly ignorant, he who believed he knew. And the King spread through the hearts and minds of men, whispered in their ears of images they thought to be the Forms. The imagination replaced the intellection.
Oh Socrates, today more than any other day we require your aid! The men who chart our course steer our vessel more and more awry. The shadows upon the wall of the cave are almost no longer merely our perceived verity; our masters deign to make the illusory the reality.
The Kings seek to tell humanity who they are; but you, the Philosopher, knew you could only tell us who we were not. Ah, the frailty of man that drove so many to the false assurances of Kings for comfort! Socrates, how we have need of you and your maieutic teachings! You, great catalyst, could drive us to open our eyes and awaken to the Virtuous. With you, our path would be set!
But no, those sophists of Athens, those twisted and warped sinners against wisdom, sealed off that hope for us. And thus we are left in a cave, knowing not what we are, only what we are not: just, beautiful, excellent, true, reasoned, contemplative, united, loved- wise.
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