Each animal has its glory.
The dog his ears, the rabbit her tail, the dolphin their leaps.
Giraffe … duh
[We’d first say flight of course but see, think, feel they all fly and largely the same — tho the hummingbird flit or hawk dive bear especial mention — but their caw, their call … absolutely individual. A bird’s call is the cat’s miaow. Unique. Glorious. Interactive at times.]
The horse … his hooves? speed?
A fish — iridescence? their gills?
Lions mane. No, paws. No, roar.
[Good to be the king]
Some have more.
The dog his all.
So what is man’s?
What is man, asks Hamlet — after calling Fortune a slut, the world a prison; finding false friends’ false freewheeling; denying mirth, habit, outlook, body, earth-firmament-sunfire-watervapor …
What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me. No, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
What is man, ask Paul, David, Job —
that you are mindful of him … that you care … just below the angels … crowned with honor … all in subjection, nothing beyond … that you regard us, think of we … make much of and set your heart upon
— but what of glory, man’s glory … sounds a bit like vainglory, ever a problem … the creature, why?
Cards on the table it will end up being Imago Dei but just one to start, that we might all agree.
Anyway, shut up and deal: our ID don’t answer the question much or rather it does too much.
is it …
The mind, the heart, the soul, the strength
Our social interaction … kinda clunky … better — our relatingships
What we don’t know — the glory of that!
We shd find out.
There oughta be a list.