The end of the Peloponnesian War in 404 BC marked the end of Athens’ Golden Age. Most historians agree that the halcyon days of Athens were behind her. Some however, such as Victor Davis Hanson in his multi-genre meditations, A War Like No Other, a discourse on military history, cultural decay, and philosophical framing, offers a more nuanced view suggesting that Athens was still capable of greatness, but the lights were dimming.
During the following six decades, after the war, Athens rebuilt. Its navy reached new heights. Its long walls were rebuilt within a decade. Aristophanes retained his satirical edge even if it was a bit more reflective. Agriculture returned in force. Even Sparta reconciled with Athens or vice versa, recognizing once again that the true enemy was Persia.
Athens brought back its material greatness, but its soul was lost. What ended the Golden Age of Athens wasn’t crumbled walls or sunken ships. It was the loss of lives that took the memory, the virtuosity of greatness with it. With them generational continuity, civic pride, and a religious belief in the polis vanished. The meaning, truth, and myth of Athenian exceptionalism died with their passing. The architects of how to lead a successful, purpose driven civilization had disappeared, mostly through death by war or state but also by plague.
Victor Davis Hanson, in his A War Like No Other lists many of the lives lost to and during the war that took much of Athens’ exceptionalism with them to their graves. Below is a partial listing of Hanson’s more complete rendering with some presumptuous additions.
Alcibiades was an overtly ambitious Athenian strategist; brilliant, erratic, and ultimately treasonous. He championed the disastrous Sicilian expedition, Athens greatest defeat. Over the course of the war, he defected multiple times: serving Athens, then Sparta, then Persia, before returning to Athens. He was assassinated in Phrygia around 404 BC while under Persian protection, by, many beleive, the instigation of the Spartan general Lysander.
Euripides though he did not fight in the war exposed its brutality and hypocrisy in his plays such as The Trojan Woman and Helen. The people were not sufficiently appreciative of his war opinions or plays, winning only four firsts at Dionysia compared to 24 and 13 for Sophocles and Aeschylus, respectively. Disillusioned, he went into self-imposed exile in Macedonia and died there around 406 BC by circumstances unknown.
The execution of the Generals of Arginusae remains a legendary example of Athenian arbitrary retribution; proof that a city obsessed with ritualized honor could nullify military genius, and its future, in a single stroke. The naval Battle of Arginusae, fought in 406 BC, east of the Greek island of Lesbos, was the last major Athenian victory over the Spartans in the Peloponnesian War. Athenian command of the battle was split between 8 generals: Aristocrates, Aristogenes, Dimedon, Erasinides, Lysias, Pericles the Younger (son of Pericles), Protomachus, and Thrasyllus. After their victory over the Spartan fleet a storm prevented the Athenians from recovering the survivors, and the dead, from their sunken ships. Of the six generals that returned to Athens all were executed for their negligence. Protomachus and Aristogenes, likely knowing their fate, chose not to return and went into exile.
Pericles, the flesh and blood representation of Athens’ greatness was the statesman and general who led the city-state during its golden age. He died of the plague in 429 BC during the war’s early years, taking with him the vision of democratic governance and Athens’ exceptionalism. His 3 legitimate sons all died during the war. His two oldest boys likely died of the plague around 429 BC and Pericles the Younger was executed for his part in the Battle of Arginusae.
Socrates, the world’s greatest philosopher (yes greater than Plato or Aristotle) fought bravely in the war, but he was directly linked to the traitor Alcibiades. He was tried and killed in 399 BC for subverting the youth and not giving the gods their due. That was all pretense. Athens desired to wash their collective hands of the war and Socrates was a very visible reminder of that. He became a ritual scapegoat swept up into the collective expurgation of the war’s memory.
Sophocles, already a man of many years by the beginning of the war, died in 406 BC at the age of 90 or 91, a few years before Athens’ final collapse. His tragedies embodied the ethical and civic pressures of a society unraveling. With the deaths of Aeschylus in 456 BC, Euripides in 406 BC, and Sophocles soon after, the golden age of Greek tragedy came to a close.
Thucydides, author of the scholarly standard for the Peloponnesian War, was exiled after ‘allowing’ the Spartans to capture Amphipolis, He survived the war, and the plague, but never returned to Athens. His History ends in mid-sentence for the period up to 411 BC. He lived till 400 BC, and no one really knows why he didn’t finish his account of the war. Xenophon picked up where Thucydides left off and finished up the war in his first two books of Hellenica which he composed somewhere in the 380s BC.
The Peloponnesian War ended Athens’ greatest days. The men who kept its lights bright were gone. Its material greatness returned, glowing briefly, but its civic greatness, its soul, slowly dimmed. It was a candle in the wind of time that would be rekindled elsewhere. The world would fondly remember its glory, but Athens had lost its spark.
Source: A War Like No Other by Victor Davis Hanson, 2005. Graphic: Alcibiades Being Taught by Socrates, Francois-Andre Vincent, 1776. Musee Fabre, France. Public Domain.
From the dawn of sentient thought, humanity has wrestled with a single, haunting, and ultimately unanswerable question: Is this all there is? Across the march of time, culture, and science, this question has echoed in the minds of prophets, philosophers, mystics, and skeptics alike. It arises not from curiosity alone, but from something deeper, an inner awareness, a presence within all of us that resists the idea of the inevitable, permanent end. In every age, whether zealot or atheist, this consciousness, a soul, if you will, refuses to accept mortality. Not out of fear, but from an intuition that there must be more. This inner consciousness will not be denied, even to non-believers.
One needs to believe that death is not an end, a descent into nothingness, but a threshold: a rebirth into a new journey, shaped by the echoes of a life already lived. Not logic, but longing. Not reason, but resonance. A consciousness, a soul, that seeks not only to understand, but to fulfill, to carry forward the goodness of a life into something greater still. Faith in immortality beyond sight. A purpose beyond meaning. Telos over logos.
While modern thinkers reduce existence to probability and simulation, the enduring human experience, expressed through ancient wisdom, points to a consciousness, a soul, that transcends death and defies reduction. Moderns confuse intellect or brain with consciousness.
Contemporary thinkers and writers like Philip K. Dick, Elon Musk, and Nick Bostrom have reimagined this ancient question through the lens of technology, probability, and a distinctly modern myopia. Their visions, whether paranoid, mathematical, or speculative, suggest that reality may be a simulation, a construct, or a deception. In each case, there is a higher intelligence behind the curtain, but one that is cold, indifferent, impersonal. They offer not a divine comedy of despair transcending into salvation, but a knowable unknown: a system of ones and zeros marching to the beat of an intelligence beyond our comprehension. Not a presence that draws us like a child to its mother, a moth to a flame, but a mechanism that simply runs, unfeeling, unyielding, and uninviting. Incapable of malice or altruism. Yielding nothing beyond a synthetic life.
Dick feared that reality was a layered illusion, a cosmic deception. His fiction is filled with characters who suspect they’re being lied to by the universe itself, yet they keep searching, keep hoping, keep loving. Beneath the paranoia lies a desperate longing for a divine rupture, a breakthrough of truth, a light in the darkness. His work is less a rejection of the soul than a plea for its revelation in a world that keeps glitching. If life is suffering, are we to blame?
Musk posits that we’re likely living in a simulation but offers no moral or spiritual grounding. His vision is alluring but sterile, an infinite loop of code without communion. Even his fascination with Mars, AI, and the future of consciousness hints at something deeper: not just a will to survive, but a yearning to transcend. Yet transcendence, in his world, is technological, not spiritual. To twist the spirit of Camus: “Should I kill myself or have a cup of coffee?”, without transcendence, life is barren of meaning.
Bostrom presents a trilemma in his simulation hypothesis: either humanity goes extinct before reaching a posthuman stage, posthumans choose not to simulate their ancestors, perhaps out of ethical restraint or philosophical humility, or we are almost certainly living in a simulation. At first glance, the argument appears logically airtight. But on closer inspection, it rests on a speculative foundation of quivering philosophical sand: that consciousness is computational and organic, that future civilizations will have both the means and the will to simulate entire worlds, and that such simulations would be indistinguishable from reality. These assumptions bypass profound questions about the nature of consciousness, the ethics of creation, and the limits of simulated knowledge. Bostrom’s trilemma appears rigorous only because it avoids the deeper question of what it means to live and die.
These views, while intellectually stimulating, shed little light on a worthwhile future. We are consigned to existence as automatons, soulless, simulated, and suspended in probability curves of resignation. They offer models, not meaning. Equations, not essence. A presence in the shadows of greater reality.
Even the guardians of spiritual tradition have begun to echo this hollow refrain. When asked about hell, a recently deceased Pope dismissed it not as fire and brimstone, but as “nothingness,” a state of absence, not punishment. Many were stunned. A civilizational lifetime of moral instruction undone in a breath. And yet, this vision is not far from where Bostrom’s simulation hypothesis lands: a world without soul, without consequence, without continuity. Whether cloaked in theology or technology, the message is the same, there is nothing beyond. The Seven Virtues and the Seven Deadly Sins have lost their traction, reduced to relics in a world without effect.
But the soul knows better. It was not made for fire, nor for oblivion. It was made to transcend, to rise beyond suffering and angst toward a higher plane of being. What it fears is not judgment, but erasure. Not torment, but the silence of meaning undone. Immortality insists on prudent upkeep.
What they overlook, or perhaps refuse to embrace, is a consciousness that exists beyond intellect, a soul that surrounds our entire being and resists a reduction to circuitry or biology. A soul that transcends blood and breath. Meaning beyond death.
This is not a new idea. Socrates understood something that modern thinkers like Musk and Bostrom have bypassed: that consciousness is not a byproduct of the body, but something prior to it, something eternal. For Socrates, the care of the soul was the highest human calling. He faced death not with fear, but with calm, believing it to be a transition, not an end or a nothingness, but a new beginning. His final words were not a lament, but a gesture of reverence: a sacrifice to Asclepius, the god of healing, as if death itself were a cure.
Plato, his student, tried to give this insight form. In his allegory of the cave, he imagined humanity as prisoners mistaking shadows for reality. The journey of the soul, for Plato, was the ascent from illusion to truth, from darkness to light. But the metaphor, while powerful, is also clumsy. It implies a linear escape, a single ladder out of ignorance. In truth, the cave is not just a place, it is a condition. We carry it with us. The shadows are not only cast by walls, but by our own minds, our fears. And the light we seek is not outside us, but within.
Still, Plato’s intuition remains vital: we are not meant to stay in the cave. The soul does not long merely for survival, it is immortal, but it needs growth, nourished by goodness and beauty, to transcend to heights unknown. A transcendence as proof, the glow of the real beyond the shadow and the veil.
In the end, the soul reverberates from within: we are not boxed inside a simulation, nor trapped in a reality that leads nowhere. Whether through reason, compassion, or spiritual awakening, the voice of wisdom has always whispered the same truth: Keep the soul bright and shiny. For beyond the shadows, beyond the veil of death, there is more. There is always more.
Bruce Greyson in a paper published in the Journal Humanities states that, “Near-death experiences (NDEs) are vivid experiences that often occur in life-threatening conditions, usually characterized by a transcendent tone and clear perceptions of leaving the body and being in a different spatiotemporal dimension.”
NDEs have been reported throughout history and across various cultures, with many interpreting them as proof of life after death or the continuation of existence beyond the death of the physical body.
Dr. Eben Alexander, a neurosurgeon, experienced his own NDE during a week-long coma induced by a brain illness. During this experience, he reported traveling outside his body to another world, where he encountered an angelic being and the maker of the universe. He interpreted his experience not only as evidence that consciousness exists outside the mortal body but also as proof of God and heaven.
Socrates believed that the soul, a concept encompassing not only consciousness but also the whole psyche of a person, was immortal and existed in a realm beyond the physical world. According to the Platonic concept of “anamnesis”, the soul is temporarily housed in the mortal body until the body’s death, at which point it returns to a “spiritual” realm. Socrates firmly believed that because the soul is immortal, it is imperative to live a moral and virtuous life to avoid damaging the soul.
Zeno of Citium and the Stoics, following in Socrates’ footsteps, developed the concept of “pneuma” or spirit, which they viewed as a physical substance that returns to the cosmos after the death of the body. They believed that the universe is a living being, a concept known as “pantheism,” and that pneuma or souls are part of the greater universal whole.
Omniscience–Omnipresence.
Source: The Near-Death Experience by Sabom, JAMA Network, Proof of Heaven by Alexander. Memorabilia by Xenophon. Graphic: Out of Body, istock licensed.
In Plato’s Republic, a “Noble Lie” is a myth, or a falsehood knowingly propagated by the elites to maintain social harmony, or stated succinctly, to keep the plebs in their place and make sure they love it.
Plato believed that society required a class system led by philosophers who needed to create a lie that unites and binds the lower classes to the state. Without this binding myth the classes will turn on each other, and the government will fail.
The Noble Lie myth promoted by Plato, via Socrates, was that the populace was born with hierarchical souls with the upper classes having better souls. Another myth was Karl Marx stating, “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs,” formulating a classless society where goods and services were free.
Source: Plato’s Republic. A Noble Lie by Plato Intelligence. Introduction to Plato: The Noble Lie by Paul Krause, 2019, Minerva Wisdom. Graphic: Socrates’ Address by Lebrun, 1867, public domain.
Plato documents Socrates’ final days in four books all written as dialogues. The first dialogue, ensuing shortly before Socrates’ trial for impiety and corruption of Athenian youth occurs between Socrates and the Athenian prophet, Euthyphro, who together attempt to define piety without success.
The second book, Apology, Socrates defends himself to the Athenian court, poorly in all respects, purposefully one suspects, confessing that his life’s quest is one of seeking wisdom, nothing more.
Crito is the third book in this series, and it takes place in Socrates’ prison cell after he has been found guilty of his crimes with his execution scheduled for the next day. Crito, a wealthy friend of Socrates, has come to urge him to escape. Socrates refuses and the ensuing dialogue revolves around justice and the damage to one’s soul through the actions of injustice.
In the fourth book Phaedo, a Greek philosopher, visits on the day of Socrates’ execution, and has a discussion centered on the immortality of the soul. Socrates offers four arguments for why the soul must be eternal while the body is mortal, firmly imprinting the duality of nature into the human psyche for endless generations to come.
Source: Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, and Phaedo by Plato, 4th century BC. Graphic: Statue of Socrates by Drosis, Athens, Classical Wisdom.
Before the One Ring, created by Sauron during the Second Age, Plato created, as a thought experiment, the Ring of Gyges which gave its wearer the cloak of invisibility. Gyges discovered that when he was invisible, he could commit immoral acts and crimes without suffering any adverse consequences or retribution from society.
Plato in his Republic, using the ring of invisibility as an analogy, explores man’s ability to remain honest and moral in the face of immunity from all consequences. He concludes that if one is free of any consequences he will act in his own self-interest, justice be damned, or as the 19th century historian and writer, Lord Acton states, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
This leads Plato, through the lips of Socrates, to suggest that justice is not a social construct but an inherent quality of one’s soul. The soul must be in harmony with one’s actions and a harmonious soul contributes to a just society. Socrates believed and advised, and he followed his advice, that a harmonious and pure soul leads to true happiness and fulfillment or as the ancient Greeks called it: eudaimonia. For Aristotle eudaimonia is the highest human good and the only human good that is desirable for its own sake, an end in itself. Justice is a by-product of true happiness. Unhappy people and unhappy societies are not just people and just societies.
J.R.R. Tolkien, not only a writer but also a philologist, most certainly was aware of Plato’s Ring of Gyges as an analogy of ultimate power when he used his One Ring in the Lord of the Rings as the definitive symbol of man’s quest to resist and fight evil.
Source: The Republic by Plato. Reason and Meaning.com. Philosophy Terms. Oxford Reference. Graphic: The One Ring, Good Free Photos.
In Plato’s Republic, and his Phaedo, the Myth of Er is recounted to explain the immortality of the soul and the importance of keeping one’s soul morally pure. Myth in this story doesn’t mean the fable or legend of Er but the word or account of Er.
In the Myth of Er a soldier killed in battle is taken to the afterlife where souls are judged for their actions on Earth. Er, though, rather than be judged, is allowed to witness the fate of new souls’ arrival and report his sights and experiences back to the people of Earth.
The judges send the good souls upward through the celestial spheres, which Plato modeled as the Spindle of Necessity; to further cleanse their souls so they can be sent back to Earth to inhabit a new body, forgetful of their past life. The bad souls descend into the ground and return dirty and tired where they are required to pay a penalty before returning to a new life on Earth. The truly evil are forever confined to the underground to be tormented until the end of time.
In the Myth of Er the three Fates are responsible for weaving the threads of man’s destiny, maintaining the cycle of birth, experience, and death symbolized by the Spindle of Necessity.
Source: Greek Mythology.com. Plato’s Phaedo. Plato’s Republic Book 10. Epoch Times. Graphic: The Three Fates, painting by Paul Thumann, c. 1800s. Public Domain.
Phaedo is the fourth and final Socratic dialogue by Plato (the others being Euthyphro, Apology, and Crito) discussing the day Socrates was put to death by the Athenian state. Phaedo, who was with Socrates on the day of his death, is in the Greek city of Phlius at a later time and is asked by his friend Echecrates to tell him all about that eventful day.
The dialogue begins with Socrates proposing that a philosopher should look forward to death, but it is immoral for one to take his own life. He posits that the soul is immortal and one’s life should be geared to keeping one’s soul pure. He then provides three, or four depending on interpretations, arguments for the immortality of the soul. First, he puts forth the cyclical argument that death follows life which is followed by death and so on. Second, he proposes that we are born knowing what our souls knew before birth, we just can’t remember it until the proper questions are raised. Finally, Socrates puts forth the Affinity argument which states that the body is mortal and visible, and the soul is immortal and invisible.
After these arguments Socrates introduces Forms, actually a Platonic idea, the fourth argument according to some, sometimes known as the two-world theory where reality is set against what our senses tell us. Our senses give us a visible but imperfect perception of the world as opposed to Forms which are only conceived in one’s mind and are invisible and unchanging.
At the end of the dialog Socrates tells his audience the myth of Er, a discussion of where to soul goes upon death. He then says his goodbyes, drinks hemlock, and slowly dies.
The Phaedo is more a compilation of Plato’s beliefs than a thorough discussion of Socratic philosophy, especially the discussions of Forms.
Source: Ancient Greek Philosophers, translated by Benjamin Jowett, published 2018. Phaedo by Tim Connolly, Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Graphic: Copy of a Bust of Plato, original by Silanion. Photo of bust by Nguyen, 2009.
“Let no one be slow to seek wisdom when he is young nor weary in the search thereof when he is grown old. For no age is too early or too late for the health of the soul.”
So begins the third and fourth century BC Greek philosopher, Epicurus in his letter to Menoeceus, although who Menoeceus was, has been lost to the ages. Epicurus was a Greek philosopher born on the island of Samos in the Aegean Sea off the coast of Turkey. He established a school next to Plato’s in Athens and taught that one’s purpose in life was to lead a happy, tranquil, self-sufficient life, a pleasant life, and not to fear death.
Epicurus taught that after death there is nothing. Death is/was the end of the body and soul; teaching that self-guilt and shame were the only methods available to prevent the world from overflowing with psychopaths. This is not far from the current Pope’s thoughts on Hell being an empty shell, a place of nothingness. Socrates, on the other hand, taught that the soul is eternal, and one must strive to keep it bright and shiny.
Epicurus ended his letter to Menoeceus, “Meditate therefore on these things (a pleasant life) and things akin to them night and day by yourself, and with a companion like to yourself, and never shall you be disturbed waking or asleep, but you shall live like a god among men. For a man who lives among immortal blessings is not like to a mortal being.”
Sources: “Ancient Greek Philosophers”, numerous translators, published 2018 and Manchester.edu (Indiana). Photo of a bust of Epicurus by Nguyen, public domain.
Alfred Edward Taylor was born in Oundle, England in 1869, and died in Edinburgh, Scotland in 1945. He was a professor, a Greek classicist, and a philosopher of metaphysics and ethics. He spent his adult life at the ancient Scottish Universities of St. Andrews and Edinburgh researching and teaching the spiritual; the immortal basis for morality and the philosophy of Plato. Plato was a student of Socrates and as such he was a concern to and within the orbit of Taylor.
Socrates’, leaving no written record, entire philosophical corpus and biography have reached us today primarily through the writings of two near contemporary Greeks: Plato and Xenophon. Taylor’s contribution to our present day understanding of Socrates was to argue that Plato’s four basic texts on Socrates: Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, and Phaedo, are accurate depictions of what Socrates said and did. Xenophon, who also wrote extensively about Socrates but later, Taylor argued, is less reliable. This may seem trivial, but this point has been and still is contested due to the immense stature of Socrates as one of the founders of Western philosophy in general and ethics in particular. The basic question among philosophers is whether Plato’s writings describing Socratic philosophy are accurate or are amalgamations of Socratic and Platonic thought? Who knows? The dispute will continue till the end of days so we will leave it as Taylor says.
Taylor’s studies within the philosophy of ethics and morality centered on what is right and good, whether the two were complementary and/or achievable. Taylor argued right and good or the moral practice of the individual is constrained and flawed without the aid of the supernatural: God. His thesis was that searching inward, within oneself for rebirth and betterment, for a moral compass, flows only in circles leading nowhere. To reach a higher level of morality or good requires looking outward to the spiritual through contemplation of the eternal good. Taylor argued that the will to reach for a better or eternal good is impetus for the eternal, the divine good to reach for you. Additionally, morality, Taylor surmises, plateaus in the human confines of a person’s physical life, requiring, unfortunately or fortunately depending on your perspective, death to continue the soul’s moral journey for better or worse.
Socrates:
Any biography of Socrates is going to be short. Almost all authoritative writings concerning his work, teachings, and life that have reached us in the 21st century consists of approximately two hundred written pages, in English, by Plato and about three hundred English written pages by Xenophon with the two containing significant overlap. Taylor’s biography, using Plato and Xenophon as primary sources, is no exception managing to encapsulate Socrates’ remarkable life into a quick read of 142 pages. Within these few pages concerning this most remarkable man everything has been disputed except for the Athenians putting him to death for being a royal pain in the rear, some have used the term gadfly. That is the one piece of his life that no one disagrees with. No one disputes that he was put to death in 399 BC, and it is likely that no one disputes that he was a royal pain in the posterior, a gadfly.
Socrates was born, circa 469 BC, grew up and lived in Athens until he was put to death in 399 BC at the age of seventy. He lived during the Golden Age of Athens (478-404 BC) and the overlapping Age of Pericles (461-429 BC) both now combined and known by the excessively non-descriptive non-demonym: Fifth Century Athens. (Why classical historians thought this was a useful, didactic change defies any sound, logical reasoning. Alas it was changed to avoid hurt feelings of Greeks and Athenians whose best years occurred two thousand seven hundred years ago. How you soothe pouting children should not be an instruction manual for sane adults.)
Socrates only left Athens to serve in military battles prior to and during the (second) Peloponnesian War. He was a hoplite in the Athenian army, a heavy infantry soldier outfitted with a shield, sword, and/or spear fighting in a phalanx or block-like formation. By all accounts he was a good and courageous soldier. His first recorded engagement, at the age of thirty-eight, was the battle and siege at Potidaea beginning in 432 BC. lasting until 429 BC. Potidaea was a Greek city-state, approximately 155 miles, as the crow flies, north of Athens, threatening to break free of Athenian control. This battle helped trigger the much larger and costlier Peloponnesian War beginning in 431 BC and lasting until 404 BC.
Socrates saved the life of Alcibiades, a gifted Athenian general and politician, but exceptionally duplicitous and erratic. Socrates heroic action should have garnered him the prize for valor, but Alcibiades was awarded it instead due to his higher birth and rank. A very powerful disincentive to the rank and file indeed.
Five and seven years later Socrates fought for Athens in the losing battles of Delium and Amphipolis, respectively, during the initial stages of the twenty-seven year-long Peloponnesian War. During the battle of Delium in 424 BC, Alcibiades saved Socrates’ life thus repaying Socrates’ valiant deed and cementing their life-long, but problematic, friendship.
Alcibiades recounts a story of Socrates during the engagement of Potidaea that bears on the philosopher’s power, or possibly prophetic power of thought. One morning Socrates, while contemplating an assumed perplexing problem became motionless, a state he remained in until the next morning when he said a prayer and walked away invigorated, amazing his fellow soldiers who had been watching him through the night. This story has him either being completely lost in thought, refusing to move to avoid breaking that train of thought, or as another occurrence of the ‘Sign’, voice, or daimonion that came to him, starting in his childhood and continuing throughout his adult life.
The ‘Sign’ was a voice usually described as an inner call, not to action, but to caution, a warning of future woes to come. Socrates mentioned at his trial that whenever the voice spoke to him it turned him away from something he was about to do. Some believe the ‘Sign’ was simply his subconscious speaking to him while others feel it was divine. A message from God.
To stretch a minor detail, Socrates almost never referred to the Gods, just God in the singular, a minor point yes, but a point all the same that the ‘Sign’ may have been religious vision or experience from the perspective of monotheism versus accepted Greek polytheism. At his trial he states, “It is to fulfill some function that I believe God has placed me in the city. I never cease to rouse each and every one of you, to persuade and reproach you all day long…” His ‘Sign’ did not speak to him during his trial leaving him to conclude that the sentence of death was something he should accept.
Socrates’ ‘religion’ began with his belief in the soul, and that it was immortal and unchanging. The soul existed before you were born and continued after your death. He believed the soul was your truth, your essence, your reality beyond your corporal self. He believed the soul must be looked after and kept in immaculate condition.
Socrates believed that to care for your soul required a focus on personal growth. Growth comes from the pursuit of wisdom and knowledge, the study of philosophy, to further one’s understanding of not only yourself but the world around you. The pursuit of wisdom through what became known as the Socratic method, questioning and logical reasoning started with yourself: ‘know thyself’ and expanded to include the universe beyond your own flesh. To seek wisdom and knowledge by examining your life was to seek truth. Seeking wisdom and knowledge for the sake of truth is what Socrates meant when he spoke his famous line at his trial in 399 BC, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” Without truth, life is not worth living. Without truth one risks living a lie.
Socrates examined and questioned everything and everyone. His thirst for knowledge and wisdom all flowed from his stated belief in his own ignorance, stating “as for me all I know is that I know nothing.” No one that knew Socrates believed this statement for a second. He was known as a sage, a philosopher, and shrewd one at that. His wisdom was even embraced by the Oracle of Delphi who said Socrates was the wisest person in Athens.
For Socrates, though, his statement professing to know nothing wasn’t an expression of humility or ignorance but a challenge. A challenge to question one’s beliefs and opinions concerning all things seen and unseen. Two plus two equals four, everything else is questionable. “All I know is that I know nothing” is an acknowledgement that the search for wisdom: truth, at a minimum is transitory, possibly imaginary, and thus one must never stop searching. This was not to say there were no truths available to the living, but the search could be difficult and deceptive.
Socrates’ quest for the truth manifested itself first through his rejection of fame, money, and power. The corollary of that rejection is he lived a life of poverty, neglected hygiene, and wore no shoes. No shoes whether with feet on burning stones or frosted rocks. Pain and discomfort did not seem to bother him.
Secondly his quest for the truth was through the spoken word, never written. Conversations with his fellow Athenians occurred throughout the city, the Lyceum and the Agora were his two favorite haunts where he questioned his victims, and they were victims, in his famous ‘Socratic Method’ style of inquisition. Below is a short description of Socratic torture from the–Explainer: Socrates and the Life Worth Living (link below):
Socrates engages an interlocutor who appears to possess knowledge about an idea
The interlocutor makes an attempt to define the idea in question
Socrates asks a series of questions which test and unravel the interlocutor’s definition
The interlocutor tries to reassemble their definition, but Socrates repeats step three
Both parties arrive at a state of perplexity, or aporia (ed. a philosophical puzzle), in which neither can any further define the idea in question
Socrates’ Address. Louis J. Lebrun. 1867
A humorous sketch illustrating his method from Plato’s ‘Euthyphro‘ picks up near the end of a discussion concerning the gods:
Euthyphro: Why you don’t suppose, Socrates, that the gods gain any advantage from what they get from us, do you?
Socrates: Well then, what would those gifts of ours to the gods be?
Euthyphro: What else than honor and praise, and, as I said before, gratitude?
Socrates: Then, Euthyphro, holiness is grateful to the gods, but not advantageous or precious to the gods?
Euthyphro: I think it is precious, above all things.
Socrates: Then again, it seems, holiness is that which is precious to the gods.
Euthyphro: Certainly.
Socrates: Then will you be surprised, since you say this, if your words do not remain fixed but walk about, and will you accuse me of being the Daedalus who makes them walk, when you are yourself much more skillful than Daedalus and make them go round in a circle? Or do you not see that our definition has come round to the point from which it started? For you remember, I suppose, that a while ago we found that holiness and what is dear to the gods were not the same, but different from each other; or do you not remember?
Socrates: Then don’t you see that now you say that what is precious to the gods is holy? And is not this what is dear to the gods?
Euthyphro: Certainly.
Socrates: Then either our agreement a while ago was wrong, or if that was right, we are wrong now.
Euthyphro: So it seems.
Socrates: Then we must begin again at the beginning and ask what holiness is. Since I shall not willingly give up until I learn. […]
Euthyphro: Some other time, Socrates. Now I am in a hurry, and it is time for me to go.
Socrates: Oh my friend, what are you doing? You go away and leave me cast down from the high hope I had that I should learn from you what is holy, and what is not, and should get rid of Meletus’s indictment by showing him
Socrates’ learnings in search of the truth have been passed down to us through Plato, Aristotle, Epicurus, Locke, and others, climaxing in Jefferson’s preamble to Western civilization’s crowning ode to self and country: the ‘Declaration of Independence‘, proclaiming the fundamental, natural rights of man: Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
The phrase the ‘pursuit of Happiness’ has been thoroughly misconstrued to mean something foreign and vulgar to Jefferson’s original intent. The ‘pursuit of Happiness’ was not a grant to seek earthly enrichments and pleasures but a call to a higher state of being. Epicurus provided a definition of happiness that comes closest to the meaning of Jefferson, “the end of all our actions is to be free from pain and fear, and once this is obtained the tempest of the soul is quelled.” Life, Liberty, and the pursuit free from pain and fear. The ‘pursuit of Happiness’ sounds better.
Epicurus seeks a soul free of pain and fear. Socrates sought a pure soul. Both pursued it through the same means. Socrates and Epicurus’ greatest pleasure in life was the pursuit of wisdom and truth. Neither sought fame, money, or power nor feared death. Epicurus did not fear death because it was the end of the body and the soul. There was nothingness after death. No greater glory. No damnation. Just nothing. Socrates did not fear death because a pure and good soul went on to something better.
Socrates, then, lived a good life. A life in pursuit of truth. A death to continue his journey to a higher plane.
Socrates died, supposedly, for impiety and corruption of the youth. Both charges were difficult to square with reality, but they achieved the desired outcome: removing an inconvenient seeker of truth. Silencing the moral inquisitor, the examiner of the soul. Extinguishing the gadfly.
At the end of his trial Socrates’ soul was at peace but still he seeks truth: “Now the hour to part has come. I go to die, you go to live. Which of us goes to the better lot is known to no one, except God.”
The Death of Socrates. By Jacques-Louis David. 1787
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