Tag Archives: Plato

Sheol, Hades, Gehenna, and Hell

30 January 2026 By in Philosophy, Religion Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

“What I am going to say is not a dogma of faith but my own personal view: I like to think of hell as empty; I hope it is.”  Pope Francis, 14 January 2024.

Few utterances from the papal class have landed with more confusion than Pope Francis’s remark. It is muddled, misleading, and ultimately misconstrued, though with two thousand years of ecclesiastical history, one might find other contenders. To be fair, only two papal statements have ever been deemed infallible: Pius IX’s definition of the Immaculate Conception and Pius XII’s proclamation of the Assumption of Mary. Nearly everything else falls under the category of secular opinion. So secular opinion will have to stand along with my slightly pedantic philosophical flourish on the topic.

The trouble with Francis’s remark is not that it expresses hope in an infinitely merciful God. It does, and God is. Humans are extravagantly hopeful when it comes to their own stake in the hereafter. But the Pope’s phrasing seems to remove the ultimate incentive to live a moral life. If there is no hell, then there are no boundaries to one’s actions. On its surface, the statement reduces moral teaching and punishment for sin to negligible outcomes. Two millennia of urging humans to keep their souls pure dissipate in an instant. It treats hell as if it were a place one might stroll into and find as empty as a modern mall, then decide to shop elsewhere; Amazon, perhaps. It blurs the line between our desire to avoid suffering and the eschatological reality in which immorality and punishment are tied to free will. Judgment remains inevitable, for better or worse, and forever. The qualifier “I hope it is” reduces judgment to a wish for mercy rather than a real consequence of one’s actions. It also suggests that the Pope is worried not only about your soul but his own. A merciful God will save a repentant sinner, but hoping is an insecure measure of remorse.

In short, Francis managed an exceptionally muddled rendering of the Augustinian and Thomistic view that hell is the final state of a person who refuses the good and closes themselves off to God’s love. To be fair, clarity is difficult when the very word “hell” carries millennia of conflicting meanings, teachings, and eschatological traditions.

This confusion is inevitable because the Christian vocabulary of the afterlife is a translucent overlay of older worlds, cultures, and languages. The Hebrew Scriptures speak of Sheol, a shadowy realm of the dead with no inherent moral judgment, not a prison for the wicked, but simply the condition of being dead. In Christian theology, “[Jesus] was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell.” The “hell” in this line refers to Sheol (often rendered as Hades), the realm of the dead into which Christ entered. His descent breaks open the barrier between death and divine life. In Sheol, He liberates the righteous dead and inaugurates the post‑biblical landscape of heaven, purgatory, and the final hell of separation from God’s love. After this event, Sheol becomes vestigial in Christian thought, a name without a continuing function. Christianity judges the soul immediately and resurrects the body later, whereas Judaism gives the soul varied post‑death experiences but reserves final judgment for bodily resurrection.

In the ancient Greek world, Hades begins much like Sheol: a neutral underworld where all the dead reside. Only the exceptional are diverted: heroes to the Elysian Fields, mythic offenders to Tartarus. Plato’s Myth of Er overlays this older realm with Socratic soulfully infused moral vision: judgment, reward, punishment, and reincarnation. Over time, mythic Hades and Platonic moral Hades blend into a single, more complex vision. Early Judaism and early Greek religion both had neutral underworlds, but the Greeks moralized theirs first. Socrates’ preoccupation with the soul made him less a secular philosopher than a theological pioneer or prophet if you will.

Hell does not take on its later punitive shape until the New Testament’s use of Gehenna, a metaphor drawn from a real valley outside Jerusalem associated with corruption and divine judgment. In the Gospels, Gehenna is a warning, not a mapped realm. Jesus uses it as prophetic shorthand for the consequence of a life turned away from the good. A moral and relational judgment rather than the later imagery of fire, demons, or descending circles. Gehenna is not the fully developed hell of medieval imagination but a symbol of what becomes of a life that refuses the shape of love.

Augustine, in the 4th century, further develops hell as a condition rather than a location. Hell is self‑exclusion: the soul turns away from God and locks itself into disordered love. Suffering arises from the consequences of one’s own choice; separation from the source of all goodness. This state is eternal not because God withholds mercy but because the will can become fixed in refusal. Fire is both real and symbolic: suffering is real, though its mode lies beyond language and expression.

Aquinas in the 13th century builds on Augustine by grounding hell in Aristotelian metaphysics. Hell is the definitive state of a rational soul that dies in mortal sin. The soul’s refusal of God is not only moral failure but a failure of rational nature. Aquinas distinguishes poena damni (the pain of loss) and poena sensus (the pain of sense). At death, the soul’s direction becomes fixed; eternal destiny is determined not by divine wrath but by the soul’s own settled choice. At the resurrection, the body joins the soul in its suffering. William Blake captures this Thomistic vision in his illustration of Dante conversing with the heretic Farinata degli Uberti in the fiery tombs of the sixth circle.

Aquinas provided his near‑contemporary Dante with the moral architecture that allowed hell to shift from concept to vividly imagined landscape. In the Inferno, Dante transforms that architecture into a descending spiral of circles, each calibrated to a deeper distortion of the good and a harsher form of alienation. At the frozen center lies the absolute loss of God’s presence and love. Dante’s genius is giving spatial form to moral trajectory. Sin becomes architecture.

Modern Christians often imagine hell through Dante’s nine circles without realizing it. Levels, tailored punishments, structured descent, these are Dante’s inventions, not biblical categories. Yet his poetic vision has become the default mental picture of what it means to lose God’s love. His circles are not doctrine, but they express a truth the tradition affirms: the more a soul rejects the good, the more it collapses inward, freezing into itself; a thermodynamic loss not of heat but of God’s presence. Dante’s afterlife remains a symbolic map of the soul’s self‑chosen distance from God, shaping imagination long after its theology has been forgotten or more likely, ignored.

By the modern era, hell has traveled a long road: from Sheol and Hades, through Gehenna, into Augustine’s self‑chosen alienation, Aquinas’s metaphysical finality, and Dante’s architectural imagination. Each stage sharpens the moral stakes, but none claims to know the final census of the saved and the lost.

It is here that Hans Urs von Balthasar, the 20th‑century Swiss theologian, offers a different starting point: beauty as the mode of God’s self‑revelation. God becomes visible through form, radiance, and splendor; beauty is the shape of truth and goodness. For Balthasar, salvation is participation in God’s dramatic love: the drama in which God and humanity meet in freedom. Christ is the central actor whose obedience, self‑gift, and descent into the depths of human abandonment open the way for every person to enter divine life. Salvation is aesthetic: God is Beauty, Christ is Beauty made visible, and salvation is the soul learning again to see the Beauty that is God.

Balthasar insists that Christ’s descent into Sheol means no place remains where God is not. Hell remains a real possibility, but God’s love hopes for every person, even as human freedom is never overridden. Salvation is the soul being drawn freely, dramatically, and beautifully into the radiant self‑giving love of the Triune God.

Balthasar offers a final, chastened note: Christians may hope that all will be saved, but they may never presume it. Hope is a virtue; presumption a trespass. Hell remains real, possible, and bound to freedom, yet the Christian stance toward final judgment is not certainty but reverent uncertainty. We may hope that no soul ultimately refuses the good, but we may not claim to know the mind of God. This hope is not optimism; it is the trembling aspiration of the penitent, something beyond the insecure measure of remorse that opened this essay.

In the end, tradition leaves us with a paradox: hell is the consequence of free-will, yet hope is the proper response to divine mercy. Between those two poles, freedom and mercy, the human soul stands. And perhaps that is the only place it can stand: not in presumption, not in despair, but in the narrow space where hope remains possible without ever becoming a certainty. Perhaps this is what Pope Francis, in his inelegant phrasing, was reaching for.

By the time afterlife dogma and secular imagination knock on our modern door, “hell” is less a settled place or concept than a linguistic suitcase and atlas stuffed with conflicting contents and branching paths toward judgment. Hope without presumption is allowed; hiding never is.

Graphic: Chart of Hell by Sandro Botticelli, c1480. Vatican City. Public Domain.

The Lost Boys

24 August 2025 By in History, History, Philosophy, Philosophy Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

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.

Shadows of Reality — Existence Beyond Nothingness

8 July 2025 By in Philosophy, Religion Tags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

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.

Near Death Experiences

6 December 2024 By in Philosophy, Religion, Science, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

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.

The Noble Lie

5 July 2024 By in History, Philosophy, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , Leave a comment

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.

End Times for Socrates

22 June 2024 By in Philosophy, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

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.

The First Precious

21 June 2024 By in Philosophy Tags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

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.

The Myth of Er

14 June 2024 By in History, Philosophy, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , Leave a comment

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

26 May 2024 By in Philosophy, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

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.

The Mortal Soul

24 April 2024 By in Books Nonfiction, Philosophy Tags: , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

“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.