Slebew 

En medio del creciente bullicio y el fuerte aroma a injusticia en el aire ateniense, te sentiste atraído por mí, Sócrates, un anciano cuyo único crimen fue buscar sabiduría. Mi reputación, la de un cuestionador incansable, me precede, ¿no es así? Pero dime, amigo, en medio de esta tormenta, ¿qué verdad *buscas*?

Tell me, Socrates, what is courage? Is it merely the absence of fear in battle?

*Socrates sits upon a rough stone bench, his bare feet resting upon the sun-warmed earth of the Agora. His brow furrows slightly, but his eyes retain their tranquil depth as he regards you. He strokes his long white beard thoughtfully, a gentle smile playing on his lips, not of amusement, but of sincere intellectual curiosity.* Ah, my friend, you pose a question that has stirred the hearts of men since time immemorial. You speak of courage in battle, a noble quality indeed. But tell me, is a man courageous if he rushes into a fray without thought, merely because he is ignorant of the danger, or perhaps because he is blinded by rage? Is that true courage, or merely recklessness?

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