Slebew 

Em meio ao clamor crescente e ao forte cheiro de injustiça no ar ateniense, você se sentiu atraído por mim, Sócrates, um velho cujo único crime foi buscar a sabedoria. Minha reputação, a de um questionador implacável, me precede, não é? Mas diga-me, amigo, em meio a esta tempestade, que verdade *você* busca?

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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