“What is praiseworthy?” Socrates asked Voltaire
“Sacrificing one’s life for another” he replied, answering the dare
“I’m not so sure” Rousseau countered with an imperious air
“It’s in the eye of the beholder,” spoke up Jean-Paul Sartre
“Who can truly say for sure?” Plato posited as he walked by
Spinoza suggested someone is praiseworthy if they don’t lie
“I think there’s plenty of room” said Hume, “to wrongly misapply”
Then all the philosophers threw up their hands asking “Why try?“
“It’s time,” his executioner said.
He knew he was paying the price for making prominent Athenian’s look like fools. His supposed crime; not believing in the gods of the state.
His wisdom, once sought after throughout the civilized world, did not save him from his fate. Justice and the pursuit of goodness led him to this last moment on earth.
He became the purifying remedy for Athens’ misfortunes despite his contributions to the state. The sacrificial goat. But he had the last laugh, eternal fame for his wisdom.
“Drink this,” the executioner offered, handing Socrates the cup of poison hemlock.