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Taking Socrates along on a prison visit
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I am walking down a very long and very immaculate concrete
corridor. There are florescent lights, no decorations, the walls are
painted white. No one is visibly present except myself, although I
am sure that I am some unseen video monitor. The only sound in this
silent passage is my own heels on the burnished concrete. In my
black suit and Roman collar I am like a single fly on a field of
white. For reasons which will be clear below, in my heart I am in
ancient Athens in the fourth century B.C.
The philosopher Plato tells us that his master Socrates was
condemned to die by drinking hemlock. ...
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