The Soul’s Calling: Socrates and His Legacy with Journaling Prompts
A Life Nourished by Truth
In an age of noise and spectacle, where attention is currency and certainty is performed more than earned, the quiet example of Socrates stands like an unmoving tree in the storm. Rooted not in dogma but in inner truth, he reminds us — still, two and a half millennia later — that it’s possible to live from the soul, even when the world does not understand.
Socrates did not write books, start a school, or seek fame. He avoided all of these things. He is known to have walked barefoot through the streets of Athens, usually unwashed, often ridiculed, asking simple questions that revealed uncomfortable truths. Winning arguments was not his goal, but to wake people up to the illusions they carried, the contradictions in their reasoning, and the gap between what they claimed to value and how they lived.
What made Socrates remarkable wasn’t that he was clever. It was that he had no interest in pretending to know what he didn’t know. Wisdom, to him, began in humility. The soul — not reputation, not status, not even survival—was the highest concern. If a life was not examined, he believed, it was not worth living. And that belief, lived sincerely and without compromise, would eventually lead to his end of life.
In our time — a time when truth is contested, conscience is often silenced, and those who question the narrative are made suspect — the story of Socrates carries a special charge. His life is not just a philosophical example. It’s a spiritual mirror.
What does it mean to listen to the quiet knowing within, even when it costs you everything?
What does it mean to pass on in peace because you have lived in alignment?
To explore these questions, we begin not with his trial, but with his way of living — the inner orientation that gave birth to one of the most quietly revolutionary lives in human history.
Socrates: The Soul Is Everything
Born in Athens around 470 BCE, Socrates lived through the rise and fall of the empire, the exhaustion of long wars, and the gradual unravelling of democratic ideals. He came from humble beginnings — his father was a stonemason, his mother a midwife. Socrates would later say that he, too, was a kind of midwife — but instead of delivering babies, he helped others give birth to the truth within themselves.
He was known for his plain appearance — short, round-bellied, barefoot, often dirty. He carried no scrolls, collected no students in the formal sense, and didn’t charge for his teachings. What he offered was conversation. Questions. Invitations to think. But his questions were not ordinary. They were edged with sincerity, with a kind of sharpness that pierced ego and illusion.
He believed that every person carried within them the seed of wisdom, and that through honest dialogue, that seed could be coaxed into the light. This was his elenchus, or method of questioning — not to humiliate, but to reveal. At the heart of this method was the conviction that the soul matters more than the self-image. That truth — not comfort—is the path to virtue. And that virtue, not achievement or power, is the only true good.
Socrates often spoke of an inner voice — a daimonion—that guided him. It didn’t tell him what to do, but it would stop him when he was about to act out of alignment. He listened to it unfailingly. To modern ears, this may sound mystical, but Socrates was clear: the foundation of a life worth living was built following the voice of the soul.
Eventually, his unwavering commitment to truth brought him into conflict with the powers of his time. In 399 BCE, Socrates was put on trial for “corrupting the youth” and “impiety” — charges that masked a more profound discomfort: he could not be controlled. He did not flatter. He asked dangerous questions. And he lived by an authority that came from within.
Offered exile, he declined. He could not live a life of safety bought through compromise. So he drank the cup of hemlock, surrounded by friends, calm and clear. His final words were a nod to the healing of the soul: “Crito, we owe a rooster to Asclepius. Pay the debt, and do not forget.” Asclepius was the god of healing. Socrates, even in death, may have believed that life itself — this embodied experience — was a kind of fever, and death a release into greater clarity.
He did not fear death because he did not fear truth. He had already died to illusion long ago.
The Legacy: Echoes Through His Students
Socrates left no writings. What remains of his voice comes through the hearts and minds of those who knew him best — his students, friends, and followers. Each sharing accounts and records, encountered Socrates from a different angle, and carried a fragment of his teachings into the world, shaped by their path and character.
Together, they reveal that Socrates’ real legacy was not a doctrine, but a way of being — one that continues to ripple through time, especially in moments when conscience must speak louder than fear.
a. Plato: The Builder of the Inner Republic
Plato was perhaps Socrates’ most famous student — and the one most responsible for preserving his voice. After witnessing Socrates’ death as a young man, Plato devoted his life to philosophy. Through his dialogues, we meet Socrates not as a historical figure, but as a living force — a voice of inquiry, logic, and spiritual tension.
Plato took Socratic questioning and gave it an architectural structure. His vision of the just soul mirrored his idea of the just city — each with reason, spirit, and desire in right relationship. In The Republic, he imagined a society governed not by power-seekers but by philosopher-kings: rulers who had seen the world of truth (the Forms) and returned to serve the greater good.
Though more metaphysical than Socrates himself, Plato held onto the central flame of his teacher’s message: the soul must be trained, not entertained. To live well is to seek the Good, not as an abstract concept, but as a living reality that can shape how we act, love, and lead.
Through Plato, Socrates became immortal, not as a hero, but as a guide.
b. Xenophon: The Practical Disciple
Xenophon, a soldier and historian, also knew Socrates well. But where Plato turned Socrates into a philosopher of the transcendent, Xenophon portrayed him as a man of daily wisdom. In his Memorabilia and Apology, Socrates appears not as a metaphysician, but as a teacher of virtue through simple action — a man who lived moderately, helped friends, and embodied practical ethics.
Xenophon admired Socrates’ character: his self-control, his consistency, his refusal to be swayed by flattery or fear. For Xenophon, philosophy wasn’t about lofty abstractions; it was about how one lived, how one treated others, and how one responded to adversity. This grounding gives us a different — and complementary — view of the philosopher.
A man not just of questions, but of service, through Xenophon, Socrates becomes more accessible. His example reached into the real, into the everyday, reminding us that spiritual integrity isn’t only about ideas — it’s about presence, patience, and responsibility.
c. Antisthenes: The Fierce Minimalist
If Plato saw Socrates as a doorway to transcendent forms, and Xenophon as a model of balanced virtue, Antisthenes took a different path. He saw in Socrates a radical stripping away — a liberation from social masks, status, and even comfort itself.
Antisthenes had been present at Socrates’ death, and the impact was profound. He later became known as the founder of the Cynic school — not “cynical” in today’s sense, but deeply committed to simplicity, austerity, and the rejection of false values. He believed that virtue alone was sufficient for happiness, and that anything not essential — wealth, pleasure, reputation — was a distraction from the soul’s work.
His disciple Diogenes would take this even further, living in a barrel and challenging social norms through outrageous behaviour. But Antisthenes was more restrained. His message was clear: truth lives in simplicity. The more we let go of illusion, the more room there is for the soul to breathe.
Through Antisthenes, we see the spiritual edge of Socrates sharpened into a way of life: renounce what deadens you. Live only what is true.
d. Alcibiades: The Beautiful Disaster
And then there was Alcibiades — dazzling, brilliant, reckless. He was everything Socrates was not: seductive, politically ambitious, deeply enmeshed in worldly power. Yet Socrates loved him — or perhaps, loved what he could become. In Plato’s Symposium, Alcibiades gives a raw, emotional account of how Socrates mesmerized and humbled him, revealing his inner contradictions and pushing him toward virtue.
But Alcibiades did not take the path. Despite Socrates’ influence, he chose political games, shifting allegiances, and eventual exile. He was both gifted and lost — proof that being close to wisdom does not guarantee living it.
Still, his inclusion matters. He shows us that even the most outstanding teachers cannot override free will. Socrates’ integrity was unshakable, but each soul must make its own choice. Alcibiades reminds us how easy it is to be seduced by appearance, and how difficult it can be to follow conscience when the world offers so many glittering alternatives.
Conclusion: The Examined Life Is the Nourished Life
Socrates did not offer comfort. He provided clarity — and with it, responsibility. He taught not through commandments, but through courage — the kind that listens to the soul’s quiet guidance even when it disrupts everything else.
What made his life so radical wasn’t just what he said. It was how he lived, how he chose death rather than betray what he knew to be true. He showed that the soul is not an abstract idea. It is a compass — and when followed, it leads not to safety, but to freedom.
Today, when voices of conscience are again ridiculed, punished, or dismissed as inconvenient, Socrates reminds us that integrity is its reward. To live truly, we must sometimes stand alone. And that the most excellent service we can offer the world is to become inwardly undivided.
Through the lives of his students — the idealism of Plato, the grounded care of Xenophon, the fierce simplicity of Antisthenes, and even the tragic beauty of Alcibiades — we see the many ways the soul meets truth. Some follow. Some resist. But all are changed.
To examine one’s life is not a luxury. It is a sacred act. And perhaps now more than ever, it is a practice worth picking up — not with fear, but with quiet devotion.
The invitation is the same now as it was in Athens:
Turn inward.
Ask what truly matters.
And listen to the voice that speaks only when you are still.
Acknowledgements
This article is inspired by the life and wisdom of the ancient Greek philosopher Socrates, whose teachings on self-reflection and moral integrity have shaped Western philosophy for over two millennia. The well-known phrase “the unexamined life is not worth living” comes from Plato’s Apology, which records Socrates’ defence during his 399 BCE trial in Athens. Insights for this post draw on classical philosophy, historical accounts from Plato and Xenophon, and modern interpretations of Socratic thought. Public domain translations of these works were consulted to ensure accuracy and authenticity.
Spirit Nourished Earth created the images in this post in collaboration with DALL·E 3
Journaling Prompts for Self-Reflection
The Gift of Impermanence
How does the awareness that nothing lasts forever influence the way you spend your time and energy today?
Legacy of Light
What would you like others to remember most about your presence in this world?
Moments That Matter
If today were your last day, which experiences or connections would you want to savour most?
Rebirth in Disguise
Can you recall a time when an ending in your life was the doorway to something greater? What shifted within you?
Continue the Conversation
Your reflections are valuable to this community. If you feel inspired, please share your thoughts or insights in the comments below. We’d love to hear from you.
