Is there any truth to the idea that ancient Greeks like Socrates engaged in activities like dancing for fitness, and how common was this practice?

Volker Eichener

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Professor at Hochschule Düsseldor f9h

Is there any truth to the idea that ancient Greeks like Socrates engaged in activities like dancing for fitness, and how common was this practice?

Let’s answer Socrates himself. Xenophon writes (Symposium 2:16–23):

“Assuredly,” replied Socrates; “and I remarked something else, too,—that no part of his body was idle during the dance, but neck, legs, and hands were all active together. And that is the way a person must dance who intends to increase the suppleness of his body. And for myself,” he continued, addressing the Syracusan, “I should be delighted to learn the figures from you.”

“What use will you make of them?” the other asked.

“I will dance, by Zeus.”

This raised a general laugh; but Socrates, with a perfectly grave expression on his face, said: “You are laughing at me, are you? Is it because I want to exercise to better my health? Or because I want to take more pleasure in my food and my sleep? Or is it because I am eager for such exercises as these, not like the long-distance runners, who develop their legs at the expense of their shoulders, nor like the prize-fighters, who develop their shoulders but become thin-legged, but rather with a view to giving my body a symmetrical development by exercising it in every part?

Or are you laughing because I shall not need to hunt up a partner to exercise with, or to strip, old as I am, in a crowd, but shall find a moderate-sized room1 large enough for me (just as but now this room was large enough for the lad here to get up a sweat in), and because in winter I shall exercise under cover, and when it is very hot, in the shade?

Or is this what provokes your laughter, that I have an unduly large paunch and wish to reduce it? Don't you know that just the other day Charmides here caught me dancing early in the morning?”

“Indeed I did,” said Charmides; “and at first I was dumbfounded and feared that you were going stark mad; but when I heard you say much the same things as you did just now, I myself went home, and although I did not dance, for I had never learned how, I practised shadow-boxing, for I knew how to do that.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Philip; “at any rate, your legs appear so nearly equal in weight to your shoulders that I imagine if you were to go to the market commissioners and put your lower parts in the scale against your upper parts, as if they were loaves of bread,1 they would let you off without a fine.”

“When you are ready to begin your lessons, Socrates,” said Callias, “pray invite me, so that I may be opposite you in the figures and may learn with you.”

To begin with, since the company had applauded the way the boy's natural beauty was increased by the grace of the dancing postures, Philip made a burlesque out of the performance by rendering every part of his body that was in motion more grotesque than it naturally was; and whereas the girl had bent backward until she resembled a hoop, he tried to do the same by bending forward. Finally, since they had given the boy applause for putting every part of his body into play in the dance, he told the flute girl to hit up the time faster, and danced away, flinging out legs, hands, and head all at the same time; and when he was quite exhausted, he exclaimed as he laid himself down: “Here is proof, gentlemen, that my style of dancing, also, gives excellent exercise; it has certainly given me a thirst; so let the servant fill me up the big goblet.”

What we learn from this:

• At a symposium it was common to have girls and boys dancing for entertainment. The older men liked to see the gracious movements.
• Socrates, when he was around 70 years old, practiced solo dancing to keep himself in shape.
• This was not common for old men, so it provoked laughter. Charmides said that he had never learnt to dance, so he did shadow-boxing instead.
• After Socrates had encouraged him, Callias started to dance and found that it was quite exhausting.

This is similar to the scene of the symposium: a flute player and a dancer

Men and women dancing

What controversial advice have people given their children?

Meev Net's Space

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Alaric Vaughn

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What controversial advice have people given their children?

“Punch your bully in the face”

When I was in fifth grade, there was a kid who bullied me regularly. He was really big for his age. In the playground, he would yell in my face and get angry for no reason. He would punch me in the stomach, throw me to the ground, or choke me, depending on his mood. I was never violent, so I never retaliated.

I remember how he used to hit me in front of everyone and how ashamed I felt for not punching him back. He even harassed me in front of the girl I like, so it was doubly embarrassing. I never retaliated against his attacks; I was much smaller than him.

In a moment of courage, I explained everything to my mother. I hoped she would talk to my teacher (I would have told the teacher directly, but I was afraid of looking like the kid who snitches). My mother told me, “Stand up for yourself! Be a man, punch that idiot in the face. If you don't, he'll never learn!”

I remained silent and surprised. It wasn't the answer I was expecting.

“Okay,” I thought.

I never intended to follow his advice; I wasn't going to fight with anyone. I wasn't even sure that violence was part of my personality.

The next day during recess, I was playing around with a basketball I found in the trash can. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my bully harassing another kid. He had grabbed him by the hair and was whispering something threatening in his ear. (Now that I think about it, where were the teachers? Were they blind?)

He turned around, saw that I had the ball, started walking diagonally towards me and yelled, “Hey, stupid!”

I felt terrified. I had rehearsed how to respond the night before, but I was still very scared. And to top it all off, the girl I liked was right next to me, completely unaware of my tormentor's imminent arrival.

He came up to me and put his face two inches from mine and repeated, "Hey, stupid, didn't you hear me? I was talking to you."

I stared at him, not knowing what to do.

With his breath on my face, he repeated again, "Hey, stupid, I told you, did you hear me!"

He grabbed my hair just like he had with the other boy, but I resisted. I vaguely remember the rest. We started wrestling with our arms intertwined and fell to the ground at the same time. He was much bigger and stronger than me, but I was determined not to let him strangle me or hit me anymore. We rolled around on the ground a few times; I remember the taste of dirt in my mouth and heard Annie, the girl I liked, shout something like, “Stop it, leave him alone!”

Somehow I managed to break free from his grasp and without thinking, I raised my fist and punched him in the face as hard as I could.

He stared at me, dismayed and silent. He let out a little girl's shriek and ran off crying. I remember turning around and seeing Annie with her hands over her mouth, but smiling.

I felt like the coolest kid in the world.

That's when, miraculously, the teachers appeared and punished me. But it was worth it. He never bothered me again.

I'm not encouraging any child to hit others; this situation was solely my personal experience. And it worked. 

A genius unrecognized in his lifetime, immortal ever since

A genius unrecognized in his lifetime, immortal ever since.

He died alone in a tiny apartment, convinced his greatest work was a failure—he never knew it would become the most assigned book in American schools and sell 30 million copies.

December 21, 1940. Hollywood, California.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, age 44, suffered a massive heart attack while eating a chocolate bar and reading the Princeton Alumni Weekly. He collapsed in the apartment of his companion, columnist Sheilah Graham. The man who had once defined an entire era—the Jazz Age—died believing he had wasted his talent.

When his obituary appeared in the New York Times, it was respectful but damning: Fitzgerald was described as a writer who had "fallen into obscurity."

They weren't wrong. At the time of his death, virtually all his books were out of print.

Fifteen years earlier, everything had seemed possible.

In 1925, F. Scott Fitzgerald published The Great Gatsby, a slim novel about wealth, obsession, and the corruption of the American Dream. He was 28 years old, already famous from his debut This Side of Paradise, married to the beautiful and wild Zelda Sayre, living the glamorous life he wrote about.

He expected Gatsby to be his masterpiece—the book that would cement his literary legacy and solve his chronic money problems.

Instead, it barely sold.

The first printing was 20,000 copies. Reviews were mixed—some critics called it brilliant, others found it disappointing. But more importantly, readers didn't care. By the time Fitzgerald died fifteen years later, the novel had sold roughly 20,000 to 25,000 copies total. For comparison, his earlier novel This Side of Paradise had sold 50,000 copies in its first year alone.

The Great Gatsby was, by every measurable standard, a commercial failure.

And Fitzgerald knew it. He knew every painful copy sold, every rejection, every reminder that the book he'd poured his soul into had barely made a ripple.

Then the 1929 stock market crash shattered the world he'd chronicled. The Jazz Age—that glittering, reckless era of speakeasies and flappers—was over. Suddenly, novels about wealthy people's romantic problems felt tone-deaf. The culture had moved on, and Fitzgerald's star began its long, humiliating descent.

His wife Zelda, the brilliant, magnetic muse who had inspired so much of his work, suffered a complete mental breakdown in 1930. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia and spent the rest of her life moving between expensive psychiatric institutions. The medical bills were crushing—thousands of dollars annually that Fitzgerald, now out of fashion, struggled to pay.

His own drinking spiraled. Deadlines were missed. Publishers grew frustrated. His short stories—once commanding $4,000 each from the Saturday Evening Post—were now being rejected or bought for a fraction of the price.

By 1937, desperate and broke, Fitzgerald moved to Hollywood to work as a contract screenwriter for MGM at $1,000 a week. It wasn't the literary career he'd dreamed of. It was survival.

He rewrote scripts that rarely credited his work. Studios saw him as unreliable—brilliant when sober, impossible when drinking. He worked on Three Comrades (1938), one of the few films to actually credit him, but he was routinely removed from projects before completion.

Colleagues described a man clinging to dignity: disciplined and focused during the day, drinking heavily at night, trying to maintain the image of a serious writer even as Hollywood treated him as just another hired hand.

In his final years, he wrote to his daughter Scottie: "I wish now I'd never relaxed or looked back—but said at the end of The Great Gatsby: 'I've found my line—from now on this comes first.'"

He believed he'd squandered his talent. He believed Gatsby had failed. He believed his career was over.

On that December afternoon in 1940, when his heart stopped beating, F. Scott Fitzgerald died thinking he was a failure.

He had no idea what was about to happen.During World War II, the U.S. military needed books to keep soldiers' morale up. Through the Armed Services Editions program, they distributed small, portable paperbacks to troops overseas—cheap editions designed to fit in a soldier's pocket.

Someone decided to include The Great Gatsby.

More than 150,000 copies were distributed to American servicemen. Young men sitting in foxholes and barracks and transport ships read Fitzgerald's slim novel about parties and wealth and disillusionment. And something clicked.

When those soldiers came home, many became students under the G.I. Bill. They went to college. And when professors asked what books had moved them during the war, they mentioned The Great Gatsby.

By the late 1940s and early 1950s, the novel began appearing in college literature courses. Scholars started analyzing it. English teachers started assigning it. A new generation discovered the book their parents' generation had ignored.

By the 1960s, The Great Gatsby was canon—required reading in high schools and universities across America.

Today, it has sold more than 30 million copies worldwide. It's taught in nearly every American high school. More than 500,000 copies are sold annually, just in the United States. It's been adapted into films five times. Lines like "So we beat on, boats against the current" are quoted by people who've never read the full book.

The novel that sold 25,000 copies in Fitzgerald's lifetime now sells more than that every single month.

F. Scott Fitzgerald spent his final years convinced his masterpiece was a failure.

He died believing his best work had been forgotten.

He never lived to see his name become synonymous with American literature.

Here's what makes this story unbearable and beautiful at the same time:

Fitzgerald didn't fail. The world failed to recognize him while he was alive.

The value was always there—in every perfectly chosen word, in every aching sentence about longing and loss, in every metaphor that captured the American Dream's hollow core. The genius was present in 1925, when barely anyone noticed, and in 1940, when Fitzgerald died thinking it didn't matter.

The only thing that changed was the world's ability to see it.

This is the terror and the hope of creating anything meaningful: you may never know if it mattered. You might spend your entire life believing you failed, when in reality, your work was just waiting for the world to catch up.

F. Scott Fitzgerald died broke, forgotten, and heartbroken.

But he was wrong about almost everything.

He wasn't a failure. He wasn't forgotten. His greatest work didn't disappear.

He just didn't live long enough to see the truth: that he'd written something that would outlast skyscrapers and stock markets and jazz bands. Something that would speak to teenagers in 2025 as powerfully as it was meant to speak to readers in 1925.

The green light at the end of Daisy's dock—that symbol of yearning for something just out of reach—turned out to be Fitzgerald reaching for immortality.

And he caught it.

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The Danger and Blessing of Riches

March 5, 2026 Thursday of the Second Week of Lent Readings for Today

Image via Adobe Stock Video When the poor man died, he was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried, and from the netherworld, where he was in torment, he raised his eyes and saw Abraham far off and Lazarus at his side. Luke 16:22–23 Money is dangerous, as are power, notoriety, physical beauty, and exceptional talent. All of these are often desired, sought after, and envied. In and of themselves, each has the potential for great good. But because of that, they also have the potential for great sin. The Gospel passage above presents us with the eternal consequences of a rich man and a poor man named Lazarus. The rich man lived in luxury, dressed in fine clothes, ate sumptuously every day, and hoarded his wealth. Lazarus, in stark contrast, was dirt poor, covered with sores, and longed to eat the scraps of food often given to dogs. The story’s crux is that their lifestyles were reversed when they died. From the netherworld, a place of great torment, the rich man begged Abraham for relief and to raise Lazarus from the dead to warn the rich man’s five brothers. Abraham replies with perfect truth and justice: “If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.” With that, the story ends. Which person would you rather be? If we removed everything from the story that took place after their deaths, most people would likely choose the life of the rich man. Only when we add the eternal consequences to the story does the choice become clear. Is it possible to be rich and still attain Heaven? Or is it possible to have earthly power, beauty, and natural talents that lead to great success and notoriety in this life and still attain Heaven? Certainly it is, but only if the Gospel is embraced, regardless of your state. Whether a person is rich or poor, successful or not, beautiful, talented, or lacking in these, the question is the same for us all: Have I generously and wholeheartedly placed all that I am and all that I have at the service of God? Or have I made a god of passing things? Even those who lack the “good” things mentioned above run the risk of seeing their lack of them as the source of their earthly misery. This is just as dangerous. The bottom line is that God must be our God, no matter who we are, what we have, how we are perceived, how we look, or what natural gifts we possess. Furthermore, our God-given virtues become the means by which we exercise God’s will in this world, in preparation for the next. Money, power, notoriety, beauty, and talent are “dangerous” in that they tempt us to make them gods. They become true blessings when they are fully dedicated to the exclusive service of God and His will. Poverty and every worldly misfortune have the same potential for danger and blessing. When poverty or misfortunes in life are embraced and offered to God as a sacrifice for His glory, they produce abundant blessings. When they are disdained and perceived as obstacles to happiness, then we have turned that which we desire into a false god. Reflect today on how fully you have dedicated your life to God and His holy will. Whether you are more like the rich man or poor Lazarus, hold nothing back from God’s grace. Your entire life, the good and the bad, must be united to Christ for the glory of God the Father. That is the one and only path to true eternal riches. Lord of superabundance, every good thing comes from You. Please free me from my attachments and desires for the passing things of this world so that my life may become more selfless and sacrificial. I rededicate myself to You and the service of Your holy will so that my eternity will be one of unimaginable blessings. Jesus, I trust in You.

What You Should Know About Cashews and How They Affect Your Health

Cashews have become a go-to snack for many households. They appear in trail mix, stir-fries, dairy-free sauces, and snack bowls at gatherings. Their creamy texture and mild flavor make them easy to enjoy, and nutrition articles often praise them for their healthy fats and mineral content.

For many people, cashews are a smart upgrade from highly processed snack foods. They contain plant-based protein, magnesium, zinc, and heart-supportive unsaturated fats. When eaten in reasonable portions, they can fit comfortably into a balanced eating pattern.

At the same time, medical professionals tend to look at foods through a broader lens. Cashews offer real nutritional value, though there are factors that deserve attention depending on your health history and eating habits. The goal is not to discourage their use. It is to provide context so you can decide what works best for your body.

One of the most important considerations involves allergies.

Cashews belong to the tree nut family. Tree nut allergies can be serious and sometimes life-threatening. Reactions vary widely. Some people experience itching in the mouth, swelling of the lips, stomach upset, or hives. Others may develop wheezing, throat tightness, or difficulty breathing, which requires immediate medical care.

Allergy specialists note that even small amounts of cashew can trigger strong reactions in sensitive individuals. These allergies often begin in childhood and may continue into adulthood. Anyone who has experienced symptoms after eating nuts should speak with a healthcare professional for proper evaluation and testing.

Another concern relates to digestion.

Cashews are energy-dense and contain fats and certain carbohydrates that may be difficult for some people to tolerate in large amounts. Eating several handfuls at once can lead to bloating, cramping, or loose stools, particularly in individuals with sensitive digestive systems.

Portion size plays a key role. A typical serving is about one ounce, which equals roughly 18 cashews. This may seem small, especially when eating directly from a large container. Without noticing, it becomes easy to consume multiple servings.

For those managing conditions such as irritable bowel syndrome, smaller amounts may feel more comfortable. Observing how your body responds helps you determine your own tolerance level.

Weight management is another area where awareness matters.

Cashews provide beneficial nutrients, though they are calorie-dense. One ounce contains around 150 to 170 calories. That is reasonable within a balanced diet, though several servings can add up quickly.

Pre-portioning cashews into small containers can help prevent accidental overeating. Pairing them with fiber-rich foods such as fruit or vegetables may also improve satiety.

For individuals prone to kidney stones, oxalate content may be relevant.

Cashews contain oxalates, compounds found naturally in many plant foods. Most people process oxalates without issue. However, individuals who develop calcium-oxalate kidney stones may need to moderate intake of high-oxalate foods.

If you have a history of kidney stones, discussing dietary guidance with a healthcare provider or registered dietitian makes sense. In many cases, adequate hydration and balanced calcium intake help reduce stone risk more effectively than eliminating specific foods entirely.

Another point often misunderstood involves the cashew shell.

The shell contains an irritant oil related to urushiol, the substance associated with poison ivy. Commercial cashews are processed to remove this oil before reaching store shelves. Buying from reputable brands reduces the likelihood of contamination.

For most healthy individuals without allergies or specific medical conditions, cashews can be part of a nutritious diet. Choosing unsalted or lightly salted varieties helps manage sodium intake. Avoiding heavily sugared coatings keeps added calories in check.

Cashews are neither miracle foods nor hidden dangers. They are nutrient-rich nuts with benefits and considerations like many other foods.

The key is moderation and personal awareness.

If you enjoy cashews, aim for sensible portions. Pay attention to how you feel after eating them. If you have a history of allergies, kidney stones, or digestive issues, consult a healthcare professional for personalized advice.

Balanced eating is rarely about eliminating a single food. It is about understanding context, listening to your body, and making informed choices.

With the right approach, cashews can remain a satisfying and nourishing part of your routine.

https://3lor.com/what-you-should-know-about-cashews-and-how-they-affect-your-health/

She stayed when others fled—the Angel of Bastogne

She stayed when others fled—the Angel of Bastogne.

She fed those who were too weak to hold a spoon and sat with those who were dying in the dark. She was the “Angel of Bastogne.”

In December 1944, the Belgian town of Bastogne was a frozen graveyard in the making. Surrounded by elite German Panzer divisions and trapped by a blizzard that grounded Allied planes, the American 101st Airborne Division was fighting for its life.

The soldiers were out of food, low on ammunition, and desperately short of medical supplies. In this landscape of war and ice, a thirty-year-old nurse named Renée Lemaire stepped into the chaos. She was not a soldier and carried no weapon, but she became the thin line between life and death for hundreds of wounded men miles away from their homes.

Renée was a professional nurse who had trained in Brussels and returned to Bastogne to spend the Christmas holidays with her parents. Her quiet vacation vanished on December 16 when the German offensive known as the Battle of the Bulge tore through the front lines.

Rather than fleeing for safety, Renée volunteered at a makeshift military hospital set up in the basement of the Sarma store on rue de Neufchâteau.

The conditions were harrowing; the air was thick with the smell of blood, and the wounded lay crowded on the floor. With almost no medical supplies left, Renée used scraps of cloth as bandages and provided the only comfort many of these men would ever know.

During a heavy bombardment, a wounded soldier gripped her hand in the dim light and whispered,

“Nurse, please don’t leave us,” to which Renée firmly replied, “I am staying right here with you until the end.”

She worked alongside Augusta Chiwy, a 23-year-old nurse of Congolese descent who had also volunteered to treat the American casualties despite the era’s prejudices. Together, under the direction of Dr. Jack Prior, they managed to save countless lives using little more than basic tools and sheer determination. Renée carried her own personal weight during these weeks; earlier that year, the Gestapo had arrested her Jewish fiancé.

Despite her private grief, she remained a pillar of strength for the troops. On the morning of December 24, she retrieved a white silk parachute from a supply drop. She kept it close, telling her colleagues she hoped to fashion it into a wedding dress once the war was finally over.

It was a small, beautiful fragment of hope in a world of fire and steel.

The tragedy reached its breaking point on Christmas Eve. While the world outside tried to find peace, Bastogne was being destroyed. Around 8:30 PM, a German bomb scored a direct hit on the Sarma store. The building erupted into a pillar of flame, instantly killing about thirty American soldiers inside.

In the screaming chaos, Renée did not run for the exit to save her own life. Instead, she charged back into the collapsing, burning basement multiple times. She dragged one man out, then another, successfully saving six soldiers from the furnace. As she turned to go back in for a seventh man, the structural beams groaned and the entire ceiling gave way, burying her in the debris.

She died as she had lived: putting the lives of strangers above her own safety.

When the fire was finally extinguished, Dr. Prior recovered Renée’s body. Having no proper shroud, he remembered the white silk parachute she had saved for her wedding day. He wrapped her remains in that silk and personally returned her to her grieving parents.

Today, Renée Lemaire is honored as the “Angel of Bastogne,” a civilian who gave everything so that others might have a chance to go home.

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Beauty isn’t in youth—it’s in the courage to evolve

Beauty isn’t in youth—it’s in the courage to evolve, the strength to endure, and the fire that never fades.

They used to call her “the toothpick” — and she turned that insult into a legend.

Long before the world knew her as Sophia Loren, she was a thin, hungry girl growing up in war scarred Italy. Neighbors mocked her fragile frame. They whispered that she looked too weak, too plain, too unlikely to matter.

They were wrong.

Inside that quiet teenager was a force that did not depend on approval. She entered local beauty contests not because she felt glamorous, but because she wanted a way out of poverty. Each step on those stages was less about crowns and more about survival.

By the 1950s, Hollywood noticed her. Not just because of her striking presence, but because she carried something different. She was not polished into a mold. She was earthy. Confident. Unapologetically herself.

But the real proof of her strength came when she stepped into the role of Cesira in Two Women. There was no glamour in that performance. No glittering gowns. Only raw emotion and the story of a mother trying to protect her child in wartime.

She became the first actor ever to win an Academy Award for a non English language performance.

That was not luck. That was power.

Off screen, her life was just as tested. Her relationship with Carlo Ponti faced public criticism, legal battles, and intense scrutiny. Yet their bond endured for decades. In an industry known for short romances and fragile egos, they built something steady.

Now at ninety one, Sophia Loren still carries that same inner fire. The world sees the lines on her face and calls them age. But those lines tell stories of struggle, exile, motherhood, loss, triumph, and resilience.

Some people online reduce beauty to youth. They scroll past experience and mistake it for decline.

But beauty was never just about her face.

It was about how she refused to shrink herself for anyone.

She did not fade quietly. She evolved. She kept working. She returned to the screen in The Life Ahead, proving that passion does not expire with age.

She reminds us that aging is not a failure. It is evidence that you survived.

Sophia Loren is not a memory from a glamorous past. She is a reminder that confidence, discipline, and courage do not wrinkle.

They deepen.

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