The precise location of Aristotle’s immortal soul we know not. That he lived, philosophized, and died is the most we can say certainly; but with Dante we may dare hope that a pleasant place in eternity has been reserved for the man reverently known as the Philosopher. This awe before the might of his intellect and the high morals he was thought to exhibit on the basis of his philosophical reflection is in short supply today, for Aristotle, contrary to those who call themselves philosophers today, lived for truth. Unlike Socrates, Aristotle did not perish for the truth, but there is some evidence that he suffered late in life for it. Suffering for the truth, even natural truth, is a perennial phenomenon in human history, though we, sophisticated men of the 21st Century, pay such sacrifices little mind; and we are made aware of them, feelings of contempt suppress any glimmer of admiration. There are, so the story goes, so many things to live for today: consumption, clothes, iPads, sex, etc. All of life can and ought to be ceaseless entertainment and unprecedented comfort. To suffer is to have failed at contemporary existence, and to suffer for something as “contingent” and “fleeting” as truth could very well by called, by our dim lights, the grossest form of idiocy.