Cycle of Life- How to break this and be free?

"I know that I do not know" – Socrates.

This one line alone gives so much consolation. And lately, I’ve been drowning—not in external chaos, but in internal storms. Thoughts. Thinking. Endless. Suffocating. But somewhere in that chaos, something was born. A clarity. Maybe this writing is not just for you, but for me—to put it all into perspective. This is a reflection, a confession, a philosophical rant, a spiritual longing, and maybe even a political protest.

My Inner Struggle Began with Socrates

A man from Athens. Born BCE. A stonecutter’s son. A midwife’s son. Became a soldier, fought wars, and walked courageously where others fell. History mocks his looks—ugly, they say—but I admire him. Deeply. And for reasons that, maybe someday when I meet you in person, I’ll whisper over coffee or chaos.

He had a wife. Children. And yes, possibly homosexual relations—but don’t worry, I’m not dragging religion into this one. I don’t want another war. We’ve had enough.

We know Socrates not from his own writings, but through his disciples. Because oral traditions were their thing. His method? The Maieutic Method—midwifery. Just like his mother helped birth children, he helped birth knowledge. He believed knowledge was already within us, waiting to be born. We are souls pregnant with truth.

“But what kind of knowledge is this?” some ask. It’s certain knowledge. Indubitable. Unlike today’s WhatsApp forwards.

Naturally, the Sophists weren’t happy. Their persuasive tricks weren’t working anymore. Their business crashed—thanks to Socrates. And so, like a corporate rival in ancient Greece, they had him cancelled. Permanently.

Thus, was born moral philosophy. Socrates asked not just “What is?” but “How should one live?” Ethics. Virtue. Self-examination.

And then, they killed him. Said he was corrupting minds. Yeah—truth has that effect.

Of Ignorance, Dad, and Conscience

He admitted his ignorance. And that? That is the most courageous thing anyone can do. My dad once told me, “If you don’t know something, say you don’t know.” Maybe Dad knew Socrates too. Maybe that’s where I get it from.

Listening to your conscience makes you happy. I know, philosophers will tell me, “There’s no place for the heart in philosophy.” Well, too bad. I’m human. And I bring my bleeding heart everywhere I go.

Enter Plato: From the Death of a Master to the Birth of Metaphysics

Plato, Socrates’ student, was furious. His teacher—executed like a criminal. And so, Plato lost faith in democracy. Honestly? I get it. Some days, I agree with Plato. Not always. But some days.

Plato dives into metaphysics. Questions knowledge, reality, and change. His big idea? The World of Forms. Everything we see—the horse, the flower, your annoying classmate—is just a copy of a perfect Form. The “real” horse exists in the World of Forms. What we see? Just an Instagram filter.

To know anything, Plato says, is to remember. Yes—anamnesis. The soul remembers truth from a previous life. And our body? A trap. A jail cell for the soul. Liberation? Comes through dialectical questioning—not memes.

Copleston (yes, the philosopher, not your cousin) talks about infallibility in knowledge. For Plato, real knowledge is unchanging, objective, and about universals.

And then Plato gives us the Divided Line, the Allegory of the Cave, the Philosopher King—that man who should rule because he sees truth. Not the ones with the best marketing campaign.

He says evil is not some demon dancing with a pitchfork. Evil is ignorance of the Good.

I once wondered: Can we die before we die? Philosophically speaking? Maybe that’s what liberation is. Dying to the false self.

Aristotle, Logic, and the Rules of the Mind

Aristotle—Plato’s student—was all about logic. Categorical propositions. Universal and particular. Affirmation and negation. The square of opposition. Contradictions. Contraries. Subcontraries. Subalterns.

It sounds like a battle plan. And maybe it is.

He taught me to be a man of reason. To think in patterns. To see beyond emotional chaos. But still, I wonder: beyond all logic, is there a world where meaning doesn’t need to make sense? Like animals. They live with instinct. No syllogisms.

The Buddha: Silence in the Storm

Then comes the Buddha. The man who had everything—and left it all. No gods. No permanent self. Just process. A continuous flow. No unmoved mover. Existence is movement. Thought arises not from a thinker, but from sense, habit, and experience. You think because something triggers you. A smell. A sound. A bakery on the roadside.

The thought itself is the thinker. So if we stop thinking, maybe we stop the “I” from existing. And that, maybe, is freedom.

He rejects the eternal soul and explains rebirth as consciousness skipping from one existence to another—like karma’s jump cut. Liberation is cutting that cycle of dependent origination.

Ignorance → Mental formations → Consciousness → Mind-body → Six senses → Contact → Feeling → Craving → Clinging → Becoming → Birth → Old age and death.

Cut the chain. Break free.

Five Aggregates and Four Brahmaviharas

Suffering, he says, arises from five aggregates: form, sensation, perception, mental formations, consciousness.

He gives us Metta, Karuna, Mudita, Upekkha. I won’t translate. You go figure. Learn. That’s what Buddha wanted—self-reliance.

At his death, kings fought over his remains—like it was a political inheritance. Ten stupas were built. And I’m sure Buddha sighed from nirvana. They missed the point.

Jesus, Dharma, and the Indian Web

I want to follow Christ too. There’s something there—a cross, a love, a liberation. Indian philosophy calls this Darśana—a vision.

Three steps: Purvapaksha (the opponent's view), Khandana (refutation), Uttarapaksha (your view). Philosophy here is a fight—and a freedom.

The Puruṣārthas—Dharma, Artha, Kāma, Mokṣa—are the four ends of life.

The Indian systems? Āstika and Nāstika. Inside the Āstika fold we have: Sāṅkhya-Yoga, Nyāya-Vaiśeṣika, Mīmāṃsā-Vedānta. But Indian philosophy sometimes feels like a wild forest—meaning everywhere, clarity nowhere.

It’s a web I want to untangle.

And then, caste. The unholy ghost of Indian history.

Dalits, Caste, and the Silent Revolution

The Dalits—the ones pushed outside the system. We say "just give reservation,” but that’s not the point. It’s dignity they need. Not charity.

Phule, Periyar, Ambedkar—giants who walked against the tide. Gandhi tried too—but when he called them Harijan, it backfired. Some Dalits said, “Stop naming us. Just leave us alone. Let us live.”

Because names carry baggage—Devadasi’s children, grave diggers, leather workers—called Doms, reduced to death work. Kanchan Ilaiah’s writings scream truth here.

Caste is the oldest surviving social hierarchy—and we blame it on God.

Ambedkar fought. Conferences. Roundtables. Disagreements. Protests. Still, we suffer. Because ignorance and arrogance rule.

The Desire to Be Free

All of us—we're seeking freedom. Some through truth. Some through struggle. Some by sheer luck of birth. But awareness itself, I believe, is liberation.

And that, my friends, is the beginning of knowing.

“I know that I do not know.” But I know that I want to know.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.