Now get out and STAY out, Socrates!


All right, all ready, dearest! There's no need to pour a bloody chamber pot over my head!


That's it: Rush off to your fan club of Athenian youth while I stay at home and take care of the kids!


B-but, dear, you know I'm always willing to help with the childcare.


Oh, that's a good one, Socrates! You're such a hands-off father that I bet you don't even remember the entire (admittedly lengthy) first names of your own three sons!


Do too! Let's see, now, there's Lamproclamenes --


That's LAMPROKLES!


San Francisco --


That's SOPHRONISKOS!


And Mini-Exxon-Nose.


That's MENEXENOS!


Well, I call them by their nicknames anyway, dear heart: Larry, Mo, and Curly!


And don't try to appease me with your vapid jokes. Save them for the apparently easily satisfied members of your philosophy club!


Waaaaaaaaah!


It's all right, Menexenos, dearest. Mommy's coming -- even if your own papa Socrates can't be bothered with you right now!




Only fancy: Throwing me out of my own house on my birthday -- Sniff-sniff -- which she seems to have completely forgotten, by the way, as usual. Sniff-sniff!


How is this?! My stoic friend Socrates, in tears!


What? Oh, uh -- Ahem! Nonsense, Phaedrus. I've just got a little Athenian dust in my eyes, that's all.


I see.


You know how our Athenian streets are full of dust.


Yes, and chamber pots, too, apparently.


What's that?


Nothing, nothing.


Ahem! Yes. But now, my dear Phaedrus: Whence come you, and whither are you going?



I come from Lysias the son of Cephalus, and I am going to take a walk outside the wall.


Lysias, eh? That chatterbox? Don't tell me he gave you another one of his problematic philosophical discourses.


To the contrary, I think he made perfect sense today.


Oh, did he, now?


Yes, indeedy.


Ha! 'Yes, indeedy,' says he! Well, don't tell me, Phaedrus, let me guess: He was talking about Love again, right?


Love?


Yeah, remember? That malarkey about how non-lovers make the best friends. You told me all about it under that plane tree on the banks of the Ilissus River, just outside the walls of the city.


No, he wasn't talking about love this time, Socks.


I see. Well, may a body then know of what our mutual athletic friend was actually speaking today?


Okey-dokey, Socks -- but first you have to follow me back to that shady spot by the river.


How mysterious! Well, then forward march, son of Phideas. To the plane tree!




Oh, you remembered!


How could I ever forget the 50th birthday of the great Socrates!


Oh, you shouldn't have! Is this big wrapped gift really for ME?


It's from the entire philosophy club, Socks: Polemarchus, Glaucon, Adeimantus -- even Thrasymachus chipped in a few drachmae, though he's still sore at you for refuting his definition of justice last week.


Oh, yeah: Thrasymachus was like, "Justice is just the advantage of the stronger, Socrates," and I was like, "I don't think so, Thrasymachus."


Well, go on: Open it.


Oh, you guys...!



Socrates, gasping: Yes! It's a first edition copy of our Socratic Dialogues!


We THOUGHT you'd like it.


Oh, give us a great big Platonic hug, fair youth! You guys have just made my day!


No doubt -- considering your 'better half' has apparently given you your marching orders this morning.


Don't go there, Phae-Phae, please.... Oh, and look: Here's Book I of the Republic, the very spot wherein I make mincemeat out of Thrasymachus' definition of justice.


Uh-huh.


Oh, and here is 'The Phaedrus' itself, wherein you and I actually discuss the subject of love (and, indeed, eros) under this very plane tree!


I'm sure I speak for the whole gang when I say we're glad that you like it.


Oh, now give us a kiss, too.


Excuse me?


Oh, you know: a PLATONIC kiss, Phaedrus! A PLATONIC kiss!


Oh, right: A Platonic kiss. You had me wondering there for a minute, Socrates!


Can I help it if I'm carried away by this spirit of generosity in my students?!



To think that somebody actually remembered... Do you know that my wife actually forgot my birthday today: my 50th birthday!


That's not surprising, considering that she's the shrew par excellence of the entire community.


Now, now, Phaedrus: Don't be so hard on the girl.


But you yourself were complaining of her shrewishness in our so-called 'Phaedrus' dialogue under this very tree just three months ago!


Well, she does have her moments, I'll give her that. But my agent recently advised me to use 'rhetorical kid gloves,' as he calls it, in speaking of my (ahem!) better half.


Why on earth would he advise THAT, Socrates?


Well, he's got this theory that women will become increasingly active in Athenian political life during the coming millennia -- in which case, the more radical members of that sex will eventually find it in their strategic political interest to cast Xanthippe as a victim of patriarchal hegemony, making me out, in consequence, to look like a 'schmuck.'


Patriarchal what?


And so if I'm constantly dissing Xanthippe and calling her a "hag" and whatnot, I'll only be helping to invalidate my own philosophy in the eyes of these hypothetically emancipated women of centuries yet to come. In other words: Bye-bye, massive royalty payments.


Oh, I see.


Besides, I can honestly say that she's good with the kids.


Oh, yeah: I had forgotten that you had kids -- but then you so seldom talk about them.


Well, I --


What are their names again?


Oh, great: So now you're going to quiz me, too!


How do you mean?


They're Larry, Mo, and Curly, all right? End of discussion!


(Strange names, those...) But sit down, Wise One -- or careful, not there! There's a cicada on that very spot: You'll ruin your white robe!


For which Xanthippe would give me an earful, of course -- but I am silent!


Sit down over here then beside me --


Now then: tell me what you've learned.


What I've learned, Phaedrus?


You know: In 50 long years of life, Old One.


'Old One,' is it now? Why, I oughta....


Like, for instance, I bet you've finally learned by now how to take a joke from one of your best friends?


What? Oh... (Ahem!) Yes, of course. A joke! Ha ha! We philosophers love a good joke.


Just imagine, though: 50 years of loooooong life, Socrates -- and here I am nary 20. I bet that you are full to bursting with home truths and practical advice.


Okay, smart aleck: Actually, I AM full of such 'home truths' as you call them. There's just one problem, however.


Oh? And what might that be?


This chapter is already so long that it would be inappropriate to begin reciting such wisdom without first inserting a NEW chapter for that very purpose.


Fine. So be it. (American Egghead: Another chapter, if you please sir, on the double!)




Now then: Here is what I, Socrates, have learned after 50 loooooong years of Athenian life, as you call them.


Ooh, this oughta be good!


First, of all, it's very strange.


What's very strange, Socrates?


Well, you know how I'm always harping on the subject of 'knowing thyself,' right?


Of course: You're always like: "Know yourself, people: It's the most important thing," et cetera.


Exactly. Well, the first time I personally felt that I 'knew myself' was when I turned 30.


So you already knew yourself back then, did you?


I thought I did -- but then when I turned 40, I'm like: "Oh, wait a minute, now I see what I'm REALLY like. I didn't REALLY 'know myself' back at age 30, after all!"


I see.


Well, now that I'm 50, I look back at the self-concept that I had of myself at age 40, and again I realize that I was wrong, then, too, that I didn't even know myself THEN -- or at least that I had an almost laughably oversimplified and still incomplete picture of who I really was.


I see. But surely you know yourself NOW, after 50 loooong years?


I think we've completely established the lengthiness of the time span in question. There's no need to keep harping on the word 'looooong,' Phaedrus, please!


Sorry.


I THINK I know myself now at long last -- but I've declared premature victory in the game of self-knowledge once too often now for me to glibly sit here and tell you that, "Yes, Phaedrus, old man, now I truly-truly TRULY know myself, scout's honor, cross my heart and hope to die!"


But surely you've learned something over these long looong -- over the past 50 years, I mean.


Aye, fair youth. I may not know myself entirely just yet, but I can state some general truths based on my past experience.


Speak on then, Old (but by no means ancient) One.


Read.


I beg your pardon?


Read! (You know: books, magazines, newspapers?)


Oh, right: Read!


Yes, expand your mind, for Pete's sake.


Gotcha.


See plays!


See plays: check.


And DO turn off the bloody TV set: DO!


Um, sorry, Socrates, but what is a 'TV set'? I don't think I've ever --


You know what I'm saying, Phaedrus: Keep those neurons working, on account it stokes the old imagination.


Fair enough.


And as for friends...


Hold on a minute, I'm writing this all down to tell the fellas back at Cephalus' house: "And... as... for... friends..." Okay, continue.


As for friends, have just a few really really good ones, yes?


"really... really... good... ones... yes?"


And kiss the rest of society goodbye, on account of life is short and strong and precious emotions shouldn't be diluted via their indiscriminate dispersal among the many-headed.


Criminy: I'm going to run out of ink here, Socrates! "indiscriminate... dispersal... among... the... many... headed."


Of course, you'll want to 'keep a civil tongue in your head,' as they say, when dealing with John Q. Public. I'd be loath to give the green light to incivility, after all?


The 'green light,' Socrates?


But we are not gods, Phaedrus: We cannot be omnipresent with our affections, whether physical, mental, or spiritual.


How do you spell 'omnipresent'?


I think Emily Dickinson said it best (or she will eventually say it best many years from now):




Right. So just to sum up then, Socrates, we should have a few very close friends, but not obsess about making EVERYBODY like us.


Bingo, Phaedrus. It's like those lines from that 'School for Scandal' play by Richard Brinsley Sheridan (which, however, won't be written for another two millennia yet, more's the pity). Sir Peter (it will eventually be remembered) has just finished praising the hypocritical Joseph by observing that "everybody speaks well of him," when Joseph's Uncle, Sir Oliver, replies:

I am sorry to hear it--he has too good a character to be
an honest Fellow. Everybody speaks well of him! Psha! then He has
bow'd as low to Knaves and Fools as to the honest dignity of Virtue.

There now, have you got that all copied down, Phaedrus:


I hope so. "honest... dignity... of... Virtue." I only wish that I knew shorthand.


Impossible, Phaedrus. The very technique will not be invented until 63 B.C.


And how can you know that? Just stick to philosophy, Socrates: You are no Nostradamus, believe me.


Of course I'm not Nostradamus: He won't even be born for almost 2,000 years yet! (Ha! Back atcha, Phaedrus! Woof!)


Whatever. Look, I can't thank you enough for these 'tips on modern living,' so to speak. Now if you'll excuse me, I can't wait to get back and tell the fellas all these things that you've learned during your loooong life.


There he goes again: harping on the length of my 'Looooooooong life'!


Happy Birthday, Socks, from the whole philosophical gang!


Oh, thank you! I'll cherish this book! Speaking of which, it's a first edition of my own work, so I guess I better sign it for myself, huh?


Oh, you!


Now give us one final hug or whatnot!


We are still talking about a 'platonic' hug here, aren't we, Socks?


Of course.


And a 'platonic' whatnot, too?


What else, fair youth: what else!




I'm singing in the rain, just singing in the rain...

I'm probably making a fool of myself singing out in public like this (especially with these particular lyrics, since it isn't even RAINING today here in downtown Athens!), but I am drunk with gratitude that my students remembered my special day!


Oh, it's YOU again!


Oh, hello, Xanthippe, darling. Did you have a nice day?


Oh, yes, wonderful, Socrates: Lamprokles threw up twice, Sophroniskos broke two of my favorite clay bowls, and Menexenos somehow managed to paint the dog yellow, apparently with the sea buckthorn berries that you had gathered three years ago now to paint the Doric columns in the courtyard -- one of the many household tasks which, as usual, you never 'got around to' actually doing, of course!


Oh, my poor sweetie!


Now, get in this house and --



Kids (Lamprokles, Sophroniskos, and Menexenos): SURPRISE!


WHAT???


Well, don't just stand there, Socrates: Blow out the 50 candles on your birthday cake -- before the flipping house burns down!


BUT HOW DID YOU --


I was just pretending to blow my top this morning in order to get you out of the house so that me and the kids could set up the Mother of all Athenian Surprise Parties in here in celebration of your 50th birthday!


I -- I --


What? The great stoic Socrates, in tears?


What? Uh, nonsense. It's just the impossible dustiness of the streets around here!


Oh, I see. (wink wink!)


This is for you, papa! I made it myself!


Why, thank you, Lamproclamenes!


That's LAMPROKLES, darling!


And this is from ME, papa!


Aww! Thank you so much, San Francisco!


That's Sophroniskos, dear.


And how about YOU, Mini-Exxon-Nose? Do you have a gift for your dear old father, too.


That's MENEXENOS, hon.


Here you are, papa: Happy Birthday!


Oh, look, Xanthy: They've each drawn a picture of a...


Yes, yes?


Well, it looks like a.... chair?


Oh, that makes sense: They're always hearing you talking about the IDEA of a chair versus the chair itself.


What?


Yeah. So they apparently figured that you were crazy about chairs. Of course, they couldn't yet understand a word of your philosophizing on the subject....


Don't be so sure, darling.


What do you mean?


Well, just look at these drawings: They're so basic.


Um, right. Well, they ARE still toddlers, after all.


But don't you see: They have caught the true ESSENCE of the chair.


Daddy, what's the 'true essy' of a chair?


What? Oh, I just mean that you have painted the bestest bestest picture of a chair ever, young man: in fact, all three of you have!

Kids: Yay! We painted the true essy of a chair! we painted the true essy! the true essy! Whee-haa! Whoa! Whee! Essy essy essy essy essy essy essy....


Great: Now you've got them riled up again.


Never mind, Xanthippe, sweet: I'll baby-sit for a change while YOU go out on the town.


Oh, and I've got a gift for you, too, Mr. Socrates, sir.


Oh, DO you now, Xanthippe, ma'am?


In fact, I'll be wearing it when I come back home tonight!


Oh, dear me: That's not very philosophical of you, darling. Do you mean --


That's right: Make sure that the kids are in bed before I come back tonight (around 10-ish) because I want to do some of the least Platonic kissing and hugging that we two have ever done in our entire Ancient Grecian lives! As in "ooh mama!" Word to the Athenian motha!


And to think: the entire world thinks you're a shrew!


Too true. I bet even this instance of familial generosity on my part won't even make it into the history books, so thoroughly is the western patriarchal world biased against me.


Now, now: Give it time: Eventually, you guys will get the vote, the political paradigms will do a gender-bending u-ee, and before you know it, all the great historians will be saying "Poor Xanthippe this" and "Poor Xanthippe that"!


What did I ever do to deserve you, Socrates?


You remembered my birthday, for starters!


That's right: 50 years old today. Speaking of which, I almost forgot: I have an honest-to-goodness wrapped gift to give you, too, just like the kids.


Don't tell me that you drew a picture of a chair, too?


Not a chance. I'm a lousy draw-er. Besides, I'd be tempted to give the furniture so many accidental (i.e., ornamental) flourishes, that it wouldn't represent the IDEA of a chair at all, but merely one sordidly particular 'instance,' if you will, of that truly IDEALISTIC chair painted by the kids -- you know, Larry, Mo and Curly, or whoever?


This whole day is getting better and better! But now let me see what you got me for my 50th birthday here.



Oh, um... Ahem! Dear, you shouldn't have!


I hope you like it: It's the first printed edition of those Socratic Dialogues that you've been having!


Um... yes, how thoughtful.


But it looks like someone ELSE has given you a birthday gift. What is that inside your toga there?


Oh, just a small little book from Phaedrus.


Well, come on then: what did he give you?


Uh, oh, it's nothing.


But what's the title?


I forget. It's just one of those stupid books of jokes and off-color anecdotes that you're supposed to read while you're (ahem!) 'on the john,' as they say.


I didn't realize that Phaedrus was such a kidder!


Alas, he's very sophomoric, indeed, I'm afraid.




Kids! What are you up to now?!


Oh, look, they broke your father's kithara!


Right. Time out for the lot of you! That's a very special instrument, and the repair money is coming right out of your allowances!


Well, I'll leave you to sort this out.


Honestly, this is just SO non-philosophical of you guys.


Love me?


What? Oh, yes: Love you, dear.


Happy Birthday again, darling.


Thanks, Xanthy. You're the best.


Remember, your best birthday gift YET will open before your very eyes tonight, courtesy moi.




What is she going to get you for your birthday, daddy?


Never you mind, San Francisco. Now everybody help me pick up what's left of my father's poor lyre! (Honestly, if it weren't my birthday today, I would give you guys a very practical demonstration of my proposed Spartan system for education in an ideal state -- starting with some hands-on examples of corporal punishment, I shouldn't wonder!)