Old Men in Love

by Alasdair Gray

  CRITIAS: He was opposed to slackness, evasion, incompetence and passing the buck. Of course he was opposed to democracy.

  Socrates scratches his head. From the jurors comes a rising murmur of disapproval.

  ANYTUS: Thank you for being frank. Besides being an aristocrat, a general and a tyrant, you once wrote a play. In it a character said that even if gods did not exist, wise politicians would prop them up like scarecrows, to frighten people into obedience. Did you get that from Socrates?

  CRITIAS: Of course not. Politicians have always known that, which is why you are charging Socrates with heresy. You are propping up the gods of the state in order to stay in power and silence your critics . . . the clever ones, not most people.

  ANYTUS: (vehemently) I believe in the gods! I love the people!

  CRITIAS: (amused) And probably most people believe you believe, Anytus. They may even believe you love them. I have fallen from power, I don’t need to pretend.

  PRESIDENT: (roughly) Less of the clever stuff, Critias.

  ANYTUS: (shouting) Didn’t you write that the Spartan system of government is the best in Greece? And isn’t that the opinion of your master Socrates?

  CRITIAS: No. I praised it as the most stable government in Greece. It has lasted two centuries without change so it must be. They also breed the bravest soldiers, one reason why they defeated us. Every Greek knows that.

  ANYTUS: No wonder they turned you into our dictator!

  CRITIAS: Nonsense, the Spartans are practical men, they wouldn’t trust someone because he’d written something. An agreement with a parliament isn’t worth the paper it’s written on so they signed a treaty with people from the best Athenian families, having made them the government. I became leader because I was the best manager of men among them. Don’t blame Socrates for that. Blame my ancestors. They made me what I am.

  ANYTUS: We know how you managed men! Thirty of your best people put fifteen hundred of our people to death without trial.

  An uproar of boos, yells and hisses. Critias glances humorously at Socrates as if to say “We understand the mob, don’t we?” Socrates ignores him, frowning thoughtfully. The President stands up.

  PRESIDENT: (bellowing) If you don’t! . . . Stop this din! . . . I will end! . . . The trial! . . . Now! . . . And nobody will get paid!

  Many start making “shush” sounds. Uproar lessens, stops.

  PRESIDENT: Thanks for your support citizens. The man’s a bastard but we need him to get at the truth. (he sits) Socrates, have you any questions for your . . . pupil?

  SOCRATES: Critias, you and I often talked about politics so tell the court the truth. I criticized the democracy for pursuing a war we could never win. I also praised the Spartans for the care they took to educate their young. Did I ever praise a government that killed and robbed its own people?

  CRITIAS: (grimly) No, I had to learn the practical details for myself.

  SOCRATES: Mm! (he sighs) Do you remember ordering the arrest of Theramines? It was six years ago, in this council chamber.

  CRITIAS: Yes. (sarcastically) Would it help you if I reminded the court of what happened?

  SOCRATES: It might.

  CRITIAS: You and a couple of friends got between the condemned man and the police, shouting that Athenians should not kill one another and asking the crowd to help you stop that arrest. Of course the chicken-livered majority stayed clear. If I had been longer in power I would have had to get you killed, too. You criticized my regime, you disobeyed it and that was illogical! You obeyed the orders of a democracy you despised, why inconvenience a friend who was doing the best possible thing?

  SOCRATES: What does best mean, Critias?

  CRITIAS: Preventing civil war. Everyone wants to forget the conditions in which my party took power. We were managing a conquered and bankrupt state. In other cities the working classes would have starved or emigrated or sold themselves into slavery, but not the free men of Athens! They had been spoiled by two generation of cheap food, full employment, pensions for the disabled and free theatre tickets. Pericles was to blame. He paid for all that out of the Empire. We had no Empire and our workmen had forgotten how to suffer. To prevent rebellion our dictatorship needed money, and fast. We sold the new harbour at a tenth of the building cost. We confiscated the wealth of rich foreigners, then the wealth of rich tradesmen, then the wealth of our critics. Who squealed, or course. So we executed them. Nasty! Very nasty! But we restored the economy and kept Athens intact.

  ANYTUS: You kept your fortunes intact! And enlarged them! And you were already our richest citizens!

  CRITIAS: Your crowd profited! When you saw our brutal, necessary, unpopular work had stabilized the economy you started a civil war with us, won it and grabbed the credit and the benefits.

  SOCRATES: Has this argument anything to do with me?

  CRITIAS: Not much. Your notions led me into politics but they were no good once I arrived there.

  SOCRATES: (placidly) Thank you, Critias.

  ANYTUS: Yes, thank you, Critias! The jury will note that Socrates led you into politics but stayed firmly outside them.

  SOCRATES: (placidly) Bravo, Anytus.

  Critias retires.

  ANYTUS: I thank God that Alcibiades and Critias – the traitor and the dictator – are figures from the dead past. Which doesn’t mean they won’t come back – if we aren’t very careful. Meanwhile, since most of us have sons, let us see his effect on a young fellow of today. (yelling) Come here Phoebus!

  From the edge of the group of Socrates’ friends a thin, dishevelled figure detaches himself and slouches onto the stage. He bows mockingly once or twice to the jury then hunches his shoulders, folds his arms and looks up sideways at his father with a mixture of fear and obstinacy.

  ANYTUS: Tell the jury what you feel about me.

  PHOEBUS: (gently) I . . . I hate you, Dad.

  ANYTUS: (nodding) Tell the jury why.

  PHOEBUS: You’re a rich man, Dad. You could afford to give me a horse. Why should I work in your stinking tannery handling their hides?

  ANYTUS: I did that when I was your age. Tell them why you hate honest toil.

  PHOEBUS: I’d rather . . . learn, yes learn about . . . things.

  ANYTUS: (glaring at Socrates) What things?

  PHOEBUS: Reasons, mainly. Why make shoe leather if I haven’t exactly found what feet are for? Walking, of course, everybody knows that but walking where? Nobody really knows where they’re going or what living is for. I want to see more life before I make a living. The sons of rich men usually do. Beauty, geometry, tragedy, racehorses, you can afford to give me some, why don’t you?

  ANYTUS: (harshly) And Socrates?

  PHOEBUS: I love him as much, almost, as I hate you. (he laughs uneasily) He doesn’t jeer when I say things but I mostly just listen. Anybody can do that, nobody has to pay. He’s very like me. He knows you dads and bosses and bullies are a lot of shams. That’s why you’re afraid of us. He thinks a lot, but he doesn’t take thinking seriously, he listens to his demon, like I do. Though he’s luckier than me. My demon says some very nasty things. (he shivers) He drinks too, does Socrates, wine by the bucket and never gets drunk, they say. Just like me. None of you have noticed I’m drunk. Have you? Couldn’t have. Come here. Otherwise (to Socrates, quietly) would you ask him to let me go home?

  Socrates makes a small gesture of appeal to Anytus, who continues glaring at him stonily. Phoebus looks pleadingly to his father, then the president, then the jury who he addresses wildly and feebly.

  PHOEBUS: Men of Athens, what is matter? Why is there pressure? Single uniform unchanging solid concentric whirlpools of energy, Socrates is calm about that because nothing matters, money, clothes, work, people, politics, Gods are all filth to him that’s why he’s calm, no? (he looks at Socrates) – Not now. Now he’s looking calm but I can see he’s not. Why have you stopped being calm, Socrates? (aghast) Are you starting to think I’m dreadful too?

  ANYTUS: (desperately yelling) Do y
ou want to ask the witness any questions?

  Socrates looks with deep pity on father and son who both now look gaunt and dishevelled.

  SOCRATES: (gently) Let him go home Anytus.

  Anytus waves his hand and Phoebus stumbles off. With an effort, Anytus brings his emotions under control and addresses the jury.

  ANYTUS: I have one thing in common with my son. My appearance here is unattractive. I am asking for the death of a cheerful, vigorous, charming, charming old man but you know I’m not bloodthirsty. I drew up the act of oblivion by which nobody in Athens is punished for his political past and that act is still in force. I called Alcibiades and Critias to remind you of the sickness Socrates is spreading around him even now. It is doubt – doubt of the great simple truths our mothers and fathers taught us – respect for God and respect for law. If this doubt is wisdom; it is evil wisdom which cannot come from God because it destroys ordinary people’s understanding. Those who have heard him argue know what I mean. By steps which seem so sensible you can’t remember them afterwards he brings you to admit that nothing you’re sure of is right. A paralysis creeps over your brain. Mature citizens know what to do, they leave him and don’t come back. But if you’re young you’re in danger. Young men attract him and he attracts them! This numbing of the thinking process, this rational destruction of reason releases the demon in them, the demon which is normally held down by the laws of God and the laws of our state. So, as you have seen, the brave young soldier becomes a reckless traitor. And the practical businessman becomes a ruthless tyrant. And weaklings become selfish, shameless parasites and spongers. As for his intellectual disciples, once again, look at them! Look at that . . . crowd! (he points) Our great comic playwright described them – “They disagree with each other but have one thing in common – they fit in with nobody else.” Socrates is now going to speak to you. Don’t let his charm distract you from what you know already. Don’t let his eloquence make you forget what you have seen here, just now! (he points at Socrates, who stares back in astonishment) I fear that man, because I honour God and love civilization! I ask you to defend Athens, her religion and her sons by silencing him.

  Loud, civilized applause. The president has been greatly impressed by Anytus’ peroration.

  PRESIDENT: Your turn Socrates. Defend yourself.

  Socrates stands, leans sideways on his stick and scratches his head.

  SOCRATES: I don’t know, men of Athens, how that speech struck you but it convinced me, before I remembered the chap Anytus was supposed to be denouncing is me. He didn’t. He warned you against my eloquence, I’ve got none, that’s why I hardly ever pipe up in parliament. This is my first speech to such a huge number, and please don’t worry about my famous charm. Perhaps I could charm you all if I had more time but Athenian trials are rapid affairs. In Sparta, now, a trial on a capital charge takes two or three days –

  Some disapproving murmurs and one cry of “Boo!” from the jurors.

  SOCRATES: (snapping fingers) Blast! I shouldn’t have said that! Mr President, you see what a child I am in legal matters: please tell the jury to forget I said something good about Sparta!

  PRESIDENT: (rolling up his eyes and sighing) Just defend yourself, Socrates.

  SOCRATES: (humbly) I’ll try. I was pleased to hear Anytus say some true things about the days when I was a young fellow of forty and regarded, quite correctly, as a simpleton who wanted to be wise but didn’t know how. What turned a tongue-tied stupid stonemason into the famous, extraordinary me? How did a National Service private with a habit of sleeping on his feet become the money-grubbing pederast you’ve seen caricatured on the stage by my pal Aristophanes: the menace to civilization who terrifies Anytus; the buffoon of Athens, as some folk call me; the wise man of Greece – if you’d rather believe Apollo, God of sunlight and harmony? That isn’t a rhetorical question. Shall I answer it?

  Someone yells “Get to the point!” Socrates nods, sits on the edge of the stage with his legs dangling and says in an ordinary voice:

  SOCRATES: Alcibiades made me a philosopher. I met him in the army at the start of the war and I loved that beautiful man. I wanted to fascinate him, delight him, give him something great to remember me ever afterwards by. And I had nothing to give. Nothing at all. (he stares at the palms of his hands) A stonemason. Ugly. Shy. Until I spoke to him. And then I was inspired. (he looks at the jury) Love inspires us all, of course. It gives some people the strength to support a husband, a wife, a family for years and years and years. Love never made me as strong as that – I support my wife and children on handouts from friends – but the love which makes others strong made me see things clearly, yes it did. Anytus says my wisdom is evil, that’s daft. If I do evil then what Anytus calls my wisdom is only cleverness – there are many clever men in Athens but I’m not one. Only love could have taught me the wise trick I played on Alcibiades. I had nothing of my own to attract him so I gave him back the lovely thing he was giving me: the vision of his own true splendid self.

  ANYTUS: (loudly and coldly) Toady! Sycophant! Arselicker!

  Disapproving cries of “Yes!” “That’s right Anytus!” “Boo!” from the jurors, during which Socrates rises and stumps cheerfully up and down before the stage.

  PRESIDENT: You’re out of order, Anytus!

  SOCRATES: No he isn’t, I like a bit of friendly badinage. But he’s missed the point, as usual. I couldn’t make Alcibiades love me for ever by flattering him – (he points to Alcibiades with his stick) – by the way, you still love me, don’t you?

  ALCIBIADES: (laughing with appreciation at the show) Yes!

  SOCRATES: (laughing and smiling) Yes! (to the jury) You see, arselicking or flattery, as some people call it, is praising a man for something he’s proud of. It can never please for very long because we all know, in our hearts, that we are only proud of the rubbishy bits of ourselves – the parts we would be better off wothout. A short while ago Alcibiades stood on that very spot – (points with stick) – and very solemnly told us his uncommon courage had astounded the world. And nobody laughed! I was so amazed that I couldn’t. (points stick) Him? Alcibiades? Courageous? Because he gambled with an army and lost it? A gambler can’t be brave! If he wins people are fascinated. If he loses people are fascinated. Either way he gets what he wants, which is people saying, Oo aren’t you wonderful, oo aren’t you wicked! Alcibiades the daring gambler is rubbish! Just rubbish! The true Alcibiades I love knows it – when he listens to me. I love him because he’s lonely and desperately humble. The men of Athens praised him because he was wild and glamorous. Who flattered him, you or me? Fancy putting a child of twenty-five in charge of an army then blaming him when he runs away!

  ANYTUS: He was not a child! We followed him because he tricked us! He made us think his allies were rich by showing treasure chests full of broken pottery with a layer of gold on top!

  SOCRATES: You must have been very keen to be fooled if you were fooled by a schoolboy prank like that. I honestly thought a democratic majority would have more sense, but when my darling stood up in parliament and announced his grandiose cheeky, world-conquering scheme most of you acted like a Persian Emperor gone gaga. Instead of laughing at him you idiots voted for him!

  Loud cries of annoyance from jurors. Socrates climbs on stage again, raises a hand, and shouts at them: –

  SOCRATES: Men of Athens, were you blind? Did you not see where Alcibiades’ talent lay? He gave me a new kind of wisdom which I have given to the world. Throughout Greece clever professors are calling me the father of moral philosophy – Alcibiades was father. I’m the mother of moral philosophy. Of course like many fathers he refused to acknowledge the child, but I blame you idiots for that –

  Protesting cries become uproar. Socrates climbs up on his chair and points with his stick.

  SOCRATES: (yelling) Men of Athens, I accuse you of seducing, corrupting and perverting my darling! If you’d left him with me he would have become a philosopher, which is what everyone should be, be
cause . . .

  The jurors’ vocal reactions drown his words. Many boo and shout, many are laughing, many argue vehemently with neighbours. Socrates stands on the chair, both hands folded patiently on the stick-handle, waiting to continue. The president has left his chair and stands conferring with Anytus. Anytus turns to the jury and raises his hands for silence. It gradually happens.

  ANYTUS: (sternly) Yes, men of Athens, we are all disgusted by the cynical, facetious abuse that man has heaped on us. But we are here to judge him, and judges should be calm.

  PRESIDENT: (huffily) A man must be heard before we condemn him. That’s the law. (he goes back to his seat)

  ANYTUS: (reasonably) Outcries only make the trial last longer. Save your anger till it’s time to vote and then show what you think. It’s your vote that matters. (he sits)

  SOCRATES: Thank you for that friendly speech, Anytus. (climbs down and wipes his brow) Phew! (to the jury) You had me quite excited there. I could never be a politician – too emotional. (he sits on chair) Well, when Alcibiades left me – for you lot – O, I was depressed. I didn’t realize I’d become a philosopher. Love for him had untied my tongue and let me think aloud. I thought all that would stop now. It didn’t! I discovered I could talk to anyone – pretty young boys, ugly old men – anyone! I’d acquired a gift. But I swear by the great God of Heaven that I did not know I was being wise, I thought I was just finding out what people thought. Those I spoke to kept coming up with astonishing ideas, and saying they had learned them from me. (he chuckles) I’ve never had an original idea in my life! They wrote books, too, and the critics blamed me for those as well. Anytus mentioned Critias’ attack on democracy; he should have mentioned Kairafon’s defence. Kairafon said he learned that from me and the dictators banished him. Anyway, one morning as Homer puts it “A thunderbolt descended from the blue Aegean sky.” (spreading his arms wide) “News from Delphi! Oracle’s Astounding Revelation! Nobody in Greece is wiser than Socrates!” (drops hands, suddenly really puzzled and worried ) Nobody wiser than me? But friends, I am like other people! When love and friendship inspire me I have glimpses of beauty and goodness; otherwise there is nothing in here – (taps chest ) – nothing but a little voice which sometimes says “No. Don’t do that.”