Excerpt
The Greatest Nobodies of History
1.
The Dog PhilosopherIn the fourth century BCE, under the watchful eye of Zeus and the Olympians, Ancient Athens and its mortals were enjoying the fruits of the golden age. After a hundred years of good fortune, the marble city gleamed with temples to the gods and heroes, and its people (or at least the lucky ones) enjoyed a life of enlightenment, strolling about on the cobbles, thinking up inspirational quotes.
The most famous of these thinkers—Socrates, Plato and Aristotle—fascinated, dazzled and discombobulated their fellow Athenians with their philosophies, eventually making a cultural impact so large they are still household names to this day. Unfairly, their equally fascinating contemporary, the cynical Diogenes of Sinope, isn’t quite as well known, most of his life and teachings being lost to time.
That all changed in 2009, however, when a hoard of letters was found buried under the Ancient Agora of Athens. After spending more than a decade translating the documents and filtering out the junk mail, historians were able to piece together an extraordinary collection of complaint letters from a disgruntled Athenian citizen, finally shedding light on the controversial antics of the man Plato dubbed “Socrates gone mad.”
To whom it may concern,
I am writing to file an official complaint regarding a disturbance in my neighborhood.
I should caveat that I am a very kind and tolerant man. Sometimes my friends say I am too kind and too tolerant, and that I need to stop being so kind and tolerant, but I’m afraid it is in my nature and not subject to change.
This morning, while leaving my home on Aphrodite Avenue, I found that my route past the Temple of Apollo was blocked by a very large, overturned stone jar. Passersby agreed it was a dreadful shame, for it is a beautiful street in an upmarket part of town, and to see it go to the dogs in this way was most upsetting.
I was already running late to brunch with my mother, but as an honorable citizen it felt remiss not to stop and investigate. Well, I wish I hadn’t, for as I drew closer I was hit by the most heinous stench which remains in my nostrils still!
“Whose pithos is this?” I said, covering my nose with my chiton. I looked around for the offender. “Who has left a giant jar of feces and carcasses in the middle of the street?” A boy sitting on the steps of the temple stared blankly and shrugged. No one owned up.
I was bending down to look inside when, to my horror, it moved. I jumped back, and from the cavity came a man, unfolding his arms and legs until he was outstretched and yawning, completely naked. All the flies in Athens seemed to gather, drinking up the cloud of noxious gas that encircled him.
“You can’t leave your pithos here!” I stuttered. The man rubbed his eyes and scratched his groin.
“It’s not my pithos,” he said, before stumbling over to the temple and relieving himself against one of its columns. “It’s nobody’s.”
I left, trying to process what I had just seen, and by the time I arrived at brunch (ten minutes late), the smell of sweat and urine still hadn’t left me, making it very difficult to enjoy my English yogurt.
Now, before you make assumptions, I should tell you that I am a big—no, huge—advocate of poor people. Just last week I smiled at a homeless orphan in the Agora and I even have that thing Plato said, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle,” on a tote bag. But it works both ways! I’m still putting off taking a wife (purely for financial reasons, there are plenty of women who like me) and I’ve just had to sell my second home on Aegina. Times are tight, but we must keep up appearances. We must rise above the barbarous domain of animals and live ordered, civilized lives. Otherwise, we are merely dogs!
On behalf of all the good people of Athens, I request the man be moved to a more suitable neighborhood. It breaks my heart to see him look so out of place, and I can’t help but feel he would be much happier living in one of those lovely far-off suburbs.
I look forward to your swift action in this matter.
Yours sincerely,
Concerned Citizen of Athens
No. 24 Aphrodite Avenue
Kerameikos district
Athens
P.S. Thank you for finally removing the illegally deposited cone on the statue of Eros.
*
To whom it may concern,
Just following up on my previous letter. Did you receive it? Only, it has been three days and the unsavory man seems to have set up permanent camp next to the Temple of Apollo. Thankfully he now wears a chiton from time to time, but his odor still offends everyone within a four-mile radius. Has he not heard of Aesop?
In case you’re of the opinion that desecrating a holy temple and spoiling its aesthetics isn’t grounds for exile, I would like to tell you about what happened today in the marketplace.
Now, I don’t normally visit the marketplace (I have slaves to do that for me) but my 30th birthday is coming up and I intend to put on a fabulous party for my many friends, acquaintances and prospective business clients. There has never been a more perfect opportunity to show them all just what kind of man I am, so I am going all out.
There I was, perusing the fine silks for my birthday chiton, when I heard a ruckus over by the meat and cheese section. The smell alone should’ve been a giveaway, but I found myself compelled to find out what all the fuss was about.
Lo and behold, there he was, standing in the middle of the aisle munching on a ham and cheese toastie. A circle of mortified onlookers had formed around him, all totally perplexed as to how someone could defy social conventions and eat in public like some kind of stray dog. This dog loved the attention and remained on a constant 360-degree rotation so everyone could see his barbaric jaw masticating away.
“You monster!” said a woman, close to tears. The Dog (for if he insists on behaving like a dog I shall call him one) licked his fingers and said, through a mulch of saliva and feta, “If a thing is not shameful in private, why should it be shameful in public?”
I tell you, my eyes rolled so far back into my head they nearly detached. He thinks he’s a philosopher! Well, I’ve never heard anything so hilarious in all my life. Oh how I laughed! I suppose he’ll be setting up a school next? I wonder how they’ll all fit in his pithos?
Now, I’m an easy-going guy. Childish stunts don’t rattle me. The problem is when these things catch on, which is exactly what happened next.
One of the bewitched onlookers, a well-to-do woman from a respectable family, reached nervously into her pocket, pulled out an almond and started giggling. Before I knew it, she’d popped it in her mouth. Right there in the open! I stared at her, hardly able to believe what I was seeing. She ate another one and another one, grinning the whole time like it was some great thrill. I had to sit down for fear of fainting.
I implore you, for the safety and sanity of all Athenians, to take action before the Dog’s horrid ways infect more suggestible civilians. I have seen it happen before! My barber went to ONE Plato lecture and now he’s convinced he’s a featherless chicken called Paul. His wife keeps finding him squashed in the coop, harassing the hens. It has completely torn their family apart!
Perhaps you could put the Dog in a little boat and push him out to sea? Alternatively, I’ve heard the steps of the Acropolis are quite slippery this time of year . . .
Yours impatiently,
Shocked Citizen of Athens
No. 24 Aphrodite Avenue
Kerameikos district
Athens
P.S. Those new marble benches around the Agora are in all the wrong places. Too cold in the morning shade and too hot in the midday sun! Who arranged them, Oedipus?!
