This story is a bit rambling. I was asked to pick the theme for this week. Rather than select from the usual group of topics, i decided to make a list of Jeopardy categories and pick something from that list.

I came up with:

  • Amateur lumberjacks of the ancient world
  • Words beginning with the number 5
  • Fluffy farm animals
  • "What am I drinking?"
  • Three feet above the earth
  • Nature scenes I wish I could un-see

I was unable to pick only one. They are all so very good yet horrible at the same time. I asked my son to do the selecting. The response was he was planning on using them all and challenged me to do the same.

I decided to go him one better. As bonus points, I incorporated the exact wordings of each of the six themes at some point during the story.

Disclaimer: I am aware that none of the primary characters were young men at the same time and the Hindu (aka Arabic) numbering system was not invented until centuries later. I hide behind artistic license as defense for any historical inaccuracies.

Young Socrates swung his tawny axe. A beautiful swing and perfect hit, precisely three feet above the earth on which he stood. Sweat glistened on his brow, his muscles ached. Still he swung and swung and swung, hitting the olive wood log over and over again. He wanted more than anything to steal a glance at the competition. Did he have a chance? Coach had admonished him after the last Olympics to never get distracted, never lose focus. He took another swing. He heard a cheer go up. Sneaking a glance, he saw Pericles had finished. The young man stood, breathing heavily, arms held high, drinking in the cheers from the crowd.

Another cheer for a competitor complete, and yet another. He had no chance of placing now. His bad luck, hitting a knot on the fifth swing, blunting his bronze axe. This was his last chance to make a name for himself and go pro. That dream was now fading. Five years had passed, five chances to win the Olympics lumbering games with no success. He carried through, a final swing and the log fell to the ground. Fifth place, he had done better before. He decided it was time to hang up his axe. He would never achieve his dream of rivaling the legends of old, the amateur lumberjacks of the ancient world.

Dejected, he walked from the competition ground. Across the tournament field, he spied his friend Diogenes sitting outside the animal compound. He slowly walked over, Diogenes looked up and gave a half-hearted wave. Socrates sat down next to his friend. “How did your goat do?”

Diogenes frowned, “He lost the jumping competition. He couldn’t even clear the low bar at three feet. Then the judge said his fur was rather flat and dull. Alexios had entered a goat from distant Angora. The fur was so soft, it was unnatural. No one could win against that. I wish I had not seen such a goat. It has put me off goat breeding all together. This emphasis on fluffy farm animals in competition defies logic.”

“Did you take my advice?” Socrates asked, “Mix a bit of pitch into turpentine and rub that on his fur. That always works to give the full body the judges are looking for.”

“No, it did not seem right, presenting what they want to see rather than what is true.” Diogenes replied, “It’s all rigged anyway. Society is corrupt and there is no reason to think the judges do not have their favorites already selected.”

Socrates grabbed his friend by the shoulder, “You have to meet them halfway. Life cannot be lived entirely one way or another. A blending is required, establish a middle ground. Take the two opposing views and build a compromise.”

Diogenes stood, waving his arms about excitedly, “I disagree! It is possible to live a righteous life free from the expectations of others. One can be true to oneself and still partake in the activities of society. Look about, these people do not know they are lying to themselves. They follow and adopt societal demands as if they were their own.”

Socrates stood, “There is some semblance of truth in what you say. But my truth now is I am hungry, let’s get something to eat. Come with me to the marketplace. Maybe we can find something to cool your head.”

The two friends walked towards the center of Athens. They entered the marketplace, browsing at several stalls. Diogenes picked up an ancient stone carved with runes. He passed it over to Socrates, “What do you think this says?”

Socrates studied the carving, “This first character looks like ‘Epsilon’, it could be the start of a word, or represent the number 5. It’s hard to make out the rest, I really couldn’t say which it is. The symbol exists in that peculiar state, neither letter nor number, yet both at the same time. It is an odd aspect of our language that we can have words beginning with the number 5. I hear the Hindus use a distinct set of characters for their numbering system. That seems much more sensical to me.” He put the stone back down in front of the merchant. He looked about and saw Diogenes had wandered over to a potions stall.

Socrates caught up with his friend. Diogenes turned and handed Socrates a flask. “Taste this.”

Socrates took a swig of the bitter liquid. “What am I drinking?” he asked.

Diogenes replied laughing, “It’s a sleeping draught, has just a bit of hemlock in it to quiet the mind. Finish it off to find your middle ground between day and night, wake and sleep. Recline on that pile of soft sheepskins and dream of compromise.”

Socrates put down the unfinished potion. He pointed to where an excited crowd began to gather in front of the temple of Zeus. The lumbering awards were being presented. They moved toward the temple but were lost behind the crowd. Diogenes complained, “I can’t see. All these tall people in the way!”

Socrates took him by the arm and guided him up the five steps leading to the temple of Hera. The additional three feet of elevation was enough to allow them to see over the crowd. Pericles was front and center, olive branch upon his head, winner of the lumbering pentathlon. He waved to the gathered citizens, increasing the intensity of their cheering five-fold.

Diogenes pointed out, “Now there is an example of a man basing his actions solely upon the standards imposed by the crowd. He does not have an original thought in his head, thinking only of what will bring him more accolades. He is drinking the nectar of social approval and scarcely knows it.”

Socrates retorted, “He is only doing what his natural talents have guided him to. A combination of brawn and intelligence in equal portions has allowed him to be elevated amongst his peers. There is nothing unnatural or worthy of disdain in what he has accomplished.”

The crowd began to drift away, the ceremony complete. Socrates nudged his friend, “Let’s go back to the shade of the market and out of this hot sun.”

As they walked from the temple, Diogenes lifted his tunic and squatted in the dirt, leaving his mark on the walkway. Socrates recoiled in horror, “By the gods, I did not need to see that! I understand the whole ‘anti-culture’ idea you are pushing but sometimes I think you take it too far. Please do not take me for a prude. In general, I do not recoil from what is natural, but there are occasional nature scenes I wish I could un-see.”

They found a comfortable corner of the market, continuing their argument into the evening. They met again the next day in the same spot. Each day they came back and debated, eventually gathering a few acolytes. After the passage of several years, the citizens of Athens tiring of their constant inane bickering, uncouth habits, and confrontational attitudes; put them both to death. It wasn’t until centuries later that they were remember not for lumberjacking or goat breeding but for the conversations held in the marketplace.