Of all the famous men who ever lived, the one I would most like to have been was Socrates. Not just because he was a great thinker, because I have been known to have some reasonably profound insights myself, although mine invariably revolve around a Swedish airline stewardess and some handcuffs. No, the great appeal for me of this wisest of all Greeks was his courage in the face of death. His decision was not to abandon his principles, but rather to give his life to prove a point. I personally am not quite as fearless about dying and will, after any untoward noise such as a car backfiring, leap directly into the arms of the person I am conversing with. In the end, Socrates' brave death gave his life authentic meaning; something my existence lacks totally, although it does possess a minimal relevance to the Internal Revenue Department. I must confess I have tried putting myself in this great philosopher's sandals many times and no matter how often I do, I immediately wind up dozing off and having the following dream.
(The scene is my prison cell. I am usually sitting alone, working out some deep problem of rational thought like: Can an object be called a work of art if it can also be used to clean the stove? Presently I am visited by Agathon and Simmias.)
Agathon: Ah, my good friend and wise old sage. How go your days of confinement?
Allen: What can one say of confinement, Agathon? Only the body may be circumscribed. My mind roams freely, unfettered by the four walls and therefore in truth I ask, does confinement exist?
Agathon: Well, what if you want to take a walk?
Allen: Good question. I can't.
(The three of us sit in classical poses, not unlike a frieze. Finally Agathon speaks.)
Agathon: I'm afraid the word is bad. You have been condemned to death.
Allen: Ah, it saddens me that I should cause debate in the senate.
Agathon: No debate. Unanimous.
Allen: Really?
Agathon: First ballot.
Allen: Hmmm. I had counted on a little more support.
Simmias: The senate is furious over your ideas for a Utopian state.
Allen: I guess I should never have suggested having a philosopher-king.
Simmias: Especially when you kept pointing to yourself and clearing your throat.
Allen: And yet I do not regard my executioners as evil.
Agathon: Nor do I.
Allen: Er, yeah, well… for what is evil but merely good in excess?
Agathon: How so?
Allen: Look at it this way. If a man sings a lovely song it is beautiful. If he keeps singing, one begins to get a headache.
Agathon: True.
Allen: And if he definitely won't stop singing, eventually you want to stuff socks down his throat.
Agathon: Yes. Very true.
Allen: When is the sentence to be carried out?
Agathon: What time is it now?
Allen: Today!?
Agathon: They need the jail cell.
Allen: Then let it be! Let them take my life. Let it be recorded that I died rather than abandon the principles of truth and free inquiry. Weep not, Agathon.
Agathon: I'm not weeping. This is an allergy.
Allen: For to the man of the mind, death is not an end but a beginning.
Simmias: How so?
Allen: Well, now give me a minute.
