Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.28

Consider what a man Socrates was when he dressed himself in a skin, after Xanthippe had taken his cloak and gone out, and what Socrates said to his friends who were ashamed of him and drew back from him when they saw him dressed thus.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 11.28 (tr Long)

What a delightful story! I have no idea if it ever happened, and I don’t know where the tradition came from, but I can imagine it right now. It reminds me of a country music song by Vince Gill, where the wife hides the husband’s car keys to keep him from going to the honky-tonk, but he outwits her by taking his John Deere tractor instead.

Xanthippe, Socrates’ wife, is only mentioned rarely by sources like Plato or Xenophanes, and she is usually described as loving and faithful to her husband, but also occasionally as stubborn and headstrong. I see no contradiction between the two, as I married a fine woman with much the same qualities. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sadly, many later accounts describe her as a nagging and jealous shrew, and her very name is often associated with that unfortunate label.

Yet I suppose Xanthippe is hardly the point here, is she? I should look rather at what Socrates did, and not be so shallow as to blame it all on his wife. He was quite glad to go out of the house, dressed rather improperly, and looking like a fool. What did his companions say to him? What did Socrates say right back to them?

I would consider the question a truly worthy exercise in philosophy, and at one point I even assigned it as a paper topic to some reluctant college students: “Offer an account of the conversation between Socrates, wearing an animal skin out on the town, and his rather embarrassed friends.”

That, I think, is the sort of thing philosophy should be about. I was met only with vacant stares, and after some students complained about the unorthodox assignment, my Chairman told me to never do anything like that ever again.

I created my own faux Platonic dialogue in my own head, and I remain convinced that any thoughtful and creative person is able to offer a fine reflection on what might have been said. Perhaps one day I will write it down, and it will gather dust, along with all my other attempts at writing.

“What am I wearing? Is a man what he wears? Is worth to be found on the outside, or on the inside? If the former, leave me at the bar without a ride, because you are ashamed. If the latter, be my friend, and care nothing for how I look. . . .

“Oh, you worry about what other people will think of me? Or are you really worried about what other people will think of you, because they associate you with me? If you believe, as we just discussed, that merit is in the man, and not in his trappings, you will surely care little for such vanities. . . .

“Now don’t you roll your eyes at me, young man!” 

Written in 6/2009