- Or, “you hold me, I hold you”. - ...I don't know. - Shall we hold each other? - Mmm: no... - Do I tickle you? - Ah...there we are talking! - Do I tickle you? - Even better !'

Fragment found recently near Athens, documenting a conversation between Plato and Socrates meeting and discussing a possible future project on what would later be named the "Crito".
We are in 310 BC. Greece is in its golden age: mercantile trade is booming and the population is increasing. The polis play a decisive role in the configuration and human interaction that made the West what it is today: there were laws, rights, a "police", a democracy, a senate, businesses, artists, an army, alleys, houses, people in the street who are bored, trees.
Ancient Greece was the advent, the big bang of Western civilization: all these riches of thought, sculpture, painting, cracks and other things sprang up there, that's for sure.
Philosophy was born there! in Miletus more precisely. A Socrates, a Plato, an Aristotle,...a Hippocrates, a Thales and many others were born there.
We are in Athens. The Sun is at its zenith. No clouds on the horizon. It's 35°C in the shade. The atmospheric pressure is 35 bars. We haven't seen this in 70 years. An old man (thirty at the time) is sitting on the stairs. He drinks tea and watches people pass by. Behind him, a building with a sign: “No one enters here unless he is a surveyor.” The old man has a long white beard. His soft toga reveals a growth on his stomach: fat: he was fat. He puts down his glass of tea and takes out a pipe. He smokes it. Suddenly, something catches his attention. Footsteps come towards him. A light dust evaporates, caressing the feet of the person who articulated them. He also wears a toga. Shorter: a white dress. This young man (around ten) brings with him under his arm, a pile of scriptures. Brown. Long hair. Nose-forehead. Greek face.
- What brings you here so early, Pelotongrandfils? - asked the old man.
- This may seem strange to you, master, but I couldn't sleep... - the young man replied. The old man stared at him and seeing that this young man was not going to reveal the cause of his insomnia, helped him to empty himself:
- But why then, my young Peloyourgrandson, son of Yourgrandson, grandson of Grandson and great-grandson of Son?
- Do you remember our discussion yesterday, about the annypotheton?
- ...yes, but continue my child, don't interrupt yourself for the love of the Gods - The old man couldn't help but observe the body of this young man. Slightly curly brown hair. His childish gaze. His childish hands. His childish feet. This age of child...
- [...] and this is why, I wondered if we should not rather consider Beauty, as being the universal form of which everything participates.
Slight silence. The old man continues to stare at him. He regains his senses:
- Certainly my sweet friend. Your intelligence will surprise me day by day. But let's go inside, this heat is scorching!
- What a good master idea!
They exchange smiles. They hesitate to enter for a good ten seconds, wanting to leave the other first. The old man lets him in and then, before the old man can close the door:

- Oh ! Plato?! - cried out with joy another old man who came forward, happy to see an old friend.

He also had a white toga, a very long grayish beard and eyes whose pupils tended towards this same color. His movements were lively, excited and unpredictable.

His gaze, always wide-eyed, inspired madness. A nervous person like his relative, more than two thousand years later, who was Louis de Funès:

- How are you ? - he asked her with a slight Marseille accent.
Plato, a little annoyed and embarrassed:
- Oh you know, nothing on this beautiful day when the daisies whisper Mistinguette and the lizards whisper Papette, could lead me to dislike my transhumance in this world, my good Socrates !
- It's okay, it's okay! Still in the concept of the “Idea” and its copies? - he asked her. Plato, still a little annoyed, replied with a smile:
- Yes.
- Ah, that's good, that's good. Well, tell me?!, wouldn't you have a few minutes to give to this decrepit old man that I am?
- My friend, life often brings surprises and... - Socrates interrupts him and while rushing into the building, says to him:
- Yes yes, "life often brings surprises and everything" and besides , this sentence is so beautiful that you should think about including it in your next novel. So, tell me!, ...have you thought about the matter I spoke to you about the other day? - Plato, making a sudden gesture of 'shut your mouth, unhappy man!', whispers to him:
- None of that here, unhappy man! - Plato takes a quick look around...no one. The young man should be in the Platonic room, waiting for his lesson for the day. Raising his voice slightly so that the young person suspects nothing:
- Yes, yes my dear friend... you are absolutely right! But let's go outside for tea instead. - Plato hastens to push Socrates out, who gets his feet caught in his toga, slips and eats the dust. Plato, embarrassed by the looks of the others who were starting to flock from everywhere, quickly went to relieve good old Socrates:
- ... it hurts ... you could have ... ouch ... easy shit! - He violently breaks away from Plato's help and grumbles, his back bent.
Plato hastens to take him somewhere else so as not to attract so much attention: since the complaint filed by Diogenes Laertius against him, he had the authorities on his ass.

A rather obscure story where Plato, drunk on a Saturday night, would have pissed with his friends on good old Diogenes Laertius, or “Dog” as he called himself.

Diogenes was one of the veterans of Cynicism as a philosophical movement whose fundamentals were asceticism, the fact of getting rid of everything, of returning to the state of nature and of disregarding the rules in place. Thus, this Diogenes demonstrated his ideology and his dissatisfaction with Power, by urinating in the public square, by warming up with his colleague in public, by defecating in front of everyone etc... their horizon was the dog world: you hit a dog?!, he barks and bites you. That’s a “cynic” whose etymological root is precisely “dog”.
Thus, Diogenes was sleeping peacefully on the landing of a house, when Plato and his friends (Aristotle, Çavaçasepassetote and other intriguers), drunk as they were, had fun urinating on Diogenes. This one, just as drunk, smiled with pleasure without opening his eyes, thinking that the rain was falling. Plato and his friends, beating their asses on the ground, ended up walking away.
The next morning, Diogenes, when he woke up, made a face of disgust when he smelled the strong smell of urine that had dried on him. He tastes it… “but that’s not mine!? ... who knows, who... Plato! Son of a jackal, I will have you! ".
Since then, despite the flowers, fruits and sweet potatoes sent to Diogenes by Plato, the entire Polis, except the young men of 10 years old, had their eyes fixed on him and his philosophy.
Stopping at a café, Plato and Socrates quickly sit down, putting themselves at a good distance from the other customers. They order a green tea each. They bring their heads closer:
- How many do you have? - asks Plato.
- 300 ... and good quality! Made to measure... it's really new and clean! - A few minutes of silence, then Plato while whispering and watching with his eyes:
- ... I need some for the day after tomorrow.
- Are you kidding?! You know how long it takes to arrive at the port, pass customs, then the road, go around Boulisse, eat, drink, sleep etc... - 10,000 and we don't talk about it anymore... - Plato told him. Socrates looks at him, lowering his head slightly, raising his eyebrows upwards,
eyelids half closed, his mouth and chin like a sad baby:
- ​​Are you kidding me? Not Uncle Socrates that. Do you want me to go and say a few words to the cops about your young lovers? ... eh ?! ... you know very well that this is not all very polytheistic!
- ...shhhh...lower, lower your voice...Wait a bit! We're in no hurry... relax, don't you want to have a nice little wine instead? I know one... Mama Mia, you'll lick your esophagus.
- 20,000 and we'll both be on the same wavelength. - Socrates told him.
At that moment, guards arrive in the café, stop to observe the customers and end up sitting at the bar, sipping their nice green mead.
- Don't worry... - Socrates said to him - ... I know them. So, we agree on 20,000? It's good ? - asked Socrates happily and getting up. Plato abruptly sits it down:
- 10,500 and we don't talk about it anymore.
- Yes, we'll talk about it. What is clear is that below 18,000, it's not certain that we will be able to get past the town of Boulisse and all the cops whose paws I have to grease.
- Well, 17,500 and we don't talk about it anymore. There, I think it's correct and that suits me. - whispered Plato.
- And what do I do with my wife's medication? - asked Socrates.
- You don't have a wife Socrates...
- You know Plato, I always told you that the only thing you lacked was imagination... it's true, I don't have a woman so what?! Can't you, for just one second, relax, unwind and play a little? Can't you – he tears off a piece of his toga, writes 'Zeus' on it and puts it on his forehead – put yourself in the shoes of a fictional character? You are always serious. Relax !
The guards, having recognized Socrates, greeted him and one of them, more reserved and with a laughing eye, walked slowly towards them, took a chair and sat down. Plato and Socrates, having noticed this, mimed a philosophical dialogue so as not to arouse suspicion:

'- Or, “you hold me, I hold you”. - ...I don't know. - Shall we hold each other? - Mmm: no... - Do I tickle you? - Ah...there we are talking! - Do I tickle you? - Even better !'

- SO ?! Shall we play cards this beautiful late afternoon? - asked the guard.
Plato, falsely surprised by the guard's arrival:
- What do you want Xanuxes, philosophy is not that fun! Often, we have to return to the surface to take a good breath of air. - the guard lets out a huge cry of very exaggerated laughter, slaps his hand on the table while lowering his head in laughter, stays like that for a good minute.
Plato and Socrates also smile but in a tense way.
The guard comes to his senses, gets up, takes a bottle of wine and 6 glasses, brings them back and sits down. He takes his time and pours wine into each glass while continuing to smile. Three other guards join the table, believing they are invited. Xanuxes suddenly stopped laughing. He remains looking at these three guards with a dark look. Everyone looks at each other. They understand. The three guards return to the bar. Xanuxes, suddenly regaining his false smile and looking at them fixedly, said to them:
- What is this game you are playing?
Plato replied:
- We put ourselves in the shoes of characters. - Socrates casts a slight glance, surprised and embarrassed by this beginning of improvisation, towards Plato without turning his head.
Plato continues:
- We each write a character on a sheet of paper. We take the other's without looking at it. We exchange them and put it on the forehead. The goal is to guess who is on our front. - Socrates looks at him surprised and uncomfortable and while falsely laughing and wanting to change the subject: - Xanuxes, we're just here chatting about life and its surprises. - Xanuxes, interrupting Socrates and still staring at Plato: - Can we play your game? - Plato serenely said to him:
- Of course.
- Perfect ! How good it is to play against philosophers! Ouch, that’s good! - he gestures to Plato and Socrates meaning that they should at least hold the glass of wine in their hand.
- So let's get started without further ado! – Xanuxes rubs his hands. Plato begins to tear his toga to inscribe a character on it, when of his own toga, keeps one for himself and gives the other to Plato.
They play.
Fake nervous laughter here and there.
After several questions about his character, Xanuxes said:
- I'm a fictional character, I don't know what I'm talking about, I say anything, I have too much imagination, I sing, I have a strong build, I like cherries and I have diminished eyes... I know, I'm a Cyclops or a Troll! - he said happily.
Plato told him no.
Xanuxes, disappointed, ends up saying with an air of obviousness:

- So I am Aristotle. - Plato and Socrates applaud him, surprised by this deduction.

After this event, Plato will pay his bail without any difficulty. Socrates, on the other hand, will be accused of attacking divine beliefs, of harmful influence on youth and of rebellion against Power: the judges gave him an ultimatum: "Either you leave this Polis - rubbing shoulders with murderers of old people and thieves of old people - or you accept death as the ultimate sanction. » - Socrates decided to stay. And to die there. He was too afraid of those who were waiting for him outside, who would have reserved a slow agony for him, because of stories of unpaid debts etc...

He decided, with the help of Plato, to write his defense: “The Crito”. A philosophical book about courage and righteousness. But nothing helped: no book, philosophical as it may be, could change the judges' minds.

Posterity will have remembered a death from hemlock (a poison). But unofficially, his assassination turned out to have happened in another way: his hair and beard were shaved, all the names of the ancient Greek gods were tattooed on his body, his fingers, his eyes were removed, some objects were inserted into a place in the body where expulsion is the principle. Blood and dust all over him. The swollen body. He was killed with stones. He was tied behind a cart pushed by horses which circled the city 70 times. Suffice to say that the soil of Athens retained the essence of Socrates.
As for Plato, he was terrified and sad to see his dear 70-year-old friend treated like a common doll. He thus decided to pay tribute to his friend through some of his books, by presenting his very particular way of negotiating: "Asking questions of the other to confront him with his contradictions, to then lead him to affirm this that we want and will therefore converge towards our expectations and the Socratic dialectic: 'I know that I don't know'.
Plato, not wanting to lose his advantages in being able to enjoy masculine pleasures, joined the ranks and was the instigator, the thinker, the father, the source of one of the monotheisms and of democracy. Today, the West is bathed in this atmosphere of wisdom.

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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crito

*2012