Pythagoras, Shakespeare and I, Act II, Scene1

Dimly lit pub, with dark walnut paneling and lantern-like lights

(Open scene three men sitting in a booth, others passing to and fro, conversation muted –
then clarified)

Pythagoras: Don’t you see… (Pointing to rude sketch on napkin)… this is truth…

Shakespeare: (Raising voice) Know me man, and hear – this theorem predates you by at
least one thousand years…The Babylonians set forth such tables in cuneiform…

Pythagoras: (rising, with a rumple of robes…) You dare to impugn my knowledge, my,
my authorship?

(People crane and smirk)

Max: Boys, boys - calm down. We are not here to use the future as evidence for the
sleights of the past. I was asking – if you recall, Brother Pythagoras, whether you had
much to do with the sophists.

Shakespeare: Hmmph, (sips a warm mead) his wiles would seem wily and wild to
them…would you believe, master Pythagoras that your oral tradition has made writing
your history a matter of speculation?
Pythagoras: Yes, it is speculation, from the Greek to look, speculus…
Shakespeare: That, my be-robed ‘cleth’, is Latin.
Pythagoras: Your modern tongue and binding breeches have begun to rot your core…

(The two stare one another down)

Max: (clearing throat , loudly) May I draw you back to the point? We have
all three been given this moment in time to reflect, reveal and relax…William,
Pythagoras, please recall that you both left impressions on this earth’s people that have
altered – and improved – the very nature of communication.

Pythagoras: Thank you, young soldier. Ahem…the sophists, I am grateful to say,

misunderstood my school – completely. The oral tradition was to refine the speech of
man; to impress the mind of the speaker find the words embracing his heart – to repel
darkness and set truth into its rightful place in the light. And they began to take my
format and blend it with the thinking which came across from Corax –

Shakespeare: Corax, what a name – sounds like the lower parts of an insect – but it is
true, a tradition was begun there which set into motion by young Tisias. A bold lad
-became quite attached to the man Protagoras – one of your contemporaries Pythagoras, I
imagine.
Max: So you both agree, sophistic thought needed the rigor of rhetoric – to make sense
and to promote its complexities and nuances.

Shakespeare: The platitudes…

Max: Exactly!

Pythagoras: It appears that my lineage to Brother Plato is “indisputatus.” Now, that man
knew what I was shaping—what I forged; Strict adherence to principle – the enigma of
man.

Shakespeare: It was not long from thence, that it was realized that rhetoric could be used
for truth or ill – the very conception of the modern mess in which the legal system finds
itself. And, therein lays the poke: Rhetoric spawned the forum – even the stage – and now
each player must conform to it to…Except in my comedic diversions, of course.

Max: Yes, a midsummer nights dream enjoyed liberal exception to form! And the
“Shrew…”

Shakespeare: The taming thereof took no small ado…

Pythagoras: SO! There it is; you are a proud man, William. The man of Greece is
consistent; he obeys laws predicated upon truth, while modern men—in tights, no less—
bend and writhe about, altering the shadows cast by the light of truth. My world does not
connect with yours, Shake-spurious!

Max: Well, in this you are wrong. The gap was bridged throughout the middle ages—and
the torch of rhetoric was placed alongside its two brothers: logic, thanks to your ilk,
Pythagoras, and grammar—which is the stock and trade of our man Shakespeare.

Shakespeare: Will, please, young man (drawing thoughtfully on his mead) and, yes
Pythagoras, I am rather proud, and do so enjoy filling the neat and empty spaces with
fond remembrances derived from idleness—and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a toga. My
rhetoric is written, proved and has stood the test of time.

Pythagoras: And from what I can gather of this modern world my language is the root of
yours. Ah, I miss the communal kylix—why does modern man need his own glass? Does
he need to evacuate and preserve his portion? The man of Greece is free with the wine,
and meat—and oration is king.

Max: On point, Pythagoras, the art of the spoken work is becoming lost. Some say that
the language has already evolved beyond its peak—that the very finest things have
already been said - and now these truths are simply resifted and said anew. But, rhetoric
is alive and well, if worshipped, in the halls of justice, and so often on the Senators’
campaign trail…
Pythagoras: Are not words still the start and end of all things?

Shakespeare: I believe they are more considered the middle, my aged friend…

Max: Eureka! That’s it! (Jumps up) It’s is like the movie—the natural evolution
of the play, William, people wish to nestle inside and become lost in the artificial world.
In Greece, tragedy was just another reality show; in old England, comedy ran with
mockery of the power classes. Now, the sophistication of today’s substantive works is
attention-deficit oriented. Now, we just hang on hoping to see confirmations that the way
we have chosen to be is an appearance shared by others…

(Clambers up on table, continues loudly)

Rhetoric, (people, truly begin to stare) has gotten us back to where it was spawned
—sophistication, brevity, action—these traits are still the ones that turn heads, these men
and women who wrestle with the abbreviated world, refusing to conform; wearing the
wrong clothes and starting trends of starkness, and uniquity.

Max: (shouting) Oh, man – where in thee lies thy voice?

(Surveying the scene, Max sees a hundred cell phones, some texting, some recording
others talking – all heads a turned at him).

Max: Texting rhetorically are we? (Points to his companions)(They shrink, into the
booth)

Max: Electronic elocution?

(Spinning on the tabletop and pleading with the sky)

Am I nothing more than a twit?

Someone: (Muted) Tweet!

(All laugh)

Max: (climbing down) Okay, I’m alright. Check please.

(Fade)

Pythagoras, Shakespeare and I, Act II, Scene 2

(Light slowly grows around sleeping form)

Narrator: “To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
or to take arms against a sea of troubles…

(Sound fades, form rises, rubs eyes)

Max: Strange, so real…Rhetoric, rhetoric.

(Rises and sits at computer) (Verbalizes journal entry)

There is a companion space between scholarly knowledge and truth, within which one
must unavoidably make a choice. So little in this life will be accompanied by empirical
evidence, and so much rely upon the assurance that such evidence will materialize. The
great speakers of old right up and through this modern age, were all products of the
common societal rhetoric of their day. The greatest things have not been said; there is a
sentence that exists which will turn the depressed man from his rope, a passage that will
inspire the next gold medalist to break all previous records- a footnote that will align a
young reader with her destiny. Rhetoric is the chariot of kings and the rickshaw of the
factory worker: the style and persuasion that we all use to get things done.

More influent than vernacular, looser than slang and more formal than a text can contain
– the rhetoric is bound to be the voice that carries our vision of our best selves to the
place in our mind where the logistics of achieving such will be engaged. Oral, written,
read or signed - rhetoric is the voice we use to promote idealism and to stylize our
dreams.

(End soliloquy)
(Fade)

(Dresses and walks head pounding) down to a city scene.)

(Stops at shop window to adjust tie and sees several patrons staring at him through the
window…)

(Moving on he passes by the pub and gives it a wide berth.)

(Stumbling upstairs to a small office he sags into his chair at a small publishing house
and scans his e-mails)

(As each persons email is read spotlight on a character stage left then right, so dialogue
is voiced by writer)

Voice 1: Are you alright? That was quite a show last night at the Red Horse. Who were
those two, um—dudes?

Voice 2: Where were you last night? I waited for an hour at Dooley’s – did you go to the
library again?
Voice 3: Max, your piece on the evolution of rhetoric needs to hit my desk today-noon no
exceptions!!

Voice 4: Would you like a beer?

(Max shakes this one (non-email) away…)

Voice 5: A fine defense of the cause last night, my good man; there are few who dare to
rise in strength and honor in person any more. I sat back listening last evening and, by
Jove, feel like James himself was in our midst: We need to push forth, and chart new
inquests—there are dark places to yet light! I shall be happy to take tea with you
promptly at 4 pm, Bottleby’s on fifth will suffice. Bring me a copy of your latest, would
you—there’s a good fellow? Oh, and lets not have any more of that “tweet” business, eh?

Signed,

Winston Churchill

(Max Snaps head up, blinks)

(Slowly dares to press next message)

(Curtains part, spotlight enshrines max, he falls to the floor, forearm over his eyes,
rumpled socks twitching. Deep booming voice echoes:)

Voice 6: “And on the day before first day, God said, let there be Rhetoric. And there was
rhetoric, and God said: “It is good.” And many eras passed between the day before the
first day and the first day as the creation of diverse forms of essential rhetoric filled the
business of heaven…”

(Max, squirming on floor, becalms himself, rises and stands facing the light)

Max: Oh My…Even God was a rhetor…

(Lights fade, scene ends, exeunt)