The Eternal Comedy of Sons
Socratic Dialogue on Family, Folly, and the State
By Plutonix
On a sun-drenched Athenian corner, the ever-inquisitive Socrates encounters his friend Cephalus, who brings news of a peculiar modern affliction from a faraway land: the “Papa-Piti syndrome.” What begins as a humorous investigation into the foibles of powerful men and their sons, from ancient dynasties to modern political and other prominent figures in different fields, becomes a timeless inquiry into the nature of power, family, and public reputation. In this witty exchange, Socrates seeks to understand why even the most formidable figures can be reduced to mere mortals by the actions of their own children.
Scene: A sun-lit Athenian street corner. Socrates is munching a fig. Cephalus approaches, looking troubled.
Socrates: Ah, Cephalus! You look as pensive as a philosopher who’s just realized his wine jug is empty. What weighs upon your mind?
Cephalus: Socrates, I’ve met a traveller from a faraway island — Mauritius — who spoke of a peculiar affliction. They call it the Papa-Piti (dad-son) syndrome. Apparently, the sons of great men bring scandal and sorrow to their fathers’ public lives.
Socrates: (Raises an eyebrow) Papa-Piti? Sounds like a stomach ailment brought on by too much goat stew. But you say it is political? Fascinating! How does this malady strike?
Cephalus: The traveller claimed that leaders who are otherwise firm and unyielding turn to jelly when their sons misbehave. In public they are like stone pillars; at home, as soft as cheese left out in the sun.
Socrates: (Laughing) Ah, the oldest magic trick — turning granite into custard. But tell me, Cephalus, why do you think this affliction is uniquely Mauritian? Surely fathers everywhere suffer the same dizziness when their sons whisper sweet nonsense in their ears.
Cephalus: Well… the traveller did give other examples. In America, there was a man named Donald who put his daughter and son-in-law in positions of power, despite their qualifications being as thin as watered wine.
Socrates: (Grinning) Qualifications? Who needs those when you have the family discount card? And was this Donald admired for his loyalty or mocked for nepotism?
Cephalus: Both, depending on who was shouting the loudest. And then there are the Kennedy and Bush dynasties, among others, which have seen political influence passed down through generations. However, some of these political legacies have faced significant, publicly recognized challenges, sort of cracked heirloom.
Socrates: A cracked heirloom! An apt description of half the politicians I’ve met. Tell me, did the traveller speak of other lands?
Cephalus: Indeed. In India, the Nehru-Gandhi clan passed leadership like a royal scepter. In the Philippines, a Marcos son returned to power after his father’s notorious reign. And in Indonesia, the children of Suharto grew richer than Dionysus’s vintners — those followers of the Greek god Dionysus who were associated with winemaking, revelry, and festivals.
Socrates: So, we have dynasties, dictatorships, democracies — all infected by Papa-Piti. Truly, it spreads faster than a rumour at the marketplace.
Cephalus: Even kings are not immune! In Spain, King Juan Carlos’s son-in-law was jailed for corruption after being convicted of embezzlement, influence-peddling, and tax fraud. Imagine — a royal son-in-law involved in some fraud!
Socrates: (Gasps theatrically) By Zeus! Even those with divine pretensions cannot escape the foolishness of their children. Truly, the gods mock us. Did your traveller mention Libya or Syria?
Cephalus: Yes. There, the sons of rulers lived in wild excess, preparing to inherit power while disgracing their fathers. It seems whether you inherit by vote or by spear, the result is the same.
Socrates: (Wryly) Sons: the only inheritance tax you pay while still alive. But let us ask, Cephalus: why does a father, who is feared in the assembly, become a mouse at home?
Cephalus: The traveller said it was love. A father’s love blinds him.
Socrates: Blinds him indeed — like staring directly at Apollo’s chariot. But is love a sufficient excuse for endangering the state? If a captain hands the wheel to his son who is usually in a state of inebriation, is it love or folly?
Cephalus: Folly, certainly.
Socrates: Then leaders are not cursed — they are simply foolish potters, giving their precious clay to sons with clumsy hands.
Cephalus: (Nods) They also think their sons are natural successors, building dynasties.
Socrates: (Snorts) Natural successors? By that logic, I should let my goat inherit my sandals. Tell me, Cephalus, does a wise physician hand his practice to a son who cannot tell a spleen from a sponge?
Cephalus: Certainly not. He trains someone with skill.
Socrates: And yet rulers think blood is better than brains. That, my friend, is arrogance dressed up as fatherly pride.
Cephalus: The traveller also said leaders trust their sons because they fear betrayal from rivals.
Socrates: Trust without competence is like hiring a horse to write poetry. Admirable loyalty, dreadful results.
Cephalus: (Laughs) You make it sound ridiculous.
Socrates: Only because it is. But tell me, what happens when sons misbehave? Does the shame always fall on the father?
Cephalus: It seems so. Rockefeller’s son was blamed for a massacre; Paterno’s family scandal ruined his career; Biden’s son caused much embarrassment. When the child stumbles, the father’s reputation collapses like a poorly built amphitheater.
Socrates: (Mock solemnity) A fragile amphitheater indeed — constructed of ego and painted with denial.
Cephalus: So how do we stop this Papa-Piti? The traveller suggested anti-nepotism laws.
Socrates: Laws! Splendid! And will the law prevent a son from whispering bad advice at the breakfast table? Or keep a father from slipping contracts to his son’s friends? Laws can bind the hands, but not the heart.
Cephalus: Then perhaps oversight — a council of wise men to approve appointments.
Socrates: Yes, yes. And who appoints the wise men? The father himself! That’s like letting the fox select the watchdogs.
Cephalus: (Frustrated) Then transparency, and a culture of meritocracy.
Socrates: Ah, culture! Now we strike gold. For if a city values talent over family ties, a leader who promotes his witless son looks like a clown juggling rotten figs. Only then will the people laugh him out of power.
Cephalus: But that requires all men to be wise and virtuous.
Socrates: (Sighs theatrically) Yes, and pigs must sprout wings. Until then, we muddle along, enduring the eternal comedy of fathers undone by their sons.
Cephalus: So the Papa-Piti syndrome will never vanish?
Socrates: You’ve hit on one of the great timeless riddles, my friend. It’s an issue stitched into the very fabric of humanity. How can a person who is so mighty in public be so comically flawed in private? It’s the great equalizer, isn’t it? The same man who commands nations can be utterly helpless when trying to assemble a new table from IKEA. Perhaps only the poets can truly unravel this paradox, or maybe the answer is simply that even the greatest ruler is still just a dad at the dinner table, desperately trying to figure out which end of the wrench goes where.
And mind you, this affliction isn’t limited to politics. You’ll see it in all walks of life—in the uniform of a stern military commander who’s a total softie for kittens, in those hallowed halls where coins are minted by people who can’t keep their own household budget straight, and even in the most brilliant minds who can’t find their own car keys.
Cephalus: (Chuckles) You have a gift, Socrates. You turn curses into comedies.
Socrates: Indeed! Philosophy is but tragedy with a sense of humour. But come, Cephalus, enough of gloomy sons. The sun is setting, and I hear the Academy serves excellent wine tonight. With wine, every affliction seems less dangerous. Even Papa-Piti.
Both Socrates and Cephalus stroll off, laughing, as the crowd disperses, shaking their heads at yet another Socratic riddle turned into a jest.
Mauritius Times ePaper Friday 5 September 2025
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