Adios, Libido

Well, my friends are gone and my hair is grey

I ache in the places where I used to play

And I’m crazy for love but I’m not coming on

I’m just paying my rent every day in the Tower of Song.

— Leonard Cohen, Tower of Song

Earl Fowler

Even if you haven’t read Plato’s Republic, the Socratic dialogue from about 375 BCE that remains the august philosopher’s best-known work, you’ll likely know that he plumps for a utopian city-state ruled by a class of philosopher-kings.

The gangsters who have turned the United States into an enemy of the free world aren’t big on reading anything besides the Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025 and the latest instructions from Putin, of course, the joint blueprint for the shit show now unfolding in Darkest Trumpistan.

But if they had a little curiosity and a smidge of erudition — like Mussolini, say, who was a fervent admirer of the aristocratic Plato — they’d know that The Republic is chock full of fascistic ideas from which they too could draw invidious inspiration: rule by an elite, opposition to democracy, a passionate defence of the class system and a rejection of egalitarianism, just for starters.

Plato’s idea of an elite, of course, comprised a class of temperate, well-trained wise men as opposed to the arrogant, pig-ignorant wiseguys now laying waste to America while spreading gasoline and lighting matches over the rest of the world.

But in addition to his dodgy political theorizing, Plato, the most important figure in the history of Western philosophy, skilfully lays out his ideas on a latticework of intertwining topics, including the nature of reality, justice, happiness, love, immortality and poetry. (The last of these has no place in Plato’s ideal state because young people are so easily conned and corrupted; an ironic stance, considering that’s exactly what Athenian authorities had accused his great mentor, Socrates, of doing — albeit not via fey, figurative images but by exposing vice and ignorance through the merciless logic of his searing intellect.)

I last read The Republic when I was a tender and callow fellow in my twenties, which is likely why I glossed over any discourse on aging. That was the least of my worries back then. And so, I was surprised to rediscover that the dialogue launches almost immediately into a friendly chitchat between Socrates, Plato’s mouthpiece in most of his writings, and a wealthy old man named Cephalus.

I filched this translation, by David Horan, from the Platonic Foundation website. There are more ribald ones online if you’re interested, and more prim and proper translations in compilations by earlier classicists such as Edith Hamilton. But we’ll let myopic-minded philological nitpickers and mole-eyed scholarly drudges quarrel among themselves about which rendering most closely captures the spirit of the conversation, delivered here by the character Socrates in the first person:

Very well, Cephalus, said I, indeed I enjoy conversing with people who are very old. I think we need to learn from them, as though they had traversed a road on which we too will surely have to proceed; what is it like? Is it rough and difficult, or is it easy and smooth? What’s more, I would love to find out, from you, how you see this, since you are already at the time of life that the poets call “old age’s threshold”; is life difficult, or how do you describe it?

I’ll tell you, by Zeus, Socrates, said he, how it looks to me. Yes, men of our age, we often gather together maintaining the old proverb; like to like. Now when we gather, most of us moan, as we long for the lost pleasures of youth, and reminisce about love-making, drinking parties and feasts, and whatever goes along with this sort of thing, and we get distressed as though we had been deprived of something important; that we lived well then, but are not even alive now.

Some bewail the contemptuous treatment of old age by their own kinfolk, and so they go on about the amount of trouble old age causes them. But I think, Socrates, that these people are blaming the wrong cause. For, if this were the cause, I would also have been affected in the very same way, as far as old age is concerned, and so would everyone else who had reached this stage of life.

But I have already met others who are not in this predicament, and indeed when someone asked the poet, Sophocles, in my presence: how are you getting on, Sophocles, when it comes to making love? Are you still able to have intercourse with a woman? And he replied: “mind what you say, my man, I am glad beyond measure, to have escaped this; it’s like escaping from a raving and savage slave master.”

I thought at the time, that he expressed this quite well and I still think so now. For all in all, with old age comes a lot of peace, and a freedom from this sort of thing. When the desires cease their strain, and relax, what Sophocles described really does come to pass; it is a release from a whole host of maniacal slave masters.

But in these situations, and in the case of problems with family members, there is only one explanation, and it is not old age, Socrates, but the manner of the people. If they are orderly and contented, then old age is wearisome, but in measure; if not, then for someone of this sort, old age, Socrates, and youth too, turn out to be difficult.

Well I was delighted with him for saying all this and, because I wanted him to say more, I drew him out by asking: Cephalus, I think that when you say this, most people don’t accept your answer; they think, rather, that you bear your old age with ease, not because of your manner, but because you have acquired a lot of wealth, for they say that wealthy people have consolation in abundance.

What you say is true, said he, and they do have a point, but not as much as they imagine. Yet the response of Themistocles puts this nicely. He was being reviled by a man from Seriphos who said that Themistocles was not well regarded because of himself, but because of his city. He replied that he himself would not have become famous had he been from Seriphos, nor would that other man, had he been from Athens. And the same argument applies to those who are not wealthy and bear old age with difficulty: a reasonable man would not bear old age, accompanied by poverty, with much ease, nor would an unreasonable man who had become wealthy ever become content with himself.

Florid language aside, I have overheard and participated in similar confabs myself, 2,400 years after Socrates and Cephalus got into it. And we can be quite certain that the subject at hand — the ever-diminishing libido as one settles into old age — was a hot topic (and a cold comfort) for millennia before all the cool kids were decked out in tunics.

If you’re d’un certain âge, you likely have friends in both camps.

There are the Sophocleans grateful to no longer be distracted by sex so they can focus on more high-minded things. Like sacerdotal philosophy and making weird popping sounds while getting out of bed, for instance. De-witched, unbothered and de-wildered. Waves upon a tropical shore.

And then there are the people who get the heebies, I mean the jeebies, in the absence of the maniacal slave masters of a strong sex drive. If mild horses have dragged them away from a sense of being too sexy for their shirts, their lives might not be over — but it seems their stories are. The rest is epilogue. That and the black and endless night of Three’s Company reruns.

At a period in our lives when the motto “cherchez la femme” is gradually being superseded by “tabernack, où sont mes lunettes d’antan?”, it’s time for a closer look. Assuming you can find your progressives.

The Pros of a Diminishing Libido

1. More Sleep

   
   

   Remember those sleepless nights in your twenties, where your libido could rival that of a young stallion? When that sleeping pill you took was just a waste of time? Well, now you get the joy of sleeping through the night uninterrupted by late-night desires — your stardust memory, the memory of love’s brain drain. You can finally get the rest your body craved but never quite achieved when you were too busy being a stallion. A full eight hours of sleep? Now that’s a luxury! Plus, you can finally enjoy those quiet nights where the only thing keeping you neighsayers awake is the inevitable creak of your back. Oh, and having to pee every two hours.

2. Less Awkwardness in Public

   
   

   In your youth, your libido was like a hyperactive dog on a leash. It didn’t care if you were in the middle of a meeting or at the grocery store — it had a mind of its own. But as you age, it’s like that dog learns to relax on the porch and stop barking at the mailman. No longer will you have to engage in awkward moments of, ah, covert adjustments in a crowded room. Turns out that actually is a banana in your pocket. You were saving it for lunch. And I’m told the distaff version of this is no longer giving a crap whether you’ve shaved your legs. Bartender, the kombuchas are on me!

3. Fewer ‘What Was I Thinking?’ Moments

   
   

   Let’s face it: when you’re younger, sometimes your libido leads you into situations you regret. For instance, waking up with someone you met three hours ago at a party, only to realize they’re not exactly your type (or anyone’s). As your libido decreases, these encounters happen less frequently. You no longer find yourself saying, “What was I thinking?” as you fumble through an awkward conversation the next morning. Instead, you find yourself saying, “These aren’t the days, my friend. And you wouldn’t have any Hall’s Mentho-Lyptus, would you?”

4. A New Focus on the Arts

   
   

   With a decreased libido, there’s suddenly more room in your mind for highbrow pursuits. No longer distracted by the pursuit of pleasure, you may find yourself delving into art, literature, or deep philosophical debates. Who needs a crazy night out when you can enjoy a glass of wine and the finer things in life, like binge-watching Grace and Frankie (though technically, dozing off halfway through the second episode is more binge-snoozing than watching). It’s a sign of maturity — your focus has shifted from “How can I get her attention?” to “How can I find my car?” Why not pair that creeping senility with a glass of wine, some good cheese, and absolutely no pressure for any of the evening to go in a direction you weren’t planning on? Spend it instead adrift in a Sargasso Sea of free-floating freedom from jejune cares and wor … say, is that a carbuncle or a chilblain? Did anyone bring a poultice?

The Cons of a Diminishing Libido

1. The Lonely Island Effect

   
   

   While fewer spontaneous romantic moments might seem like a blessing, they can also lead to a kind of unintended desert island scenario. When your libido takes a vacation, it may inadvertently leave your partner stranded on the island of “What Happened to Us?” Conversations start to shift from “Let’s plan a weekend getaway!” to “Is everything OK? Are we just ... friends now?" Sure, you might laugh it off, but deep down, you start wondering if your once-vibrant romance has become as thrilling as rereading Plato. No amount of Grace and Frankie will fix this. Time to switch to The Kominsky Method.

2. The Decreasing Confidence Dilemma

   
   

   When you were younger, the mere thought of romance made you feel like a rockstar. Now, you’re starting to question whether you’ve been downgraded from Miles Davis cool to Peter Tork dork. Your libido was once your greatest ally in boosting confidence; without it, you’re like a little deuce coupe with no engine. You might pass muster in the garage, but as Dylan and The Band observed on The Basement Tapes half a century ago, you ain’t goin’ nowhere. And if you’re really honest with yourself, that empty feeling in the pit of your stomach might be more than just a snack craving. Not that a hard-boiled egg would come amiss. Or maybe some low sodium saltines. Rye pockets in flight! Afternoon delight!

3. The Age of “It’s Just Too Much Work”

   
   

   Remember when intimacy was effortless? You were a spontaneous force of nature, ready at a moment’s notice to spring into action. Now, it feels like you need a 12-step program just to get in the mood. You might start making mental lists: “OK, a nice dinner, some candles, a good playlist, and some serious stretching because I haven’t done yoga in weeks.” At this point, you’re considering taking a nap just to prepare. The effort required is suddenly more like assembling Snödrottnig Barkass sliding doors from IKEA — complex, time-consuming, potentially painful (damn those Allen keys anyway) and not nearly as satisfying as you had hoped. Plus, there’s the hernia to think about. And the bad knee. And the crick in your neck. And that episode of Murder, She Wrote co-starring Bryan Cranston and Linda Hamilton that suddenly pops into your head. How did that old Chet Baker tune go? They’re wearing thongs for love. But not for you. That might not be entirely accurate, but something along those lines.

4. The Dreaded “What’s Happening to Me?” Crisis

   
   

   One of the more existential aspects of a diminishing libido is the creeping thought: “What’s wrong with me?” While the years have given you a nice collection of life experiences, this might feel like the final frontier in terms of your virility. You start wondering whether you’re turning into your dad, who taught you never to stick beans in your ear. And then you notice that your torso is now attached to the rickety legs he was getting around on near the end. At least you don’t have dyslexia yet. Wait, not dyslexia. The other “d” one. Whatever that word is for forgetting stu … hey, is that a dog taking a dump on my lawn?