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CHAPTER 34
EPICUREANISM WRIT LARGE
Diogenes of Oenoanda
PAMELA GORDON
IF it were not for two men by the name of Diogenes, our conception of Epicureanism during the Roman Empire would be shaped almost exclusively by a venomous anti-Epicurean tradition. As a school that identified pleasure as the telos (the fulfillment, or goal of life), Epicureanism was an easy target for hostile observers who may not have understood that philosophy itself was a cardinal Epicurean pleasure. (Epicurus expressed less enthusiasm for food and sex.) Ridicule of the Epicurean theory of pleasure had begun during Epicurus’s lifetime in the late fourth and early third centuries BCE, and gained momentum during the late Roman Republic. But anti-Epicurean discourse took on new life during the empire, when the school was vigorously reviled by a range of authors from the first centuries, including Aelian, Cleomedes the Stoic, Epictetus, Plutarch, and Seneca. In this tradition, the Garden of Epicurus (as the school was sometimes called) was portrayed as a school of vice, its men unmanly and its women an aberration. Among Roman detractors, Epicureanism was too Greek, and among Greeks it was not Greek enough.
The Greek orator and self-styled Stoic philosopher Dio Chrysostom, for example, likened the Epicureans to Asiatic followers of Isis and Cybele. Meditating on human awareness of the divine in his Olympic Discourse (97 CE), he describes the allegedly obtuse Epicureans as worshipping an evil female daemon, “a lavish luxury [τρυφή] and ease [ῥᾳθυμία] and uncontrolled wantonness [ὕβριs], whom they call Pleasure [ἡδονή]—truly a womanish divinity—and whom they honor and worship with some kind of tinkling cymbals or pipes played in the dark” (trans. Russell 1992). Dio’s description of the supposedly Asiatic-like Epicureans is especially pointed given its delivery at Olympia (a quintessentially Greek cultic center). Dio Chrysostom does not mention that eunuchs were traditionally among the worshippers of Cybele but the connection is latent in his description of the musical instruments, which were associated with the Galli, her castrated priests.
The first-century CE Roman Stoic writer Seneca had made the association explicit:
I shall not say, as most of our own (Stoics) do, that the sect of Epicurus is a priestess of vices, but I do say this: it has a bad reputation, it is notorious. “But that is unfair,” someone might protest. Who could know this without having been admitted inside? Its very façade provides opportunity for gossip and inspires wicked expectation. It is like a man in a gown (stola): your chastity remains, your virility is unimpaired, your body has not submitted sexually, but in your hand is a tympanum. (Vit. Beat. 13)
The tambourine-like tympanum was a frequent attribute of Cybele. Elsewhere Seneca writes similar critiques, though in his Epistles he frequently praises Epicurus.
In the second century CE, the Stoic Epictetus drew an explicit connection between the notional castration of the Epicurean male and his own hostile view of Epicurean philosophy. The context is Epictetus’s critique of Epicurus’s denial that there is a “natural community between people.” Epicurus had taught that people seek friendship for their own security and happiness, not because of innate human inclinations. For Epictetus, the very fact that Epicurus wrote late into the night so that others might benefit from his philosophy represents a contradiction. Epictetus writes:
It is not possible for a person to destroy human inclinations totally, and even those who mutilate themselves are not able to mutilate men’s natural affections. Thus even Epicurus chopped off everything that has to do with being a man, everything to do with being the master of a household, with being a citizen, with being a friend, but did not chop off human affections. (Discourses 2.20.20)
The Stoic Cleomedes, author of the Caelestia (likely of the second century CE), departed from the routine derision by attributing even Epicurus’s miscalculation of the size of the sun to a compromised masculinity (Caelestia, 58 and 168). For Cleomedes, good science requires a particularly Stoic construction of manliness (as embodied in the Stoic hero Heracles).
Less scurrilous ridicule of Epicureanism appears in Athenaeus’s late second-century CELearned Banqueters, a work that cites approximately 1,250 Greek poets, philosophers, and playwrights, all within the literary framework of a days-long dinner table conversation. To Athenaeus we owe the preservation of quotations from otherwise lost New Comedy plays that feature Epicureans who are overly devoted to the pleasures of the flesh (Gordon 2012). Comic portrayals of Epicureans appear too in Alciphron and Lucian, though the latter also invents more sympathetic Epicurean caricatures, as in Alexander the False Prophet.
DIOGENES LAERTIUS
Despite the reigning anti-Epicurean discourse, Diogenes Laertius and Diogenes of Oenoanda granted Epicureanism an exalted position, the former at the pinnacle of the ancient Greek philosophical tradition, the latter on a massive public monument in a largely Greek-styled city in Asia Minor. To begin with the later author: Diogenes Laertius’s Lives and Opinions of the Eminent Philosophers (perhaps of the third century CE) is a ten-book compendium of the biographies and doctrines of the Greek philosophers that culminates in an Epicurean-friendly Life of Epicurus. Like so many authors of his era, Diogenes Laertius valorizes Greek culture, which had produced “not only philosophy but the human race itself” (Diog. Laert. 1.3). The tenth book of his work is tremendously important to the history of Epicureanism. Embedded in it are the only completely intact texts of Epicurus: the Letter to Herodotus, the Letter to Menoeceus, and the Letter to Pythocles (the last of which may be pseudepigraphic). Diogenes asserts that the three epistles together summarize Epicurus’s “entire philosophy” (Diog. Laert. 10.28–29). But because most of our sources on Epicureanism belong to the late Roman Republic or the Roman Empire, and because early Epicurean texts have survived only in fragments, it is difficult to gage whether Laertius’s selection of texts is representative of Epicurus’s extensive oeuvre. The style of the papyrus fragments of Epicurus’s On Nature is quite different, and the letters preserved by Diogenes may be more reflective of post-Hellenistic interests than is readily apparent.
Diogenes Laertius treats all of the major Greek thinkers and philosophical schools, but expresses a particular admiration for Epicurus and Plato. Although he does not identify himself as an Epicurean, Laertius is so well disposed toward the Garden that he offers a fourth text not only as the conclusion to the biography of Epicurus, but as the culmination of his entire work on all of Greek philosophy. These are the Epicurean Kuriai Doxai or Principal Doctrines, forty sayings that were formulated by Epicurus or culled from other Epicurean texts. Much of Diogenes Lae
rtius’s survey of Epicureanism takes the form of a eulogistic defense of Epicurus that leads him to mention a broad array of authors who disparage the Garden. In his estimation, these enemies of Epicurus are all “out of their minds” (Diog. Laert. 10.9). Also catalogued in Laertius’s survey are the names of many Epicurean philosophers, students, and official scholarchs, but he seems never to have heard of Diogenes of Oenoanda. Nor does any other ancient author mention this second Diogenes, but the form and context of Diogenes of Oenoanda’s Epicurean inscription make him an extraordinary author.
DIOGENES OF OENOANDA
Diogenes of Oenoanda is known only from a monumental inscription in Oenoanda, a small inland city in the mountains of Lycia (now in Turkey, near the modern village of Incealiler). The early Epicureans had recommended withdrawal from public life, an attitude epitomized in their adage “Live Unnoticed.” But Diogenes’s limestone inscription is an invitation to Epicureanism that was publically displayed on the walls of a stoa—the choice of building perhaps an architectural pun on Stoicism, the most vociferous philosophical rival to Epicureanism. More than a handbook on Epicureanism, Diogenes’s inscription includes epitomes on physics and ethics, a defense of old age, collections of letters (some by Diogenes, others perhaps by Epicurus himself), a will, and—running in one long line in especially large letters—a new version of the Epicurean Principal Doctrines. Inscribed mostly in narrow columns that recall the arrangement of text on a papyrus roll, much of the inscription was composed for this epigraphical context only. As Diogenes explains: “I wished to use this stoa to advertise publicly the [medicines] that bring salvation” (fr. 3).
The known fragments (nearly 300, as counted in 2012) contain well over 6,000 words. The original inscription may have consisted of over 25,000 words, which suggests that the original text was the longest known inscription from the ancient Greek and Roman world (Smith 1993, 83). Reconstruction of the original layout of the inscription is controversial, but is aided by the fact that the fragments can be sorted according to distinct letter sizes and column lengths. Although the inscription was dismantled in antiquity and many of the stones were dispersed and used for other purposes, it seems likely that a full excavation would unearth many more fragments. Meanwhile, the known fragments (except those that have been lost since their discovery in the nineteenth century) remain on site and have been recorded in drawings, photographs, 3D images, and squeezes (a type of paper cast).
For a variety of reasons, including the style of the lettering, Smith dates Diogenes’s inscription to around the 120s CE, though Clay paces it slightly later (Clay 1989; Smith 1993, 35–48). As Smith maintains, the resemblance of the lettering of Diogenes’s inscription to another, securely dated inscription is striking. This other major inscription in Oenoanda concerns a benefaction by C. Julius Demosthenes, whose inscription includes a letter from the emperor Hadrian dated August 29, 124 CE, and other documents from the same era (Smith 1993, 40–43 and Wörrle 1988, 19–43).
Despite his medium, Diogenes seems uninclined to conserve space. Projecting a distinct personal voice even as he imitates Epicurus, Diogenes describes his purpose thus: “I wanted, before being overtaken by death, to compose a [fine] anthem [to celebrate the] fullness [of pleasure] and so to help now those who are well-constituted. Well, if only one person or two or three or four or five or six or any larger number you choose, reader, provided that it is not very large, were in a bad predicament, I should address them individually and do all in my power to give them the best advice.” After a gap he continues: “So, to reiterate what I was saying, observing that these people are in this predicament, I bewailed their behaviour and wept over the wasting of their lives, and I considered it to be the responsibilty of a good man to help, to the utmost of one’s ability, those who are well-constituted” (fr. 3 and 2; new reconstruction by Smith 2003, 65). Many of the fragments reveal Diogenes’s biography: a winter spent in Rhodes, conversations with other Epicureans, travels to Athens, and stomach or heart problems that were treated with a diet of curdled milk.
Much of the work on Diogenes of Oenoanda treats the text as an orthodox handbook that can be used to reconstruct otherwise lost Epicurean doctrine, or, conversely, focuses on reconstructions that rely on texts of Epicurus. Throughout the long history of the school, the Epicureans revered the Epicurean founders (exclusively Epicurus in the case of Lucretius, but four figures cited as “the men” in the case of Philodemus), and strove to be faithful to Epicurus. Nevertheless, Epicurean philosophers and scholars frequently focused on new expositions and defenses of the philosophy rather than on the production of methodical commentaries on early texts. Thus the school’s texts were “not simply a static body of documents to be restored, but a sinuous, evolving entity” (Snyder 2000, 53). Despite Epicurean conservatism, both content and form place Diogenes firmly in this Epicurean tradition, and equally firmly in an imperial Greek context. Diogenes, however, is often considered in isolation. As one scholar has written about the need for interdisciplinary work, “Quite apart from the hope that it would produce a rounded, contextualized, and generally illuminating account of Diogenes, his times, and his Epicureanism, its absence has contributed to the marginalization of Diogenes to the fringes of ancient philosophy and other interested disciplines” (Warren 2000, 148).
Many aspects of Diogenes’s inscription deserve further exploration. First, there is its monumentality (Warren 2000). According to Smith, the inscription once covered 260 square meters, the topmost line of its seven courses rising almost 4 meters or around 13 feet above floor level (Smith 1998, 125 and 1993, 92–93). Possibly 80 meters in length, it has been compared to the Column of Trajan (erected 106–113 CE): “In both cases, the reader is impressed, almost bludgeoned with a ‘rhetoric of stone’ that conveys a magnificent weight and monumentality” (Snyder 2000, 62). Diogenes asks readers not to read selectively, in the manner of passers-by (fr. 30), but reading was likely difficult despite the fact that the letters were progressively larger as one looked upwards. While the subject matter is unique, the form fits well with the imperial enthusiasm for epigraphy and the “highly textualized culture” of the Greek world in first centuries of the empire (Whitmarsh 2005, 23).
Related to its monumentality is its location in the urban center of Oenoanda, apparently alongside a large “esplanade” that may have been the agora in Diogenes’s era (Smith 1993, 54–56). Roskam (2007, 143) has argued that Epicurean pleasure was Diogenes’s goal in broadcasting Epicurus’s teachings, and yet the monument’s public situation represents a departure from Epicurean quietism. Directed outward rather than to his own Epicurean circle, Diogenes’s inscription is cosmopolitan in both content and form (see Richter, “Cosmopolitanism,” chapter 6 in this volume). As Diogenes writes in his epitome on Ethics, he hopes to reach “those who are called foreigners, though they are not really so.” He continues: “For, while the various segments of the earth give different people a different country, the whole compass of this world gives all people a single country, the entire earth, and a single home, the world” (fr. 30).
Diogenes expresses concern for outsiders frequently and writes that foreign visitors are among those he aims to help (epikourein; a pun on the name of Epicurus; fr. 3). Elsewhere he announces that he is shouting out his Epicurean message “to all Greeks and non-Greeks” (fr. 32). In contrast, according to Clement of Alexandria, Epicurus had asserted that Greeks alone are capable of philosophy (Strom. 1.15). Even Diogenes’s choice of a stoa—which would offer shade in a public location—may reflect his cosmopolitanism. According to Philostratus’s Lives of the Sophists, stoas—along with temples, gymnasia, and fountains—were among the particular amenities that served the needs of visitors to the cities of Asia Minor (VS 613). Yet despite his professed desire to reach “all Greeks and non-Greeks,” Diogenes expresses acute xenophobia regarding Egyptians and Jews in a recently discovered fragment (see below).
Another aspect of the inscription’s connection with the urban life of the
Greek East is the way Diogenes characterizes his endeavor as “philanthropic” (fr. 3), thus positioning himself in competition with other, more conventional public benefactions. Epicurus had explained centuries earlier: “It is neither continuous drinking parties nor physical enjoyment of boys and women, or fish or other elements of a lavish banquet that produce a pleasant life, but sober reasoning and searching out reasons for choice and avoidance” (Letter to Menoeceus 132). Updating Epicurus’s instruction, Diogenes contrasts the Epicurean pleasure of studying philosophy with the pleasures of his contemporaries: “I declare that the [vain] fear of [death and that] of the [gods grip many] of us, [and that] joy [of real value is generated not by theatres] and [. . . and] baths [and perfumes] and ointments. [which we] have left to [the] masses, [but by natural science. . . ]” (fr. 2.III.4–14). Although the restoration is conjectural, the words “masses” and “baths” are certain. For Bendlin, Diogenes’s disparagement of theaters and baths—typical public benefactions—was “truly subversive” (2011, 184). The most elaborate second-century bath complex in Oenoanda was a benefaction that probably postdated Diogenes, but euergetism had already shaped Diogenes’s city. Displayed most likely in the near vicinity of Diogenes’s stoa was the 117-line Hadrianic inscription that may have been carved by the same stone mason(s). This other inscription records the establishment of the Demostheneia, an elaborate weeks-long musical and theatrical festival to take place every five years. The same stones reveal that the eponymous benefactor Demosthenes had outdone his ancestors by providing three stoas and a market. What the philanthropic Diogenes offers instead is the salve of Epicurean wisdom, which he describes through medical metaphors: the people are ill, and his inscription offers the remedies (φάρμακα, fr. 3). The inscription itself is also relevant to Diogenes’s role as public benefactor. As Warren (2000, 148) writes: “Epigraphy is clearly the medium in which civic values were projected at this time, and so Diogenes uses this very medium on a gargantuan scale to launch his counter-attack.”