Lucian of Samosata and
Max Weber on the sociology of philosophers
copyright James Jope
The
Lucianic portion of this paper was presented at the annual meeting of the
Canadian Classical Association in 2012. I decided to publish it here after
learning of Max Weber’s relevance.
Lucian
satirised philosophers of every school. Attempts to determine his own
philosophical leanings—for example, by positing a diachronic development— have
been unconvincing (Hall 35 ff.), and it is now widely believed, with some
truth, that he would take whatever stance suited him. After all, Lucian did not
identify with philosophy as much as with rhetoric; and scholars like Michael
Trapp and Fabio Berdozzo have been exploring this rhetorical background as a
clue to other aspects of his work.
Although
he claims not to favour any school’s doctrine, he is especially averse to
Stoicism, and more sympathetic with the Cynics, whose values he espouses in his
‘Menippean’ satires, and the Epicureans, who are always the winners when he
stages a debate between them and Stoics (Philosophies
for Sale, The Downward Journey,
and The Double Indictment). He
accuses philosophers of various faults; but most often of hypocrisy. And the hypocrisy often masks greed. In The Parasite (52) he admits that rhetoricians too can be greedy,
but still insists it’s worse for philosophers.
It is this
particular criticism that I wish to examine more closely. Lucian levels it
chiefly at Stoics and Peripatetics, but I will be focussing on the Stoics.
It
has been claimed that Lucian’s acquaintance with the doctrines of the schools
is shallow; but his jokes are never wrongly targeted. It is a Stoic, for
example, that he shows in Philosophies
for Sale as comically deploying logic to extort arrears of fees, clubbing
his students over the head, as it were, with weighty syllogisms (23-4). The
Stoics were in fact the leading school in logic. And
the crude individualist who terrorizes the banqueters in the Lapiths is appropriately a Cynic.
Significantly,
Lucian joins condemnation of the Stoics’ pursuit of rich and powerful patrons
with disapproval of their tuition fees (Symposium
36 and The Fisherman 34). In his Nigrinus and Demonax, he shows us what he would presumably regard as
an authentic philosopher. Charging for
instruction, Nigrinus says, is selling virtue; and the lecture rooms of such
philosophers are like factories; whereas Nigrinus gives free instruction to
anyone who asks (25). We are told-- almost
incidentally-- that Nigrinus is a Platonist. But there are no traces of
Platonic doctrines: no mention of forms, of political constitutions, of eros,
no trace either of the skepticism of the later Academy, and of course no attack
on rhetoricians or sophists; only a diatribe against wealthy Romans and their
decadent morals and values. And the credit for escaping from these is given
simply to a generic ‘Philosophy’, inspired through Nigrinus’s charismatic harangue. Demonax, who is said to
be an eclectic, also reveals few traces of serious philosophy in his mix. His
character and behaviour are extolled, although most of the book is padded with
a collection of the sort of anecdotal encounters with clever retorts that were
common in doxographies.
It
is seldom appreciated that Lucian is not just condemning excessive fees, but
any fees at all. Fees were practically universal by that time, and Marcus
Aurelius’ endowment of chairs of philosophy in Rome and Athens in the year 176 CE is lauded today as a step toward public higher education. Yet when
Lucian discusses this in the Eunuch,
he does not praise the initiative, but remains silent in that regard—which is
about as close as we can expect to open disapproval of an emperor’s initiative.
Instead, he accuses everyone who even applied for these positions of avarice.
As
a public speaker, Lucian travelled around the empire amassing wealth from fees
for public display speeches. His criticism of philosophers undoubtedly reflects
the rivalry between rhetoric and philosophy. Trapp, in his book on philosophy
in the Roman Empire, cites Quintilian’s contention that philosophers should not
offer higher education themselves, but only provide reading material for
rhetoricians’ courses. This would mean that only those who were financially
independent could philosophize; but that would not have fased the imperial
elite who comprised Lucian’s audience. And we must remember that while
rhetoricians trained for political activity and social leadership, philosophers
trained for virtue and personal happiness. Trapp (2007, 13) aptly describes a
second-century philosopher as part scientist and part clergyman. I should like
to add that a rhetorician was part lawyer and part star entertainer. Our own
society reluctantly tolerates lawyers’ greed and rewards entertainment
celebrities exorbitantly, but regards scientists’ financial ambitions with
ambivalence and expects clergymen to live in genteel poverty-- exactly as
Lucian expected of philosophers.
In the centuries after Plato, the social role of philosophy changed. We
are told by Marrou, for example, in his Histoire
de l’education dans l’antiquite, that the Hellenistic schools became more
professionalized. They adopted from their rivals, the rhetoricians, the
practice of lecturing for fees, and what they promised in exchange for the fees
was knowledge of how to live happily in the existing society. Yet, this was not consistent with the attitude of
Plato and Socrates, who saw a conflict of interest in charging for teaching
virtue.
Apparently,
this ambivalence regarding money persisted even as philosophy became
increasingly commercialized. The source book on ancient education by Mark Joyal
and his colleagues has some interesting items in this connection. Imperial
subsidies to education did not always include philosophers. Indeed, philosophy
students had not always been charged. Speusippus, who succeeded Plato as head
of the Academy, was the first to charge, and he felt obliged to offer excuses
(Joyal et al. 2009 111). Aristippus pointed out defensively that Socrates had
received ample gifts (Joyal et al. 2009 87). He did not mention that Socrates
also worked for a living. Alberto Maffi
studied the philosophers’ wills recorded by Diogenes Laertius. They do not
mention tuition fees, but they make arrangements obliging the property heirs to
collaborate with the school’s participants. Maffi found no clear institutional
model, only makeshift attempts to somehow keep the school going. In 2009
Matthias Haake studied Hellenistic municipal inscriptions involving
philosophers and found that in business and politics, they were often prepared
to stretch their principles for gain; for example, Epicurean priests are
recorded, although Epicurus believed that the gods do not intervene in human
affairs, making sacrifice cruel and pointless. Priesthood was not a vocation,
but a public office, and a remunerative one at that. As such, it may have been
regarded as ‘fair play’ for any member of the elite, regardless of his personal
beliefs. Nevertheless, Lucian duly satirizes an Epicurean priest (Hermon) in
the Lapiths.
Plato
was independently wealthy and free to take unpopular political and social
stances, as he did in the Republic. Indeed, the city-state environment
of early Greece had enabled radical intellectual experiments. Percy (1996) and
Davidson (2007) have documented bold experiments in the social organization of
homosexual relations in Archaic Greece, and Solon’s cancellation of debts and
redistribution of property actually carried out the kind of radical social
changes envisioned by Plato. Zeno, the founder of the Stoic school, also was
wealthy when he arrived in Athens, coming from a prosperous commercial family;
and according to Schofield’s reconstruction of his ideal state, he too
advocated radical changes like Plato’s. In particular, philosophers would be
motivated to teach by love, not money.
When
city-states fell under the suzerainty of less flexible monarchies, the
Hellenistic schools seeking peace of mind (ataraxia) had to adopt
survival strategies. Cynics and Epicureans withdrew from society. The Cynics
withdrew individually and sought a meagre living by begging. Epicureans
withdrew collectively into an alternative community which was subsidized by its
wealthier members and could also court wealthy patrons. Stéphane Toulouse
reconstructed a telling incident from correspondence between the emperor
Hadrian and Heliodorus, head of the Epicurean community at Athens and a
personal friend of the emperor. His school was in financial trouble, and he asked
Hadrian for help. The emperor gave him a grant, but only after gently reminding
him that philosophers were not supposed to be interested in money. Stoics, on
the other hand, chose collaboration instead of withdrawal. They sought wealthy
patrons and students, they charged high fees, and eventually they became the
principal, and prosperous, philosophical educators of the Roman ruling class.
Lucian
does not accuse philosophers of shaping their doctrines to please their
patrons. A rhetorician could scarcely object to that. Like most ancient
intellectuals, Lucian was aware of the dangers of patronage. But his point of
view, as a rhetorician, is rather that of a social critic than of a seeker of
truth. He wants philosophers to play their proper role and not interfere in
civil areas like education and politics.
In
his Fisherman and Runaways, Philosophy herself explains that her
purpose is only good living. She and Lucian are relatively uninterested in
theory; not only all of the Greek schools, but even the Brahmans of India are
said to offer viable paths to happiness, provided only that they practice what
they preach. This attitude seems naively simplistic, but it was probably not
uncommon in Lucian’s day.
For
us, however, the possibility of patronage influencing philosophical doctrine is
important, so that we should reflect upon the implications of Lucian’s social
criticism. Since the turn of this
century there has
been some renewed awareness of this, particularly as regards the Stoics. Martha
Nussbaum’s critique of what she calls the “incomplete” feminism of the Roman
Stoic Musonius is an excellent example; she finds that Musonius was constantly
aware of the expectations of a Roman aristocratic audience. Chrysippus, an
early Stoic, was aware of the danger. He warned against trying to live off
philosophy: Dependence on a king, he said—in other words, patronage-- meant
that the king must be humoured; and charging tuition commercialized wisdom
itself (Diogenes Laertius vii 189). Cicero too was aware. In a speech attacking
Piso, the patron of the Epicurean community in Italy led by Philodemus—where
Virgil and Horace acquired their exposure to Epicureanism-- he charges that
Piso cajoled a reluctant Philodemus into composing erotic poems which,
according to Cicero, celebrated the debaucheries of his patron. He portrays
Philodemus as a shy and squeamish “graeculus”
(poor little Greek) intimidated into writing what Piso wanted by the persistent
demands of the lordly “imperator populi
Romani” (Roman generalissimo) (In
Pisonem 69-70).
We
need not believe the factious details of this story. But Cicero could not have
argued this way if it weren’t plausible to his audience. Finally, we have
Lucian’s own disheartening portrayal of the miserable life of a Greek
intellectual client residing with a powerful Roman patron in the treatise On
salaried posts in great houses. Not coincidentally, the man is a Stoic.
Some
scholars used to call Hellenistic and Imperial philosophers ‘professors’, and
if they had enjoyed tenure in an ivory tower, their positions might have been
driven solely by argumentation (and of course by personal animosities against
other professors); but their financial position was much less secure; we should
rather imagine a kind of freelance instructor whose income is tied directly to
his popularity among wealthy students and their fathers. Such situations might
not seriously affect his teaching in physics or logic, or even ethics, as long
as his ethical pronouncements remained, like some maxims of Roman Stoics,
noble, hortatory and vague. But concrete radical political and social proposals
would hardly be tolerated.
Later
Stoics were embarrassed by the radical views of Zeno and Chrysippus, who, like
Plato, advocated such reforms as the abolition of marriage, and erotic relationships
between philosophers and their students.
As
the philosophical schools morphed into educational establishments, even Greek
patrons may have already brought conventional values to bear; but intolerance
for radical social views was intense and pervasive among the Romans. They were
tough customers for philosophy. Even those who, like Cicero, did interest
themselves in philosophy were critical and selective, and regarded it only as a
cultural enhancement which was not to be permitted to threaten traditional
Roman values.
Consider
for example Panaetius, who was a critical figure in the transition to Roman
Stoicism.
His main innovation, according to Diogenes Laertius (vii 128), was to
compromise the principle at the heart of Stoic ethics, viz., that virtue alone
is good, and wealth, health, etc. are ‘indifferent’
in ethical value. He conceded that virtue alone is not sufficient for happiness
unless it is accompanied by health and an adequate living. Panaetius lived and
traveled for years with an active Roman political and military leader, Scipio
Aemilianus. Earlier scholars, like R.D. Hicks in 1965, did not hesitate to
infer that his concession on virtue was to sweeten the pill for Roman
consumption: “The introduction of Stoicism at Rome”, he wrote, “was the most
momentous of the many changes that it saw… Soon the influence of the pupils
reacted upon the doctrines taught” (Hicks 1965 363). However, later in the
twentieth century, scholars of ancient philosophy became more inclined to
interpret philosophical developments exclusively in terms of philosophical
theory; thus Panaetius’ concession was seen only as a response to the keen
Skeptic critic Carneades, who questioned the sufficiency of virtue alone.
But
Panaetius also defended property rights against Zeno (Rist 1969 199) and even
subscribed to the sycophantic view that the ideal constitution was actually the
Roman one (Cicero De Republica i 21).
Apparently, at least when sensitive areas like politics were concerned, he was
eager to cater to Roman patronage.
Sexual
ethics is certainly one area where conformity to conventional values reversed
progressive views. I have mentioned Nussbaum’s disappointment with Musonius,
whose vision of women’s liberation amounted to little more than instruction in
Stoic philosophy in order to better fulfil their domestic role as wives and
mothers. Lucian did deal with the repressive strain of Roman Stoic sexual
philosophy in the Erotes. In the rhetorical contest supervised by
Lucian’s stand-in Lycinus, Charicles, who is the loser, represents this type of
Stoicism. He advocates companionate marriage, but is mainly interested in
condemning any non-reproductive sex, especially between males. Like Musonius,
the only positive content that he can imagine for women in a life of
companionate marriage is domestic: enjoying dinner with their husbands. In
characteristic Stoic fashion, he bases his argument on Nature (physis), which he equates with
Providence. Lucian portrays Charicles as an irate fanatic, and Lycinus rejects
his position as un-Hellenic, favouring his opponent, who defends Greek
tradition and associates physis with
barbarian and nomos with Greek.
The
financial aspect of Lucian’s dislike of the Stoics, and their own doctrinal
compatibility with the conventional values of wealthy Roman patrons complement
each other and suggest that Lucian, however superficial his own philosophical
sophistication may have been, was a perceptive social critic.
And this analysis is corroborated by a comparative study of the social role
of Hellenistic philosophies and other belief systems throughout the ancient
world offering a path to happiness through a release from ignorance.
Max Weber
The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism is the best known work by
the pioneering sociologist Max Weber, but it is also his most controversial.
Later he studied the history of religions and traced a historical
development from magic through several
stages to Protestantism, and sought to understand the social and economic
correlations of different religions. These studies were unfinished at his
death, but are included, under the title Religiöse Gemeinschaften,
in an extensive posthumous compilation. Certain aspects of this work are
relevant for understanding the social role of philosophers in Lucian’s time and
Lucian’s motivation for his austere and simplistic attitude towards philosophy.
The
historical stage most important for our purpose is the development of Erlösungsreligionen.
These religions usually begin with a prophet, but as they become established
they form some kind of community or ‘congregation’ controlled by professional
priests. The concept of Erlösung and this distinction between
prophets and priests are the features which can inform our understanding of
Lucian.
Weber’s
concept of Erlösung has been translated in English as ‘salvation’-- and
this fits some religions, such as Christianity, well—or even ‘mystical’, which
certainly does not describe Weber’s aristocratic religions, which were more
intellectual. However, the German
Erlösung has a broader meaning. It is a ‘release’ from some kind of evil.
It can just as well be achieved in this life as in an afterlife, and different
religions offer release from different evils and to different ends. The Jews,
for example, expected to be compensated for their loyalty to Yahweh with a
Messianic kingdom on Earth; meanwhile, they hoped only for a prosperous living.
(301-304) Intellectual classes can determine the nature of Erlösung--
from what to what; for example, they determined Buddhism’s release from the
tiresome cycle of existence into Nirvana. Weber includes here even Rousseau,
whose resolution was Nature. But in every case, the path to release is through
a specific ethical way of living. Clearly the Hellenistic goal of ataraxia
and the ways of life set to attain it qualify.
Weber
found that certain types of religion correlate with (are ‘carried’ or propagated
by) specific social classes. The underprivileged classes are more inclined to
salvation religions which promise release from their oppressed status. Less so
the privileged class (aristocracy). They do not want release from the status
quo, which suits them nicely, but rather legitimization of their own
privileges, as well as the poorer situation of their inferiors. At an early
stage, they are warriors (e.g. Homeric heroes), but when they are separated
from political power either by imperial conquest or by their own decision to
withdraw, they turn to intellectually fashioned Erlösungsreligionen
marked by certain characteristic features: a systematic or ‘rationalized’ world
view with peace and order now serves to legitimate their status. Weber mentions
Chinese bureaucrats and Roman officials, as well as Hellenistic philosophies
here. They are guided by intellectuals who define Erlösung and the
necessary way of life, and who tend to ignore or re-interpret (‘rationalize’)
popular religion. (269-271) Among Greek philosophies, Stoicism, with its
deterministic divine Providence and allegorical interpretation of myths, best
fits this model, even though it is not mentioned specifically by Weber.
Prophets
initiate religious change. They may carry a divine message or revelation
(‘ethical prophets’) or they may exert influence simply by their own life
(‘exemplary prophets’, e.g. Buddha); and their message may be a new doctrine or
it may be a renewal of old doctrine. But it is always a unified vision of Man
and the World which entails a definite way of life. They are always charismatic
and they are always unpaid.
Priests,
by contrast, are an organized profession working with, and receiving
remuneration from, an established community.
It
may seem surprising to label any philosophers as prophets, but Weber explains:
...ist der Prophet durch Übergangsstufen verbunden
mit dem ethischen, speziell dem sozialethischen
Lehrer, der, neuer
oder erneuten Verständnisses alter Weisheit voll,
Schüler um sich
sammelt, Private in privaten Fragen, Fürsten in
öffentlichen Din-
gen der Welt berät und eventuell zur Schöpfung
ethischer Ordnun-
gen zu bestimmen sucht. 185:24 ff.
“Prophets are linked
through a number of intermediate figures to ethics teachers, particularly
teachers of social ethics, who, with their deep understanding of new or old
wisdom, gather students together, counsel private individuals in private
matters and princes in public affairs, and possibly try to create ethical
systems.”
Weber
names Pythagoras and Empedocles as prophets, and offers some reasons for
excluding other philosophers. He excludes Socrates because he did not offer a
positive system, and most Greek philosophers because they did not embark on a
public mission or did not give emotional (i.e., charismatic) sermons.
Weber
was perhaps less well acquainted with philosophy in Lucian’s day than with
classical philosophy. Lucian’s Nigrinus is nothing if not charismatic, his
diatribe is an emotionally charged sermon, and its effect is a powerful
enlightenment, with Erlösung from ignorance and popular values and
conversion to a ‘philosophic’ (read ‘ethical’) way of living. He falls short of
prophecy only insofar as he does not have a public mission. Instead, he
welcomes individual visitors who seek him out for counselling. And Demonax is very
much like Weber’s ‘exemplary prophet’.
Lucian
did have some knowledge of the doctrines of the different schools, and he had
his preferences. But since he adamantly refuses to mention them in his accounts
of ‘good’ philosophers, it seems reasonable to infer that he considered them
irrelevant. One must look instead to their way of living. Weber, for his part,
does attempt, very briefly, to relate the Hellenistic philosophies to his
schemata. He admits that they are ‘close to’ Erlösungsreligionen, but his interest is the actual religions, and
he wants to stress the differences. The similarities are more important for us.
Perhaps,
for example, Weber did not fully appreciate the importance of Hellenistic and
Imperial philosophies’ turning their
main focus to ethics. Ethics may have been the only part of philosophy that the
Romans took seriously. It was also most important for the educational role in
which philosophers competed with rhetoricians. And it also made philosophy more
like an Erlösungsreligion.
Lucian’s
principle that philosophers should not be paid derived from Socrates. But his
portrayal of an unpaid philosopher is more like a fiery religious counselor
than Plato’s coy dialogic gadfly, more reminiscent of Weber’s teachers of
social ethics.
Nigrinus,
as a philosophic educator who charged no fees, and even as a charismatic
speaker who did not go public but only engaged with individuals who came to
him, posed no threat to rhetoricians.
Given
Lucian’s attitude toward the other schools, he probably shared some sentiments
with the Cynics, who posed only a minor threat. But his attacks on Cynics are
not for their theories, but mainly for their crude manners and unconventional
attire. Proud of his achievements as a public speaker whose first language had
not been Greek (he came from Syria), he portrays himself in his writings as a
polished gentleman who would not be impressed by the Cynics’ display.
The
Epicureans themselves actually did regard their founder as a great prophet; yet
the leaders of Epicurean communes were more like Weber’s priests, especially in
view of their use of mnemonics and indoctrination. However, their apolitical
way of living blunted their threat to rhetoricians, who were deeply invested in
politics.
Whether
cynically or sincerely, the Stoics had fashioned their system into a model of
the kind of beliefs and ethics which Weber found to be characteristic for
aristocratic bureaucracies. For a while, under the Republic, Roman literati had
flirted with Epicureanism. But under the Empire, it was the Stoic Greeks who
mastered their conquerors... or was it the other way around?
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