The Cynic and the Emperor

My field of political philosophy contains an inherent contradiction since a philosophical disposition often eschews too close an engagement with the powers and principalities of this world. Seeking always a good life – a life well-lived – encourages repose rather than restless and relentless activity; it seeks peace rather than power and modesty rather than money. The philosopher desires contentment, and this typically means indifference to the rat race most of us engage in, the endless effort to feed our insatiable desires.

In ancient Greece many schools of philosophy – the Cynics, the Stoics, the Epicureans – sought to free human beings of all things that produced anxiety. Obviously, the thought of our death produces a great deal of it, so these philosophers studiously dwelt on that topic, trying to remove its sting. Wealth produces anxiety – either because we think we don’t have enough of it or, worse still, fear losing what we do have. Status, power, sex, careers – all these things inhibit the repose of a balanced soul.

One of the most famous stories in philosophy comes from Plutarch’s Lives, where he describes the meeting between Alexander the Great and Diogenes of Sinope:

Soon after, the Grecians, being assembled at the Isthmus, declared their resolution of joining with Alexander in the war against the Persians, and proclaimed him their general. While he stayed here, many public ministers and philosophers came from all parts to visit him, and congratulated him on his election, but contrary to his expectation, Diogenes of Sinope, who then was living at Corinth, thought so little of him, that instead of coming to compliment him, he never so much as stirred out of the suburb called the Cranium, where Alexander found him lying along in the sun. When he saw so much company near him, he raised himself a little, and vouchsafed to look upon Alexander; and when he kindly asked him whether he wanted any thing, “Yes,” said he, “I would have you stand from between me and the sun.” Alexander was so struck at this answer, and surprised at the greatness of the man, who had taken so little notice of him, that as he went away, he told his followers who were laughing at the moroseness of the philosopher, that if he were not Alexander, he would choose to be Diogenes.

Philosophers love telling this story because of its deep wisdom: the more simple our lives, the happier we are. Not pursuing our desires but denying or bypassing them proves the key to a reposed heart, the calm that comes of good order. Furthermore, sycophancy always breeds anxiety. A healthy disposition refuses to be dazzled by power or wealth or fame or celebrity. "I know you're the most powerful man in the world, but you're in my way."

Everything in our society rubs against this philosophical insight. We’ve made our net worth our self-worth. We believe that power drives everything and so engage in a relentless pursuit of it. We expect the brief dashes in and out of sexual encounters to satisfy our desire for deep human connection. We amuse ourselves to death, distracting ourselves from distraction with distractions. We latch on to those with wealth and power in the vain hope that their elevated status might raise ours. Howard Nemerov captured the futility of these pursuits in his Life Cycle of Common Man which he begins by reflecting on our habits of consumption: how much we drank and how much we smoked and how much money it took to keep us on the treadmill and how many beasts were slain to feed and clothe us. “It is in this way that a man travels through time,” consuming and leaving only the detritus behind.

“Given the energy and security thus achieved/He did…? What?” Nothing of note, Nemerov suggests, other than consume and leave behind “a lengthening trail of empty bottles and bones.” In a sardonic twist, he continued:

But chiefly he talked. As the bottles and bones
Accumulated behind him, the words proceeded
Steadily from the front of his face as he
Advanced into the silence and made it verbal.
Who can tally the tale of his words? A lifetime
Would barely suffice for their repetition…

This man finds himself:

Walking into deep silence, with the ectoplastic
Cartoon’s balloon of speech proceeding
Steadily out of the front of his face…

The Cynics refused to be tempted by affluence and also refused the allure of fame or celebrity or power. While these schools of philosophy often exist on the margins of social life, they play a vital function: to remind everyone else of how foolishly we spend our days and how little all our pursuits amount to. They cut the things we hold too dear down to size, helping regain a sense of proportion and balance.

Their emphasis on the life of virtue far superseding that of success ironically grounded the idea of republican politics even as it seemed to undermine. Without virtuous leaders who could resist the trappings of power and fame and wealth, the republic would soon succumb to the travails always attendant to unbridled ambition. As politics would become more important, people would become more miserable. Political ambition could be tamed by the charms of domestic life. When power waxes, domesticity wanes; and when domestic life is sacrificed to the pursuit of money or power, the republic devolves into tyranny.

The intrusion of politics upon domestic life thus works to the destruction of both.

George Washington’s desire to leave politics to return to hearth and home not only revealed that he had the right temperament to be a political leader, but also exemplified for all future leaders how republican virtue was meant to operate. If we want to keep our republic, we have to have leaders willing to follow Washington’s example to walk away from office and return to an ancestral home.

This wisdom which we have largely lost was not lost on our founding generation. They divined the limits of politics, and recognized that maintaining the health, strength, and dignity of other social institutions kept politics in its place. They knew that the light that burned closest also burned brightest, and that human happiness would not be found in the machinations driven by ambition or greed but in the simple pleasures found in our moments of repose. As Oliver Goldsmith put it:

   Vain, very vain, my weary search to find
That bliss which only centers in the mind:
Why have I stray'd, from pleasure and repose,
To seek a good each government bestows?
In every government, though terrors reign,
Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain,
How small, of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.
Still to ourselves in every place consign'd,
Our own felicity we make or find:
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
The lifted ax, the agonizing wheel,
Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel,
To men remote from power but rarely known,
Leave reason, faith and conscience all our own.

Why, indeed, do we stray “from pleasure and repose” in the vain belief that we can find what is good in what “each government bestows”? Not the turbulent storms of power – the revolutionary machinations of Luke or Damien and their concomitant torture – but “the smooth current of domestic joy” fulfills the demands of happiness. The Cynic spurred conventions not because he saw them as senseless but because they placed unreasonable demands on us, not the least of which requiring us to bow to an emperor rather than asking him politely to provide a little shade. Diogenes, having the world’s greatest conqueror offer him anything he wanted, asked for nothing more than that the emperor take a step to his left. How much better might our politics and our lives be if we kept our demands that simple?

By Jeff Polet

Director of the Ford Leadership Forum, Gerald R. Ford Presidential Foundation

Related Essays