Diogenes and Direct Action

More than 50,000 people in the United States are being held in concentration camps. By all accounts, philosophy should be the furthest thing from our minds right now. But could Cynicism teach us how to close the camps?

Most of us are familiar, in one way or another, with Diogenes, the Cynic philosopher. Regardless of whether or not you’re up on your ancient philosophy, the cult of personality that Diogenes has accrued throughout history has been emblazoned onto our collective consciousness. We’re all familiar with the quippy anecdotes about Plato and chickens and spitting in the face of the rich, but behind the pageantry and humor of it all, Diogenes raises some much more serious questions about what it really means to be a thinker.

The way in which Cynic philosophy teaches us to actively push back against tradition, authority, and our preconceived notions of ethics is an enduring and valuable asset that we can use to reflect on our own social and political circumstances, circumstances that urgently need to be deconstructed, in every sense of the term.

So, yes, we need to literally and physically deconstruct the concentration camps that have risen, once again, on US soil, but we also need to deconstruct the ideology that led us here. It has become clear to me that engaging with Cynic philosophy may be the best way for us as classicists to bridge that gap between theory and action.

For the past several years we’ve been bombarded with stories of family separation, ICE raids, border walls, and most recently, concentration camps. A few months ago, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez came under fire for using that term to describe ICE “detention centers” at the southern border, and while the resulting semantic debate has produced some very interesting and nuanced think pieces and less nuanced Twitter feuds (and Twitter feud lawsuits?), it seems as though many Americans are much more willing to reckon with optics than with the systemic causes, effects, and implications of nationalist border policy.

This distinction between optics and material reality is one that has been on my mind lately, and as I’ve been trying to parse this separation, I’ve spent a lot of time revisiting a 2012 interview with Slavoj Žižek, in which he critiques the ideological failure of twentieth-century revolutionary activism and proposes the axiom “Don’t act. Just think.” I don’t disagree that deliberate planning and premeditation are universally pretty advantageous — most of us have definitely had such thoughts the night before a big deadline — but we are currently situated at a critical moment in history. We have to recognize that political ideation is a privilege that is often not afforded to the people who are affected most intensely by political action, or lack thereof. The people being held in ICE camps must face the material reality of US border policy in all its shocking inhumanity every day, and every moment we spend intellectualizing their situation is another moment that they must spend living it.

So the question seems to be this: how can we take the time necessary to formulate nuanced answers to complicated problems when we don’t have time to waste?

It seems to me that we would do well to find an example in Diogenes and early Cynicism: to reintegrate praxis and discourse, reject the bureaucracy of tradition and civility, and do what is virtuous even when it is not comfortable or agreeable or easy.

Diogenes represents a total unity of philosophy and action, a unity that is largely missing from both contemporary theory and contemporary politics. If you take a look at the current state of American government or poststructuralist thought or even science, there practically seems to be a chasm separating thought from action. To some extent, I think that this divide can be attributed to various societal divisions: that of “high” and “low” culture — in which we, as classicists, are complicit — and that between “the academy” and “the public,” as well as a myriad of other tensions relating to class and race and political power that have fermented over the course of American history. But as is the nature of the issue, understanding the causes of a problem does not, in and of itself, effect a solution.

For me, the crux of this anxiety about thought and action has been the wildly proliferative semantic debate about the term “concentration camps”. Since this is Eidolon, I have no reservations about putting it out there that — in case it wasn’t already obvious — I agree with AOC, but that’s not the point. The point is that we, as an entire nation, are mincing words while people are being brutalized at the hands of the United States government without due process and without the basic necessities to sustain human life. This is an atrocity regardless of whether or not we can draw accurate parallels to the Holocaust; the Holocaust cannot be our only barometer for right and wrong, and to cast it as such is not just politically dangerous, but also sloppy history.

Thus, Zizek’s axiom to “just think” touched at the heart of this issue, but I think we’ve faced some revelations lately on a global scale that have made it clear that we don’t have time to sit still and just think anymore. As the doomsday clock of the climate crisis continues to count down, it is becoming incredibly clear that incremental change is no longer a plausible solution to any of the big problems — global problems — we are facing. In circumstances such as these, under which human life is in jeopardy, there is an ethical imperative to act, even if our ideology is half-baked. To put it another way: we no longer have time for discourse. But if we accept that things really are so dire, the panic starts to set in. If we need to think in order to act, but we don’t have time to think, then what exactly are we supposed to do?

In attempting to grapple with that question, it’s useful to position Diogenes as a counterpoint to Žižek’s axiom and explore where exactly we got this idea that thought and action are distinct from one another. Through exploring Diogenes as a sort of case study in Cynic thought, I think that — antithetical though it may be — we have a chance of deconstructing and circumventing the false dichotomy of thought and action that has trapped us in this endless cycle of ideology and revolution.

Diogenes, and early Cynicism more generally, represents an archetypal sort of proto-anarchist theory, given that Cynicism opposed existing structures of power and emphasized unwavering virtue, independent of law or custom. Cynics were staunchly ascetic and, unlike some other schools of philosophy, which strove to identify distinctions between the material and spiritual, they shirked materialism as a means of bridging the gap between their esoteric and pragmatic ideals and living in accordance with what they regarded as fundamental human nature. The writings of Diogenes, specifically, are completely lost to us. Instead, his philosophy has been preserved in passing references, nested within the work of other writers, most notably Diogenes Laertius’ Lives of Eminent Philosophers.

It is from this biography that we derive many of the anecdotes that have come to define Diogenes in our contemporary imagination. These stories center around Diogenes’ flagrant faux pas and open hostility toward the Athenian elite, but beneath the humor of Laertius’ account is a more serious representation of praxis, action in accordance with thought or theory. Diogenes’ writings may be lost, but his persona remains. And his behavior is emblematic of his theory: his actions are his philosophy. In his essence, Diogenes represents the very mode of unity between thought and action that we are lacking right now.

However, championing Diogenes as merely an anti-establishment figurehead, though politically useful, is a reductive way of reading Laertius. The idea of one cogent and continuous philosophy of “Cynicism” was largely retroactively constructed, in part as a way to establish a patrilineal history of philosophy with distinct figures and factions. But this construction was not limited to Laertius and other classical intellectual historians; the legacy of Cynic thought is an ongoing process. Cynicism has had a huge impact on“Western” thought, especially in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries: from Hegel to Nietzsche to Foucault, Cynicism is at the very core of modern and postmodern theory. The skepticism of dogma that we associate with the poststructuralist movement was directly informed and inspired by the legacy of Diogenes and other Cynic philosophers of antiquity.

If our analysis of Cynicism begins and ends with Diogenes, we miss out on a much larger and more robust notion of Cynic philosophy that spans millennia. What we need to do is look at Cynicism in context. Rather than flattening Diogenes into an emblematic caricature, we need to engage the larger canon of Cynic thought and use this legacy to challenge our notions of tradition, authority, and direct action.

So let’s engage the canon. It’s no secret that Plato is given a privileged position, but Cynics were also the benefactors of the Socratic tradition. The question we have to ask is: why? Where did we get this preference for Plato, and whom does that preference serve? Is it necessary to preference one school of thought at the expense of another? How can we redeem Cynic thought in the mainstream?

Platonism and Cynicism are, in essence, two divergent schools of Socratic philosophy. Diogenes’s own Cynicism, asceticism, and dissent from Plato were products of his admiration of Antisthenes, who was also a student of Socrates. The asceticism, ethics, and skepticism that have come to define early Cynicism are directly derivative of Socratic teachings, but Plato is almost universally considered the intellectual heir (and authoritative source) of Socrates. Socratic question aside, It seems as though, despite the endurance of Cynic thought, Platonism reigns over the canon.

The question of why we elevate Plato over the Cynics is a complicated one (and one that I am hardly qualified to answer), but I would argue that our modern distinction between thought and action may be rooted in Platonic theory of Forms. If we divorce the essence of a thing (Form), only accessible through knowledge, from its tangible, perceptible existence, we inevitably create a divide between what we think and what we do. Furthermore, by commodifying knowledge, the privilege of thought is made exclusive. If we think that being and meaning are not inextricable, discourse and action become distinctly separate activities, undertaken by distinct and separate types of people. Cynic thought represents an alternative take on this; a version of Socratic theory where thought and action are inseparable, where the philosopher and the activist are not distinct entities. While Platonists viewed philosophy as an intellectual and spiritual process, Cynics viewed philosophy as a way of life.

This is, perhaps, the most valuable lesson of Cynicism: thinking about a problem without taking action is the same as doing nothing at all.

Here is where the distinctions between Cynics and Platonists begin to emerge, and the lines between philosopher and philosophy begin to blur. As Platonic metaphysics seeks to establish an idea of truth based in ontology, i.e., what it means to be, and bestow the privilege of knowledge along axes of privilege, Cynicism advocates action, opens its doors to all, and calls into question the structures of power that Platonism upholds.

This is a fundamentally egalitarian notion. It breaks down the barriers that have shut women, people of color, and the economically disenfranchised out of mainstream Western philosophy for the majority of history. It makes sense that when those in power construct a historical narrative, they privilege thinkers who justify the maintenance of an elite intellectual class over those who seek to demolish the very notions of class and privilege altogether, but we are well overdue for an overhaul of academic elitism.

When we draw back the veil of historical objectivity, it’s easy to see that the machinations of power and privilege cannot be separated from the construction of knowledge. The elitism implicit in Platonism has had a tangible effect on the way we receive and study philosophy, and the way we study philosophy — or refuse to study philosophy — has had an undeniable amount of influence over our lives for millennia. So in many ways, the legacy of Plato has proved the Cynics right: praxis is inseparable from philosophy, regardless of whether or not we are consciously trying to act. In other words, the refusal to take action is, in and of itself, an action. If you do nothing, if all you do is sit and think, you side with the status quo.

This is precisely what I find so aggravating about the controversy surrounding Ocasio-Cortez’s statements regarding concentration camps; all the dialectic flailing divorces the ontology of ICE camps — the speculation and discourse about what it really means to be concentration camp — from the undeniable reality of their existence and the material effects of the abuses that occur within. It is a distraction from the problem, not a solution.

While we bicker over what to call these camps, they continue to function as a tangible representation of the nationalism of mainstream American politics on both sides of the aisle, they continue to be overcrowded and unsanitary, they continue to put children in situations of severe abuse and neglect, the conditions are getting worse, and every day more people are being rounded up and taken away. The way ICE camps affect the people who are being held prisoner within them and the people who live with that threat looming over their heads is not semantic, it is very real and very tangible and very dangerous. Refusing to name a thing does nothing to stop it from happening. Whether or not we agree to call them concentration camps, that is the function that they serve.

This is perhaps the most dangerous part of the leftist penchant for dialectic and aversion to praxis: the right are not playing by the same rules. While we abide Žižek’s advice and attempt to pin down a cogent ideology of the left in a rapidly shifting world, white nationalists and authoritarians have successfully bridged the gap between theory and action. The many abhorrent manifestos that the most recent wave of white nationalist terrorists have left behind testify to this. At this point it is nothing short of naive to look at the cogency of their nationalist ideology and still call them lone wolves.

Moreover, it is irresponsible to look at the countless mass shootings, the rhetorical vitriol of our president, the fearmongering, and the systematic abuse of people of color in this country and not see that they are all inextricably interwoven. Homegrown nationalist terrorists and ICE agents are two sides of the same coin, two methods of praxis that can be traced back to a single coherent ideology; an ideology that has been on prominent display in the highest offices in the land for the majority of American history. What we are facing here is the inevitable capitulation of the xenophobia, white supremacy, authoritarianism, and sanctioned violence that is baked into every aspect of American life. It should not be surprising to us that violent and prejudicial ideology leads to violent and prejudicial action. There is no escaping the evidence: words and actions are not nearly as distinct as we like to think they are.

This is why we cannot underestimate the power of ideology. Philosophy, especially ancient philosophy, has a profound and tangible impact. Ideology, no matter how esoteric, is what governs both our thoughts and our actions more than anything else. The power structures that we choose to privilege and uphold were not created in a vacuum, they are not universal, and they did not arise out of harmony and unanimity. The ways in which Classics, philosophy, and historical narratives have all been used to oppress are ideological, but they are not merely ideological. Just as praxis is inextricable from Cynic ideology, the imposition of systems of power requires praxis, and historically the Classics have served both as a justification and a weapon.

So that is my assertion: philosophy matters, and this is a double edged sword. In the process of constructing a historical narrative, we have inadvertently made interpretive choices that have very tangible consequences. In a sense, the very act of writing history has become a form of praxis within itself. As we parse the differences between being and meaning, adhering dutifully to the canon, the consequences of our ideation prove that being and meaning cannot really be separated. Philosophy does not exist in a vacuum — not now and not ever — and that is what the Cynics can teach us.

It would be fallacious to say that concentration camps are not ideological — that is, the product of ideas and thinking. The bigotry and nationalism that are used to justify their existence is inherently ideological. But it would also be fallacious to say that they are not pragmatic and tangible, the product of action. So yes, there is a moral imperative to close the camps, and that will require direct action that will not be comfortable or agreeable or easy (or necessarily legal), but there is also a moral imperative to deconstruct the narratives that have led us here. It is not enough to remedy the material consequences of prejudicial ideology. Unless we address the systems of power that are at play, including the systems of power that dictate how we think about thinking (or how we don’t act when we should), we will remain stuck in the same cycle, constantly rushing to remedy the crises that are produced time and time again by the existing system.

If there is anything we can learn from antiquity, it is this: nothing lasts forever. All systems, all modes of power, eventually fail. Ideology collapses and is replaced, in turn, by new ideology. But those in power will never concede their losses. It is up to us, the people, to effect change. It is time we take the situation into our own hands.

What we choose to teach and how we choose to teach it has significant implications for not only the intellectual direction of our field, but also for the personal politics of the people who pass through it. It should be incredibly disturbing to us that white nationalists have rooted their collective identity in Classics, but not surprising. Many people wonder aloud what they can do to combat the alt-right or put an end to ICE raids, and although it may not be as glamorous and dramatic as taking to the streets, widening the canon and pushing back against the white, male, imperialistic lens through which Classics has historically been taught is praxis. Pushing back against white supremacy and xenophobia in your classroom, your syllabi, and your everyday life is praxis. We are trying to win a battle against these concentration camps, but we are also trying to win a much larger war against an ideology of prejudice and hate. If you have the platform to change minds and shape ideology, you have an ethical imperative to take the Cynic approach.

Meghan Claire ONeill is a third year undergraduate student in the Department of Classics at Grand Valley State University. She has presented original research on Greco-Roman sexuality and Platonic philosophy at the NeMLA annual conference and is currently working on a commentary of Canter’s Orationes Funebres. She invites you to explore the ways in which extrajudicial action might be justified in circumstances of state-sponsored violence.