For me, one fact, and one fact alone, is enough to earn chief Cynic philosopher and key figure linking Socrates to the Stoics, Diogenes, legendary status: He lived in a jar. A large jar.
Marvelous.
If I'd been around back then I surely would have danced around and against his jar in tribute.
Not so long ago, with rent ceaselessly rising in California, far outpacing minimum wage, I considered living in a jar myself. Thmp! It was either that or New Jersey.
That's not what I came to discuss today! (Okay, final note, for the sake of clarity: Diogenes lived in no specific jar.) During my break, in my usual place, alone, in the forest, I remembered one of the philosopher's symbolic acts that were his specialty. Warm breeze, susurrus of trees, thick scent of grass, strange bird cries, and a hearty laugh: I could face the rest of my shift. It goes like this: Diogenes is invited to a luxurious home. He's warned not to spit. But Diogenes wants to clear his throat. What does he do? What else? He spits in his host's face. His explanation: He couldn't find any worse spot.
Hilariously offensive though it is, taken on its own, it's difficult to parse what Diogenes is trying to say here. I hate your face, person who welcomed me into your home? After work, I consulted the book I picked it up from, Diogenes the Cynic: Sayings and Anecdotes, an entry in the Oxford World's Classics series, in a translation by Robin Hard, who also provides generous notes. The book is arranged by, at times, juxtaposing multiple accounts of the same story. The anecdote about the philosopher's visit is one that's told again, in expanded form. To recap: Diogenes spits in his host's face. Here's the part I forgot:
And when the man grew angry and asked why he had done that, he said that he could see nothing in the house that had been so neglected as its owner. For every wall was adorned with paintings, and there were images of the gods on the floor portrayed in magnificent mosaics and all the furniture was bright and clean, and the coverings and couches were beautifully adorned, leaving their owner as the sole thing there that could be seen to be neglected; and it is the universal custom in human society to spit in the worst available place.
Don't neglect yourself. Or else.
