The Invention and Gendering of Epicurus

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Introduction If renown is pleasant, disgrace is painful; and nothing is more disgraceful than lack of friends, idleness, irreligion, hedonism, or being regarded with contempt. All people except the Epicureans themselves consider these attributes to belong to their sect. (Plutarch, Non posse 1100 C-D)1 I shall not say what most of our own [Stoics] say, that the sect of Epicurus is the instructress of indecencies. But I do say this: it has a bad reputation; it is notorious. “But that is unfair,” someone might protest. But how would an outsider know? Its very facade provides opportunity for gossip and inspires wicked expectation. It is like a man in a dress: your chastity remains, your virility is unimpaired, your body has not submitted sexually, but in your hand is a tympanum.2 (Seneca, De vita beata 13) As a philosophical community and as a way of seeing the world, Epicureanism had a centuries-long life in Athens and Rome, as well as in cities and towns across the Mediterranean. In the words of Diogenes Laertius, who records in the third century CE that the school in Athens had already survived without interruption for half a millennium, the friends of Epicurus “outnumbered the populations of whole cities” (10.9). But despite its longevity and its many adherents, extant Greek and Roman texts that disparage Epicureanism generally Page 2 →drown out the works that elucidate or endorse it. Dominant voices in both Greece and Rome routinely depict the Epicurean as a monstrous or laughable figure. Even the popularity of Epicureanism damaged its reputation. Cicero, for example, presents a mock interview of Epicurus (over two centuries after his death) in which the philosopher is accused of having an imprecise and confusing theory of pleasure. When cornered by a single argument, Epicurus sputters: “I can find many people—no, countless people—less inquisitive and bothersome than you are, whom I can easily persuade to believe whatever I want.”3 At first glance, the development of the notoriety of Epicurus is a straightforward matter: the Epicurean focus on happiness and pleasure was easily lampooned as license for debauchery. But the traditions about the Garden (as the school of Epicurus was called) and the production of anti-Epicurean discourse traveled long and complex routes. The aim of this study is to present a necessarily fragmented history of the way the Garden's outlook on pleasure captured Greek and Roman imaginations—particularly among non-Epicureans—for generations after its legendary founding. Unsympathetic sources from disparate eras generally focus not on particular historic personages but on the symbolic Epicurean. Yet one of my goals is to show how the traditions of this imagined Garden, with its disreputable women and unmanly men, give us intermittent glimpses of historical Epicureans and their conceptions of the Epicurean life. Although this is not a book about the philosophy of Epicurus, I hope to suggest how a close hearing and contextualization of anti-Epicurean discourse leads us back to a better understanding of the cultural history of Epicureanism itself. My primary focus will be on sources hostile to the Garden, but I hope that my Epicurean-friendly perspective will be apparent throughout. I hope also that my engagement with ancient anti-Epicurean discourse makes more palpable its impact on modern responses to the Garden. As A. A. Long has written recently, “Epicurus, though much of his thought is firmly rooted in the Greek tradition, was too innovative overall to gain a fair hearing from his intellectual rivals; and the process of rehabilitation is still far from complete.”4 Any history of anti-Epicurean discourse must be sewn together from a broad range of sources that do not lend themselves to neat accounts of chronological development or to continuous narratives about the relationships between Page 3 →one critic and another. Although I examine some of the clearer instances of linear progression in the portrayals of Epicurus, this study is organized primarily according to the themes that receive persistent attention among Epicurus' detractors. I hope that my readers include students in addition to scholars, so I begin here with a thumbnail sketch of those aspects of Epicureanism that are most relevant to a history of its reception among its critics. The philosopher Epicurus (who was born in Samos in 341 BCE and died in Athens in 270 BC)

began what soon became known as Epicureanism by gathering a group of friends and students in a house and garden in Athens.5 More than a school of philosophy, the Garden was a community of like-minded and aspiring practitioners of a particular way of life. The early members who helped shape the Epicurean outlook included Epicurus' most influential associates, Metrodorus, Hermarchus, and Polyaenus. Other men and women, free and slave, were important first-generation associates or friends of Epicurus, but, as I will demonstrate in chapter 3, the history of women in Epicureanism is very unclear. As is well known, the central thesis of Epicurean philosophy is that pleasure is the telos (the fulfillment or goal of life).6 Followers of Epicurus sometimes disagreed about core issues, such as whether “pleasure” should be understood negatively as the absence of pain and distress and whether the goodness of pleasure is self-evident. They shared, however, a general approach that places a high value not only on the physical, bodily pleasures but on cerebral joy and happiness. Epicurean pleasure is characterized by contentment and the absence of turmoil, strife, pain, and fear. These attributes are essential, and in Epicurean texts, the praise of pleasure in Greek, voluptas in Latin) appears less frequently than one might surmise from the testimonies of hostile readers.7 The tetrapharmakos (or “fourfold remedy”), an ancient set of abbreviated maxims that encapsulated Epicureanism for students, does not name pleasure when it declares succinctly, “God is not to be feared; death is not to be dreaded; the Page 4 →good is readily obtainable; the bad is readily endurable.”8 Acceptance of the last two tenets might be gained through a straightforward discussion of Epicurean ethics, which taught that simple pleasures are readily attainable and that acute pain is short lived. An understanding of the first tenets—”God is not to be feared; death is not to be dreaded”—required firmer grounding in a mode of natural science that placed humanity in the context of the atoms and void of the universe. The identification of these teachings as a “remedy” (pharmakos) represents a medical metaphor formulated by many Epicureans: the Garden offered a cure for human suffering.9 The tetrapharmakos captured the essentials for beginners in antiquity and should serve as a guide for present-day inquiries into the nature of Epicureanism. My contextualization of Epicurean conceptions of pleasures in this book will also serve as a primer, particularly in chapter 2, which explores how outsiders located the origins of Epicurean pleasures in Homer's Odyssey and how Epicureans responded to (and perhaps first established) that tradition. For a more comprehensive presentation of the philosophy of Epicurus as a whole, readers should turn to one of the recent overviews such as that by David Konstan, who writes, “His system included advice on the proper attitude toward politics (avoid it where possible) and the gods (do not imagine that they concern themselves about human beings and their behavior), the role of sex (dubious), marriage (also dubious) and friendship (essential), reflections on the nature of various meteorological and planetary phenomena, about which it was best to keep an open mind in the absence of decisive verification, and explanations of such processes as gravity and magnetism, which posed considerable challenges to the ingenuity of the earlier atomists.”10 The objective of Epicurean reflections about natural phenomena was intimately connected to the release from fear and attainment of happiness. A doctrinal saying included in the Principal Doctrines, a set of maxims that were formulated by Epicurus or excerpted from Epicurean texts, makes this outlook particularly clear. The eleventh maxim states, “If we had never been oppressed by misapprehensions about the Page 5 →phenomena above us, or about death (which is nothing to us), or by ignorance of the limits of pains and desires, we would not have needed to study natural science.”11 The twelfth adds that the study of nature is a prerequisite for the enjoyment of unmixed pleasure. For an Epicurean, philosophy itself is a pleasure. As one quotation culled from a lost work of Epicurus declares, “One must laugh and philosophize at the same time.”12 Another fragment asserts, “In other pursuits, the hard-won fruit comes at the end. But in philosophy, delight [] keeps pace with knowledge. It is not after the lesson that enjoyment [] comes: learning and enjoyment happen at the same time.”13 For the Roman poet Lucretius, Epicurus' revelation of the science of the universe results in pleasure and awe.14 Not a lonely pursuit, the study of philosophy was best enjoyed among friends, and the biographical traditions (whether hostile or affirmative) stress the communication between Epicurus and his students. Epicurus' own Letter to Menoeceus, a nontechnical summary of ethics addressed to an older newcomer, culminates in an exhortation to study philosophy night and day—not only in solitude, but also with a like-minded companion (Ep. Men. 135). Friendship played a vital role in the attainment of security and happiness. As another excerpt from an unidentified text by Epicurus or another

early Epicurean puts it, “The noble person engages most with wisdom and friendship; the former of which is a mortal good, the latter, immortal” (Sent. Vat. 78). The twenty-seventh maxim in the Principal Doctrines instructs, “Of the things wisdom acquires for the blessedness of life as a whole, far the greatest is the possession of friendship.”15 The issue most fundamental to Epicureanism—that pleasure is the telos and that life is to be enjoyed—drew the most fire in antiquity. Alleged atheism, a supposedly impoverished theory of friendship, and an Epicurean tradition of withdrawing from politics were also frequent targets. Occasionally, the frequent critiques of Epicurean science cross over to straightforward mockery. But for unsympathetic observers, the focal point was simply the word pleasure. Unfriendly caricatures began early enough to elicit a response from Epicurus himself. In the Letter to Menoeceus, Epicurus writes,Page 6 → (Ep. Men. 131) [So whenever we say that pleasure is the telos [the fulfillment or end], we do not mean the pleasures of degenerates and pleasures that consist of physical enjoyment, as some assume (out of ignorance and because they disagree, or because they misconstrue our meaning), but we mean the absence of pain in the body and the absence of distress in the spirit.] Detractors had apparently named particular vices, so Epicurus continues with a short catalog of various sorts of dissipation and counters them with a brief synopsis of the Epicurean ideal: (Ep. Men. 132) [It is neither nonstop drinking and revelry nor physical enjoyment of boys and women nor fish or other elements of a lavish banquet that produce a pleasant life, but sober reasoning and searching out reasons for choice and avoidance, and banishing the sorts of received opinions that cause the greatest disturbance of the spirit.] The doctrine of “choice and avoidance” was key: poorly chosen pleasures could result ultimately in turmoil or pain.16 This passage in the Letter to Menoeceus inspired a creative Epicurean tradition of listing anew the supposed pleasures that do not constitute the pleasant life. As I show in chapter 2, the poet Lucretius, taking Homer as his inspiration, avows that an ornate palace decorated with lavish statues, gold, silver, and paneled Page 7 →ceilings was not necessary: friends could gather outside, sitting on the grass (DRN 2.20). Nor does an ornate and expensive quilt (as opposed to a rough blanket) make a fever pass more quickly. A few centuries later, as befits his affable garrulousness, Diogenes of Oenoanda offers several lists of dubious, non-Epicurean pleasures in his monumental publicly displayed inscription. First, Diogenes posts the following, in large letters on limestone blocks: “I declare…[that] joy [of real value is generated not by theatres] and…baths [and perfumes] and ointments, [which we] have left to [the] masses, [but by natural science.]”17 His mention of baths and unguents is particularly relevant to his second-century context, when the Roman habit of luxurious bathing was a frequent object of desire (and censure).18 Then, in a different section of the inscription, Diogenes asserts that he will demonstrate that in the pursuit of happiness (), the goal () cannot be reached by “wealth, nor political power, nor royal office, nor a life of luxury, nor the lavishness of banquets, nor the pleasures of erotic adventures, but by philosophy.”19 In recently discovered fragments of two other passages, Diogenes adds that gilded ceilings and Page 8 →extremely soft beds and clothing are not necessary.20 As for food, he seems to recommend barley-bread and cabbage.21 This brings us back to Epicurus, who makes a distinction between “philosophy” and the more functional and practicable “wise understanding” or “sound judgment”:

(Ep. Men. 131–32) [The fount of all these things and the greatest good is wise understanding. Thus wise understanding is even more valuable than philosophy, for all the rest of the virtues spring from understanding, which teaches us that it is not possible to live pleasantly without living wisely and honorably and justly, or to live a life of wisdom, honor, and justice without living pleasantly. For virtues are naturally part of a pleasant life, and a pleasant life is inseparable from them.] When he counters the popular understanding of “pleasures” with his assertion that Epicureans understand pleasures to be “the absence of pain in the body and the absence of distress in the spirit,” Epicurus establishes that Epicurean pleasure involves the mind as well as the body. This corrective emphasis on the mind is also clear from his use of the adjective meaning “pleasantly” or “pleasurably” () when he writes about the just and virtuous life (Ep. Men. 131–32). It may be due to an increased need to squelch misunderstandings of the word that Diogenes of Oenoanda clarifies the Epicurean stance by referring (in the passages previously quoted) not to but to “joy” and “happiness.” The fame in antiquity of this often-quoted passage from Epicurus' Letter to Page 9 →Menoeceus is echoed by its canonical status in appreciative readings of Epicurus today. In writing this book, I have tried not provoke an equally traditional exasperation in my readers by quoting it at every turn. But like the Epicureans who so irritated Cicero and Plutarch, I shall return to it often enough. Throughout this book, I use the word discourse to refer to the ways people in Greek and Roman antiquity wrote (and talked, gossiped, and fulminated) about the Garden. My concept of discourse includes not only philosophical discussions about the meaning, significance, and rightness or wrongness of Epicureanism but also the various modes of representing the Epicurean, particularly among writers who use vivid language to depict the Epicureans as the polar opposites of themselves. Thus I include under the rubric of discourse literary allusion, rhetoric, cliché, stereotype, innuendo, the engagement with in-tertexts, and the repetition of particular catchwords. Also an important facet of discourse is the process of translation from Greek to Latin in antiquity, particularly as exemplified by Cicero's tendentious translation of the word into Latin, as well as one Epicurean's reluctance to translate (that of Cassius, who writes in Latin but retains the word in Greek). Here I take individual words as aspects of discourse, rather than limiting my definition to textual features beyond the level of the word or sentence. During my work on this book, insights articulated under the rubric of critical discourse analysis have sharpened my understanding of the workings of vituperative rhetoric that constructed representations of the Garden.22 Starting from the standpoint of linguistic theory, critical discourse analysis (sometimes also called critical language study) draws attention to the controlling mechanisms of grammar, syntax, and other aspects of speech and the written word. Its concern with phonology in particular illuminates the Roman use of alliteration in the antagonistic representation of Epicurean pleasure (voluptas) as an opposition to manly virtue (virtus). Critical discourse analysis also clarifies the capacity of clichés to register their users' attitudes toward Epicureanism without clarifying the specifics of their claims. Thus detractors of Epicureanism immortalize the paradigmatically effeminate male Epicurean but bypass an elucidation of the particulars of his alleged lack of virtus. Page 10 → While critical discourse analysis, when applied to modes of talking and writing in our present-day society, draws attention to a “somewhat depressing picture of language being increasingly caught up in domination and oppression,”23 the formulation of manipulative and heavy-handed discourse about the Epicureans is sometimes comical. Some polemics are humorous not simply from the vantage point of the ancient detractors but from our present positions as we encounter their extreme distortions of Epicurean theory and practice. I take particular delight in the immoderate and sometimes apparently gleeful anti-Epicurean rhetoric of Seneca and Plutarch, but—as may be apparent to my readers—I sometimes find Cicero exasperating. The comic aspects of their verbal assaults, however, must not have amused many Epicurean contemporaries of Aelian, Cicero, Cleomedes, Plutarch,

and Seneca (to cite several expert denouncers of the Garden). What Norman Fairclough identified as a verbal exercise of power may have been hard to bear and likely caused damage to the reputations and credibility of historical persons who subscribed to Epicurean beliefs.24 My work is also informed by an interest in cultural poetics (so named by Stephen Greenblatt and sometimes identified as New Historicism). This approach to “the interpretation of literature as an essential element in the cultural creation of identity”25 examines the complex and sometimes reciprocal relationships between texts and personal comportment. We create texts, project an image, and conform to practices that are inflected by our desired or implied position in the world. This self-fashioning is likely to have been informed by other texts and artistic representations; and it contributes, in turn, to a repertoire available to others as they construct their own identities. In the case of the Epicureans, detractors sometimes use Epicurus as the converse of their own presentation, particularly in regard to their masculinity. But we more often encounter types of self-fashioning that are ascribed to Epicureans rather than created by them. For example, within the Garden, we find early portraits of Epicurus that drew on the iconography for the ideal Athenian citizen. In marked contrast are the effeminate and non-Greek (or non-Roman) demeanors and Page 11 →practices imputed to the Epicureans by outsiders. Daily habits are of great consequence. The male Epicurean's clothing, metaphorical and actual, is essential to the construction of his identity. Food also plays a role: the Epicurean diet of bread, cheese, and other simple fare is part of their own self-fashioning, while their enemies assert that the creation of an Epicurean requires sumptuous banqueting habits. If we are to believe Cicero and Seneca, the image projected onto the Epicureans by their detractors influenced the self-fashioning of later Epicureans like Apicius, Nomentanus, and Piso, who misunderstood what Epicurus meant by pleasure.26 Attention to cultural poetics and the intricacies of discourse require close reading of particular texts and images. That close reading entails, in turn, an awareness of intertextuality and interdiscursivity.271 use these concepts to refer not simply to the allusiveness of a text or an image but to its engagement with broader discourses, to tendentious borrowings and echoes, to the mingling of different genres, to sardonic or satirical quotation, to the use of charged vocabulary, and to the ways later texts address Epicurus directly, as though—hundreds of years later—he were present as a recalcitrant conversation partner.28 As I hope will be apparent throughout this book, my mode of approach involves a close and persistent interrogation of a broad array of disparate yet interconnected sources, including the visual as well as the literary. In chapter 1, “The First Lampoons of Epicurus,” I examine the first outsider views of the Garden as presented in nonphilosophical sources. None of the relevant texts survive as full texts contemporary with the fourth- or thirdcentury BCE Garden; instead, they come to us as embedded quotations and references in much later works. Divorced from their original context, these texts are imprecise indicators of the reputation of Epicureanism, but they reveal a great deal nonetheless. A surprising aspect of some of the fragments of New Comedy is a lampooning of Epicurean language that reveals a less cursory familiarity with Epicureanism than one might expect. As later chapters will demonstrate, the interrogation of Epicurean vocabulary will reemerge centuries later in the more hostile critiques. Page 12 → In chapter 2, “Odysseus and the Telos,” I present an expanded primer on Epicureanism, exploring a tradition that places the Epicureans in a world apart from dominant cultures by connecting them with Homer's Phaeacians (as they appear in books 8 and 9 of the Odyssey). The texts I treat here are diverse: an epigram by Philodemus; a short, hostile quotation by Plutarch that jumbles Homer with Epicurus; a second- or third-century CE treatise titled Homeric Problems; and allusions in Horace, Lucretius, and Virgil. The ancient sources demonstrate that both Epicureans and outsiders had an interest in this tradition. While many incorporated the equation between the Phaeacians and the Epicureans into their hostile assessments of the Garden, some Epicureans seem to have embraced that equation. A questioning of the manliness of the Epicurean is here a tacit undercurrent. As we shall see in the following chapters, Roman discourse (and Greek, though to a lesser extent) considers devotion to pleasure (and to food in particular) as a vice antithetical to manliness.

Chapter 3, “A Woman Named ‘Pleasing,'” presents the evidence for the presence of women in the school of Epicurus. For Plutarch, the women (whom he calls “hetaerae,” a term akin to “courtesans” or “women of disrepute”) are mere ornaments and sex partners, but other sources identify them as students or fellow philosophers. When Cicero mentions a woman named Leontion as the author of an Epicurean philosophical text, he presents her as an aberration indicative of Epicurean licentiousness. His reference to a female Epicurean named Themista is similarly contemptuous. It is tempting to extrapolate from Diogenes Laertius' report about slaves who “philosophized in association with” Epicurus ( 10.3 and 10.10) and to posit that women of low social or economic status joined them. Tempting also is the argument that the women were not there by mere chance but that the Epicurean worldview made the Garden particularly open to female seekers of wisdom and happiness. Yet the traditions about “Epicurean women”—whether they were philosophers, students, or simple “companions”—cannot be securely connected with historical reality. Chapter 4, “Virtus and Voluptas,” focuses on Roman anti-Epicurean discourse from the late republic and early empire, where Epicurean pleasure is formulated as the antithesis of Roman manliness. Oratorical, epistolary, and philosophical texts by Cicero and the essays and letters of Seneca are central here. Nonextant texts—writings by the early Stoics, Brutus' De virtute, inferior Latin translations of Epicurus—assert a shadowy presence in these pages of Cicero and Seneca. While Epicureanism's reception in Rome was warm in some Page 13 →quarters, it often met with a particularly Roman abhorrence that was frequently expressed in gendered terms. Some of the controversies sparked by its importation into a foreign context focused closely on the translation and definition of the word pleasure and its juxtaposition with the word virtus (a crystallization of Roman manliness). These Ciceronian and Senecan manipulations of the words virtus and voluptas belong to a broader context explored in recent cultural critiques that expose the ways that Roman constructions of gender are imbricated with Roman discourse about pleasure. But the anti-Epicurean texts also work the other way around. Rather than fitting into the more general context, this discourse lays out the paradigm, articulating, in the starkest terms, that pleasure and its devotees are effeminate. In chapter 5, “The Material Epicurean,” I examine the physical appearance of Epicureans as it was represented by the Epicureans themselves and by hostile observers. The chapter begins with a discussion of the Epicureans' portrait statues of Epicurus and his immediate associates, before examining the imagined and metaphorical representations as formulated by their critics. Ancient Epicurean sculptures and the authors Aelian, Cicero, Plutarch, and Seneca are my most important sources in this chapter. Here, too, the alleged womanishness of male Epicureans plays an essential role. But also striking is the later depiction of the horrific illnesses of first-generation Epicureans. The single post-Hellenistic historical person to appear in this chapter is Piso, an Epicurean who—by not looking the part of any Epicurean ogre—presented Cicero with an especially difficult challenge. This book's conclusion ends with an antidote to the most virulent critiques of the Garden, a second-century CE stereotype of an Epicurean as we meet him in Lucian's Alexander the False Prophet. Though hardly the ideal Epicurean, this character (whom Lucian presents as himself) is a stalwart opponent of fraud who has chosen a worthy target. No devotee of the pleasures of flesh, this Epicurean summons the wisdom of Epicurus to expose what Lucian presents as the most outrageous hoax of his era. 1. 2. Itaque non dicam quod plerique nostrorum, sectam Epicuri flagitiorum magistram esse, sed illud dico: male audit, infamis est. ‘At inmerito.’ Hoc scire qui potest nisi interius admissus? frons eius ipsa dat locum fabulae et ad malam spem inritat. Hoc tale est quale uir fortis stolam indutus: constat tibi pudicitia, uirilitas salua est, nulli corpus tuum turpi patientiae uacat, sed in manu tympanum est. 3. Over two centuries after his death, Epicurus speaks in Latin: Reperiam multos vel innumerabiles potius non tam curiosos nec tam molestos quam vos estis, quibus quidquid velim facile persuadeam (Cicero, Fin. 2.28). 4. Long 2006: 199. 5. Epicurus had begun to teach five years prior to the purchase of the garden, first in Mytilene, and then in Lampsacus (Diog. Laert. 10.15). 6. Translation of telos into English can be vexed: “'Goal' is not a particularly happy translation, since it fails

to connote completeness and culmination, which are important aspects of the concept. But it does have the advantage of emphasizing the fact that the telos is the unified object of all human striving” (Inwood and Donini 1999: 684). 7. In the extant texts of Epicurus, we often find happiness () and joy () as constituent elements of the Epicurean life (e.g., Ep. Men. 122, 127, Vat. Sent. 81). In the proem to the second book of De rerum natura, Lucretius describes the Epicurean life as delightful (suavis) and sweet (dulcis). 8. Here I quote the tetrapharmakos as quoted by Philodemus (PHerc. 1005, col. 5 = Epicurus, fr. 196 Arrighetti). The tetrapharmakos has a solid base in the texts of Epicurus, but the four-part condensation may have originated in the first century BCE. For further discussion, see Tsouna 2007: 19–20, 24. 9. Examples include Diog. Laert. 10.138; Lucretius, DRN 1.935; and Diogenes of Oenanda, fr.3.IV–VI. On the latter, see Warren 2000. 10. Konstan 2009. See also Konstan 2002 and Algra et al. 1999. 11. 12. Sent. Vat. 41. 13. Sent. Vat. 27. 14. his ibi me rebus quaedam divina voluptas / percipit atque horror, quod sic natura tua vi / tam manifesta patens ex omni parte retecta est (DRN 3.27–29). 15. Translation by A. A. Long (2006: 191). 16. According to Principal Doctrines 8, “No pleasure is in itself evil, but the things which produce certain pleasures entail annoyances many times greater than the pleasures themselves.” One of Philodemus' fragmentary essays affirms the emphasis on the necessity of rational selection and has been given the title On Choices and Avoidances by modern editors (see Tsouna 1995). 17. Translation of the text of fr. 2, col. III Smith. 18. On Roman wariness about the pleasures of bathing, see Dunbabin 1989. Although the word “theaters” is not an entirely certain reading, the words for “baths” and “unguents” are clear in the unrestored text. A second-century inscription (roughly contemporary with Diogenes) recording five documents related to the establishment of an elaborate theatrical festival confirms the impression of great wealth suggested by the archaeological remains of bath complexes, theaters, and open civic spaces at Oenoanda (see Wörrle 1988). If Diogenes' inscription can be dated to the reign of Hadrian (as seems likely), he was probably writing after one bathhouse had been constructed in Oenoanda but before the dedication of a more elaborate one. For the baths in Oenoanda, see Ling and Hall 1981 and Coulton 1986. 19. Fr. 29 20. See New Fragment 136 in Smith 2004 and New Fragment 146 in Hammerstaedt and Smith 2008. 21. In New Fragment 146, Diogenes qualifies his rejection of luxurious clothing and bedding by recommending Epicurean comforts: the bed should not be so hard as to fight back when one lies on it, and clothing should not be uncomfortable rough. Similarly, he apparently suggests that one's diet need not be limited to barley-bread. 22. For an influential early articulation of this approach, see Norman Fairclough's Language and Power (1989 and 2001). Foucault's The Archaeology of Knowledge (1972) and Knowledge/Power (1980) are foundational texts, but discourse analysis also draws on the work of Louis Althusser, Jürgen Habermas, and, particularly, Pierre Bourdieu. 23. Fairclough 1989: 4. 24. Ibid. In chapter 4, I examine Cicero's harnessing of anti-Epicurean discourse in his attempt to discredit Piso, his political opponent and personal enemy. Cicero's Epicurean friends, such as Cassius and Atticus, seem to have responded with Epicurean equanimity and good humor. 25. Greenblatt 1980: 2. 26. Cicero, In Pisonem; Seneca, De vita beata 12.1–4. 27. Fairclough (2003: 218) identifies the analysis of interdiscursivity as “analysis of the particular mix of genres, of discourses and of styles upon which it draws, and of how different genres, discourses or styles are articulated.” 28. Helpful here is Fairclough's observation that the representation or reporting of speech is a significant aspect of intertextuality.

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CHAPTER 1 The First Lampoons of Epicurus Another clever story about [the philosopher Arcesilaus] goes like this: When someone asked him why it is that students from the other philosophical schools can convert to the Epicurean school but nobody ever crosses over from the Epicureans, he said, “Because men can become eunuchs, but eunuchs never become men.” (Diog. Laert. 4.43)1 Epicurus' close associate and disciple Metrodorus had a brother named Timocrates, who claimed that he “loved his brother as nobody else could and hated him as nobody else could.”2 The reference to this remark has survived in On Frank Speech, a work by the first-century CE poet and Epicurean scholar Philodemus, who advocated that Epicurean teachers evaluate their students with as much forthrightness as circumstances would allow. The context suggests that Timocrates, while willing to acknowledge that his teachers had more knowledge of their specialty than he did, was adamant that he was the better, wiser person. This recalcitrance required a particular approach (which the fragmentary text does not detail). Timocrates apparently did not appreciate the candor. He appears also in Philodemus' On Anger as an example of a person whose anger prevents him from thinking rationally. And there is more: according to Diogenes Laertius' Lives and Opinions of the Eminent Philosophers (written half a millennium after the death of Metrodorus), this Timocrates—having become disenchanted with Epicurus—wrote an exposé that revealed the unseemly realities of the Epicurean life. It is difficult to reconstruct the first generations of anti-Epicurean Page 15 →discourse, but we have just enough information to allow me to start here with the very beginnings of outsider views of Epicureanism as they took shape during or soon after the life of Epicurus. Most of the relevant texts for this early history are preserved as incomplete quotations and references by two very different Greek authors from the era of the Roman Empire who look back at the Garden over a gap of several hundred years: Athenaeus and Diogenes Laertius. Athenaeus, from late second-century CE Egypt, wrote the (The Learned Banqueters), a work that cites approximately 1,250 authors, names over 1,000 plays, and quotes over 10,000 lines of verse, all within the literary framework of a days-long dinner table conversation. We owe to him the preservation of quotations from otherwise lost comic dramas that feature Epicurean characters. Diogenes Laertius' Lives and Opinions of the Eminent Philosophers (perhaps of the third century CE) is a tenbook compendium of the biographies and doctrines of the Greek philosophers that culminates in an Epicureanfriendly Life of Epicurus. Diogenes himself is so well disposed toward the Garden that he offers Epicurus' Principal Doctrines not only as the conclusion to the biography but as the pinnacle of and culmination to his entire ten-book work on all of Greek philosophy, thereby “ending with the beginning of happiness” 10.138). Much of Diogenes' survey of Epicureanism takes the form of a eulogistic defense of the philosopher, which leads him to mention many authors who disparage Epicurus. In his estimation, these enemies of Epicurus are all “out of their minds” (10.9).3 To return to Timocrates, it is Diogenes Laertius who tells us about the exposé. Styling himself as a defector, Timocrates claims that he had escaped only with difficulty from what he called “those nighttime philosophies” and “that mystery cult” 10.6–7). The exposé, which was sardonically titled Delightful People, or The Delights,4 divulged specific details about Epicurus' overindulgence, his ignorance, his sickliness, his expenditures on food, and his repetitive Page 16 →and querulous prose style. It also named five hetaerae who were sex partners to both Epicurus and Metrodorus, and it listed the terms of abuse Epicurus used when referring to other philosophers. A character in Alciphron's Letters of Courtesans (which may have predated Diogenes Laertius) claims that Timocrates also got the word out by ridiculing Epicurus “in the Ecclesia, in the theater, and among the other sophists” (17.10). Timocrates also surfaces in Plutarch's first-century or early second-century CE anti-Epicurean pieces On the Fact That Epicurus Actually Makes a Pleasant Life Impossible and the Reply to Colotes. Both texts

record that Metrodorus wrote to his brother, “There is no need to save the Greeks, or to earn a crown of wisdom from them; what we need, Timocrates, is to eat and drink wine, a pleasure and no harm to the belly” (Non posse 1098c; cf. Adv. Col. 1125d, where the lines are quoted with minor variations). Plutarch also provides the quote “Around the belly, Timocrates my man of natural science, lies the good” (Non posse 1098d), words that are quoted again a few generations later by Athenaeus.5 Because the lines are preserved out of context, it is impossible to tell if we are meant to take them as a rebuttal to Timocrates' exposé or if the lines are meant to represent the outlook that drove Timocrates to make his revelations in the first place. Also unclear is the source of the quotations. Could they have been transmitted, already quoted out of context, within the text written by Timocrates? In Diogenes Laertius' account, Timocrates' Delightful People presents what will become the staples of jokes and serious censure alike. In a recent commentary, Geert Roskam has described the situation thus: “[T]here was perhaps nobody who caused as much trouble to Epicurus as Timocrates.”6 But was the exposé itself an authentic document contemporary with Epicurus? If it was a bona fide document, was its tone one of sincere outrage, was it a lampoon, or was it a combination of the two? Diogenes preserves our only reference to the exposé or to any text by Timocrates. Diogenes' methods of citing and manipulating the dozens of sources he mentions are not always transparent, but he sometimes reveals that his knowledge of some of his sources is only secondhand (at the closest). He clearly has a negative opinion of Timocrates, whom he calls “shiftless” 10.23), but he offers no assurances that he himself has seen the full text or that the text is genuine. If Delightful People was indeed an Page 17 →actual text from the late fourth or early third century BCE, the secondhand report would give us a clear idea of the Garden's reputation during its first years. Particularly interesting are not only the mention of food, revelry, sex, and illness but the characterization of Epicureanism as a mystery cult. The latter may be a reference to the Epicurean detachment from the outside world or to the way followers revered Epicurus.7 But the presentation of a testimonial in the voice of an escapee sounds like a suspiciously obvious basis for a fictional account. In fact, another of the opponents of the Garden who are characterized by Diogenes as “out of their minds” is a Stoic who wrote fifty “dirty” letters and attributed them to Epicurus (10.3). There, too, it is hard to know if the letters were slanderous fakes written to fool their readers or were written as hilarious send-ups. Diogenes Laertius' allusions are too brief for us to distinguish comedy from scathing, serious critique. Because Timocrates' exposé may be an invention written at some point during the centuries that separated Epicurus from our earliest references to it, other texts offer more secure starting points for a history of Epicurus jokes and antiEpicurean discourse. Openly comedic or satirizing sources that survive as quotations embedded in much later literary works provide a more certain indication of Epicurus' earliest reputation. The authenticity and rough date of these fragments are securely verifiable when the quoting source names the author and offers a verbatim quotation that is guaranteed (in general) by its metrical accuracy. To start with an author who was certainly a younger contemporary of Epicurus, the Silloi by Timon of Phlius treated Epicurus in at least a few lines. Timon was a Pyrrhonist whose pseudo-Homeric hexameters cast aspersions on philosophers other than Pyrrho (the founder of Greek Skepticism [c. 365–275 BCE]). Around twenty years his junior, Timon was fifty when Epicurus died, and it is possible that Epicurus was still living when Timon satirized him.8 Although the Silloi, or Lampoons, spoofed the philosophers, the work has also been characterized as “a doxographical pastiche rather than a travesty of philosophers' lives” and as a series of attacks on “unjustified claims to truth or Page 18 →learned pretentiousness.”9 In any case, the two surviving fragments that deal with Epicurus are disappointingly banal. A one-line fragment quoted by Athenaeus (7.279f = Supplementum Hellenisticum 781) deals with food: [Pleasing the belly, than which nothing is more greedy.] More illustrative of Timon's use of hexameter are two lines quoted by Diogenes Laertius (10.3): 10

[Last and most shameless of the natural philosophers, from Samos, son of a school master, most ignorant of living things.] Diogenes Laertius, whose Lives and Opinions of the Eminent Philosophers cites or quotes Timon approximately forty times, seems to quote Timon here despite his Epicurean sympathies—as though the lines were too clever to exclude. Of course, Diogenes uses them not to highlight Epicurus' “shamelessness” but to support another report that Epicurus' father was a schoolteacher. Without the context of the surrounding lines, it is difficult to tell how much the word that can be translated as “most shameless” literally “most doglike”) is meant to stress Epicurus' supposed animal-like qualities or whether there is a play on another philosophical group (perhaps treated in the preceding hexameters), the Cynics . An alternative would be to assume a textual error and to read “most piglike” rather than “most doglike,” which would be a transparent reference to the often-made link between Epicureans and pigs.11 Timon also mocks Dionysius of Herakleia (c. 328–248 BCE), an originally Stoic philosopher who was called “Renegade” because he switched his allegiance to the Garden in his old age: Page 19 → 12

[When he should have been heading down, he starts living it up. There is a time to love, a time to marry, and a time to quit.] In Greek sources, interest in sex when one's age is advanced is particularly laughable. Ignorance and overindulgence in food and sex (at any age) are “Epicurean” defects that will recur in later critiques. This fragment also implies that the trading of a Stoic outlook for supposedly Epicurean practice represents a decline in judgment. Unfortunately, Athenaeus, who is our source for these two lines, does not make clear whether he is paraphrasing Timon or offering his own commentary when he refers flippantly to the abandoning of Stoicism as Dionysius' “hopping over” to the Garden and writes that Dionysius was delighted to be called “Renegade.” It is difficult to sift out Timon's contribution from Athenaeus' much later editorializing in the following phrase: (“[Dionysius…] who took off his chiton of virtue in exchange for a flowery one,” Ath. 7.281d). If Timon presented Epicurean garb as effeminate, it would mean that the feminizing of the Epicurean male that is so patent in later sources had already started during or soon after the life of Epicurus. But it may be impossible to detangle the quotation of Timon from Athenaeus' own remarks. Another, more likely candidate for early commentary on the gender of the Epicureans appears in the epigraph to this chapter. I shall return to it at the chapter's conclusion. Send-ups of Epicureanism also appeared in New Comedy (late fourth to second centuries BCE), some of which may have been staged during the life of Epicurus or very soon thereafter. In the fragments of On Piety, the firstcentury BCE poet and Epicurean scholar Philodemus asserts energetically that Epicurus was the only philosopher who was secure against the attacks of comic poets: “In fact, while some philosophers were prosecuted for their way of life and for their teachings, and some were exiled from city, some even from league, and put to death, and all became the butt of writers of comedy, only Epicurus magnificently Page 20 →secured protection for himself together with those who dwelt with him according to the genuine precepts of the school, without falling prey to the virtue-hating and all-harassing mouth of comedy.”13 The columns of papyrus fragments that follow focus on the charge against Socrates of impiety, so Philodemus may have seen Socrates' death as the result of the caricature of Socrates in Aristophanes' Clouds, for example. A generous interpretation takes Philodemus to count Epicureans among “all the philosophers,” who were the butts of comic poets. In this reading, Philodemus means to assert that the jokes about Epicurus never harmed any Epicureans. Or perhaps he means simply that the jokes postdated the life of Epicurus (which is possible). Surely he knew that lampoons of Epicureans appeared frequently in New Comedy. Because Greek comedy “had singled out food and eating as its own special preserve,” satires focusing on the Epicureans' alleged devotion to bodily pleasures were an obvious topic.14 Along with the jokes about food sometimes came references to sex and drink. More surprisingly, Epicurean language also became a humorous subject.

That the Garden of Epicurus provided perfect material for the comic poets is articulated explicitly in Athenaeus' The Learned Banqueters. In a short passage that refers to the corrupting influence of the Epicurean attitude on pleasure, a quotation of Epicurus that had gained some notoriety is followed directly by a reference to New Comedy: (7.278f) [In fact, Epicurus—not in secret but at high volume—says, “For I indeed am not able to conceive the good, if I exclude the pleasure that comes from tastes or Page 21 →erotic experiences.” So the wise Epicurus considers the dissolute lifestyle to be blameless as long as its practitioners have serenity and no fear. For this reason, wherever the comic poets are lambasting pleasure and want of self-control, they call in the Epicureans.] A more literal translation would obscure the reference to the Garden here, but the meaning is clear in the Greek. In the last line, the comic poets shout simply for “helpers and assistants,” but the word translated “helpers,” (epicourous), is a pun on the name Epicureans. This comment suggests that Epicurus and his students were regular features in New Comedy, but unfortunately the dinner party conversation that immediately follows records only four relevant fragments. All four quotations, however, are more detailed than any other early references to Epicurus, and most are long enough for us to form an impression of their spirit, which is playful, rather than venomous. One of Athenaeus' quotations that names Epicurus comes from Bato's The Accomplice or Partner in Deception. In this play from the middle of the third century (perhaps as few as twenty-five or thirty years after the death of Epicurus), a father rebukes his son's pedagogue, “You have taken my boy and ruined him!” Under the pedagogue's influence, the boy is even drinking in the morning. The following interchange ensues: 15

(The Learned Banqueters 7.279a-b) [[PEDAGOGUE]: Are you accusing me, Master, of having taught him to live? [FATHER]: This is living? [PEDAGOGUE]: So say the wise. As a matter of fact, Epicurus says that the good is pleasure. That can't be gotten from anywhere else, except from living really well.] Page 22 → Then, in The Murderer Bato adds sex to the “Epicurean” vice of drinking by day. After an unidentified character ridicules an unnamed “decent” philosopher (in some lines that Athenaeus does not record), he continues, (Ath. 7.279 c-d) [When he can lie down with a beautiful woman and take twin jugs of Lesbian wine—This is a wise man. This is the good. Epicurus used to say the things I am saying now. If everybody lived the life that I live, not a single man would be wicked or an adulterer.] Unfortunately, without further clues about the specific context, it is hard to tell whether the character is claiming that wicked people would not exist in an Epicurean world or whether the character means to assert that no one would be called wicked. Perhaps the sense is that a man who can drink with a woman out in the open has no need for wicked love affairs that require stealth and deception.16 Is this hedonist the murderer of the title? Could the Epicurean be the victim? The comic Epicureans seem generally to have been hilariously decadent, rather than sinister, but certainty is impossible.

As his next example of a dramatist who hauls out the Epicureans when satirizing pleasure seekers, Athenaeus cites Hegesippos' comedy The Buddies or The Men Who Were Fond of Their Comrades.17 Once again, neither speaker nor context is specified. Page 23 → (Ath. 7.279d) [[A]: When someone asked him to say what the good they are forever seeking is, the wise Epicurus said that it is pleasure. [B]: Well said, O best and wisest. Indeed, there is no single good better than chewing, for the good resides in pleasure.] Little is known about the dramatist Hegesippos, his corpus, or his date. Part of a speech by a vainglorious chef is the only other fragment that survives. As we shall see, more information exists for Bato, whose surviving corpus consists of six fragments (all preserved by Athenaeus). An essential stock character of the New Comedy was the mageiros, a braggart chef whose comic role centers on his propensity to flaunt his knowledge of cookery in contexts where he is out of place. The many fragments in which mageiroi appear reveal a recurrent joke involving a chef who “mistakenly believes he can leave the kitchen, and who, furthermore, speaks of the kitchen in detail which is often irksome to his listeners, at least the listeners on the stage.”18 Pretentious expositions of the theoretical basis of the culinary arts are his forte. In book 7, Athenaeus asserts that “the entire tribe of cooks is full of itself” 29oa-b), a declaration he follows with a string of long quotations of cooks' speeches (from seven different plays). One formula in these scenes is the chef's claim that other professed cooks cannot match his skills and in fact are unworthy of the title of true mageiros. In an unnamed play by Philemon the younger, the chef declares, Page 24 → (Ath. 7.291e-f) [Some guy is not a mageiros just because he shows up at your place with a soup ladle and a butcher's knife, or throws fish into the frying pans. There is a certain wisdom [phronesis] involved in this business!] Dozens of surviving examples of mageiros scenes attest to their frequency in comedy. Without claiming to present an exhaustive catalog, Hans Dohm, in his monograph Mageiros, counted fifteen fragments from the earliest phase of cooks' monologues, eleven that record a dialogue between two cooks, and thirty-five fragments of dialogues between a cook and a master or slave.19 One of the most memorable surviving speeches by a comic chef happens to lampoon the Garden, in an unexpectedly sophisticated way.20 Richer than a predictable joke on Epicurean bodily pleasures, the fragmentary parody preserves a significant moment in the early history of travesties of Epicurus. We know the scene only from The Learned Banqueters, where Ulpian (the fictional symposiarch) quotes sixty-eight lines from a play by the dramatist Damoxenus called The Foster Brothers In this particular play, the chef's ostentatious display trespasses into the realm of natural philosophy, “one of the more recherché areas of knowledge to be attempted by a comic mageiros.”21Not surprisingly, this gives Damoxenus the opportunity to bring in Epicurus. Claiming that his knowledge of nature allows him to identify “causes and effects” while other people do the actual cooking (102f), this chef claims Epicurus as his teacher and asserts that any decent cook needs to have read both Epicurus and Democritus, his predecessor in atomic science—and sure enough, this chef knows an Epicurean text or two. Remarkable here is that the joke on Epicurus goes beyond the obvious equation that links Epicureans with food,

wine, or sex. Instead, the comic poet delivers a very specific parody of Epicurean vocabulary. Page 25 → (Ath. 3.102a-b = Damoxenus, frag. 2.1–16 Kock) [“You see that I am a student of the wise Epicurus, in whose school in two years and barely ten months I ‘condensed’ four talents.” “What does that mean? Tell me” “I made ‘sacred offerings’ of them. He too was a chef, O Earth and gods”'22 “What sort of chef?” “Nature is the ‘Primal Source’ of every Art.” “'Primal Source,' you scoundrel?” “'There is nothing wiser than toil,' and work is easy for anyone who exercises that saying, because he gets a lot of assistance. So whenever you meet a chef who has not read all of Democritus, and the Canon of Epicurus, smear him with dung and kick him out, like he flunked out of a philosophy school.”] The peculiar phrase about nature as a “Primal Source,” or fundamental seed line 8), sounds suspiciously technical, and the echo thrown back by the chef's interlocutor has the ring of “What the hell is a ‘Primal Source’?” Page 26 →Unless this is a case of a more generalized parody of the jargon of natural philosophy, an allusion to or a quotation of a line from a nonextant text of Epicurus or Democritus must be in play here. Although the word was apparently not common in Greek before the time of Philo and Galen (who use it frequently), it does occur in a fragment of Epicurus' scientific predecessor Democritus, who uses the plural.23 The philosophical argument would correspond to the Epicurean core belief that nature is not the product of intelligent design but is itself the creator. Although the term is not to be found in the Greek Epicurean sources, a probable replication of a term now missing from Epicurus' lexicon may be found in Lucretius, who refers to nature as the “mother of things” (rerum natura creatrix, 1.629, 2.1117, 5.1362). For Lucretius, the lessons that nature—as creatrix—teaches to humankind are essential to the earliest development of culture: lightning gave fire to earth, and the sun gave people the notion of cooking (5.1091–1104); natural and human-caused conflagrations revealed metals and how to manipulate them (5.1241–80); and the dropping of nuts and berries from trees taught people the art of sowing crops (5.1361–78). In comic parody, the Epicurean gift from nature is the art of fine cuisine. A more transparent spoof of Epicurean language lies in the chef's claim that he “consolidated” or “condensed” a huge sum of money: “in two years and barely ten months I ‘condensed’ four talents.” The chef's interlocutor cannot make out this strange terminology and demands a definition of “I condensed.” In response, the chef substitutes a verb with the same prefix as though it could be a synonym: “I made ‘sacred offerings’ of them.”24 Part of the joke may be lost, but the interchange draws attention to the use of the word for “condensation.” By way of explanation of what it means to have “condensed” one's money, the chef simply inserts another word that seems out of place. Here, at least one of the intertexts is not far to find. In the ancient collection of Epicurean maxims known as the Principal Doctrines, saying 9 teaches the following: Page 27 → [If every pleasure were condensed into one pleasure that lasted and was present throughout body and soul, or in the most essential parts of our nature, the pleasures would not differ from each other.]25

This saying comes to us out of context and may have been culled from a letter or longer work of Epicurus. Perhaps the context was a critique of the Cyreniac school (founded by Socrates' associate Aristippus). The Cyreniacs were hedonists who claimed that all pleasures are the same.26 For an Epicurean, pleasures take many shapes and should not be treated as a single entity. In contrast to the Cyreniac stance was the Epicurean focus on good judgment: the wise choose uncomplicated pleasures, avoiding pleasures that one may regret later. As Epicurus warns Menoeceus, the latter sorts of pleasures are the pleasures of profligates—such as reveling and lust—which are accompanied by turmoil that outweighs the pleasures (Ep. Men. 131–32). The saying that immediately precedes the ninth in the Principal Doctrines reads, “No pleasure is a bad thing in itself, but the things that are productive of some pleasures bring with them troubles many times greater than the pleasures.” That the verb was a peculiarly Epicurean term whose meaning would be opaque to outsiders is further established by the chef's second use of it, several verses later in the same fragment: “This is how Epicurus ‘condensed pleasure’: he chewed attentively. He was the only one who knew what the good is” Ath. 3.103b = Damoxenus, fr. 2.62–64 Kock). Again, the comic reference to an allegedly Epicurean interest in food is predictable, but the reference to the Epicurean lexicon takes us to a higher level of parody. Centuries later, a send-up of the phrase “consolidation of pleasure” appears also in Page 28 →Alciphron's Letters of Parasites (second or third century CE). In a description of a banquet attended by various philosophers (all of whom misbehave), the amorous Epicurean embraces the harp girl and declares, “This is ‘the lack of disturbance of the flesh’; this is ‘the condensation of the pleasured’” Alciphron 3.19.8).27 The work of the comic poet Menander, who was a close contemporary of Epicurus, was of particular interest to Alciphron, so it would not be unreasonable to hypothesize that Alciphron's Epicurean is recycling a script of a play by Menander that also mimicked Epicurus.28 This would date the joke to Epicurus' lifetime, but tracing Alciphron's joke back to Menander (or to Damoxenus, for that matter) cannot be more than speculation. It is possible that both Damoxenus and Menander spoofed Epicurean “condensation of pleasure” and that audience members who enjoyed hearing philosophical terms bandied about by slaves and chefs were equally pleased to watch the parodies develop from play to play. Probable echoes of other items from the philosopher's lexicon appear elsewhere in the fragment from Damoxenus' Foster Brothers, as when the mageiros mentions “changes and movements” 29 While neither word is unusual, the word translated “movement” is more at home in philosophical and medical contexts than in the kitchen. Epicurus routinely uses it, for example, to describe the movements of celestial bodies (Ep. Hdt. 77; Ep. Pyth. 92), clouds (Ep. Pyth. 101), wind (Ep. Pyth. 105), and earthquakes (Ep. Pyth. 105).30 Speaking as though both natural phenomena and music were his topic, the chef also describes his arrangement of meals with a pretentious and nonsensical jumble of terms. Page 29 → (Ath. 3.103a) [Some of these have a four-part makeup, others five; still others associate in all ways. I bring them together as suits their particular intervals, and forthwith I weave them in appropriately with what follows.] The word translated “interval” does not have a specifically Epicurean ring to it, and the scholarly consensus seems to be that the term belongs to music theory.31 It appears frequently, however, in Epicurus in reference to various stages: the space between the worlds Ep. Pyth. 89) or the distance across which one views a rainbow (Ep. Pyth. 110). To return to the chef's elucidation of “I condensed” in line 4 of the fragment of Damoxenus' Foster Brothers, it seems that the chef glosses one eccentrically Epicurean term with another that was equally recognizable. At first sight, his explanation that he “sacrificed” or “made ‘sacred offerings’ of” the talents might look like a joke about the Epicureans' alleged atheism (which will become a recurrent theme among the enemies of Epicurus, although many Epicurean texts affirm their existence). An outsider might laugh at the very idea of any Epicurean making an offering, but the travesty likely goes much deeper. The original spectators of this play would likely understand

the offerings to be food offerings and the recipients to be not the gods but the “heroes” of the Garden.32 The explanation “I made ‘sacred offerings’ of them” is most likely a joke on Epicurean traditions as we see them in the will of Epicurus as recorded by Diogenes Laertius (10.18). The will (fictional or not) instructs the heirs to continue making the offerings that Epicurus made in honor of his parents and brothers. It also specifies the many dates that future Page 30 →Epicureans are to observe: Epicurus' birthday on the tenth of the month Game-lion, the day in Poseidon that commemorates Epicurus' brothers, the day in Metageitnion that commemorates Polyaenus, and, most notably, the twentieth day of every month (when all those who studied together would meet in commemoration of Epicurus and Metrodorus). In later eras, the twentieth-day celebrations were so well known that “twentiether” became an Epicurean epithet (as in Ath. 7.298d and Philodemus, Epigram 27).33 With The Foster Brothers, we have progressed from simple food jokes to a send-up of idiosyncratic Epicurean language and a parodic allusion to the long catalog of days in the Epicurean calendar that required communal dinners and offerings to the dead.34 In an appealing commentary on this passage, Dohm takes this interpretation further and teases out of the cook's explanation a more precise travesty of life in the Garden. He proposes that the cook's announcement that he had made offerings to the tune of four talents implies that he bankrolled the banquets, and he proposes that the whole passage quoted earlier presents the Garden as a culinary institute rather than a philosophical school.35 According to his reading, the cook also implies that it was easy for Epicurus to become a chef: practice makes perfect, and expensive dinners occurred regularly in the Garden.36 Thus the joke on Epicurean language is also a joke about the Epicurean lifestyle, but the lampoon of the lifestyle presents more than the clichéd “wine, women, and song.” Page 31 → The cook's speech in The Foster Brothers demonstrates that Damoxenus had a knowledge of Epicurus that went beyond the most superficial stereotype. Is it possible that both playwright and audience had an ear for Epicurean language? Or would the parody have been funny even to spectators who did not know that it included actual Epicurean language? Certainty is impossible, but the fragment suggests that Epicurean language enjoyed some currency. When that language became well known or gained notoriety is another question. A firm date for Damoxenus' play would add precision to a history of spoofs of Epicurus. Instead, the reference to Epicurus (who is mentioned three times in the past tense, in lines 6, 62, and 63) must be used as a means for guessing a rough date for the play. In any case, Damoxenus' career certainly overlapped with the life of Epicurus.37 Having recognized the use of Epicurean language by Damoxenus' mageiros, we can revisit the fragments of Bato and Hegesippos and discern an awareness of the way Epicureans wrote or spoke there as well. In Bato's The Accomplice, the pedagogue has asserted that he has taught the boy “to live,” and the father rejoins, “This is living? ” The pedagogue responds that pleasure is not to be found anywhere else “except from living well” . This sounds like a play on Epicurus' dictum that one cannot live pleasantly “without living wisely, honorably, and justly” Ep. Men. 132 and Principal Doctrines 5). The context in the corpus of Epicurus makes it clear that the adverb whose most general meaning is “well,” more specifically here means “honorably”; but the pedagogue uses (“really well”) to refer to a life that includes drinking when the sun comes up. In Hegesippos' The Buddies, someone makes the “Epicurean” assertion that “there is no single good better than chewing” Damoxenus uses the same word in The Foster Brothers: (“This is how Epicurus ‘condensed pleasure’: he chewed attentively”). Why “chewing”? It is striking that both playwrights use the same word.38 It may be that an Athenian audience would have taken the words simply as colorless Page 32 →(but inelegant) terms for eating, but a meaningful echo seems more likely. I take the reference to “chewing” as another signpost for a lost intertext: the language stands out from its surroundings and signals that something specific (but lost to us) is being quoted, paraphrased, or recycled.39 The original may have been a text of Epicurus, or perhaps it was a memorable parody. It is also possible that we have failed to recognize an obvious pun on another Epicurean term. These playwrights had more than a cursory knowledge of Epicurus, and it would be interesting to know whether it was common for many contemporary Athenians to be so aware of Epicurean language. Bato may have been exceptionally well informed because of his own philosophical training. We can surmise this from an anecdote

recorded by Plutarch that may also establish a date for Bato. According to Plutarch, Bato (if the commonly accepted text is correct) was turned away from the Academy by Arcesilaus (316/5–242/1 BCE, head of the Academy from c. 268).40 Bato's offense was his ridicule of Cleanthes (who died in 231). Arcesilaus was twentyfive years younger than Epicurus and became head of the Academy only after the death of Epicurus. Thus Bato's plays may date to the generation after Epicurus, perhaps a few decades after Damoxenos' Foster Brothers. The means by which these comic fragments have survived provides a critical indication of Epicurus' standing among outsiders. All of them appear in Athenaeus' The Learned Banqueters, and most of them appear in one particular section. This is the point where Athenaeus has ceased to present the speeches of the dinner guests as quotations in a fictional linear time and resorts instead to an alphabetized catalog of edible fishes. Such was the fate of the philosopher who reminded Menoeceus that the eating of fish was not an Epicurean pleasure (Ep. Men. 131–32). The send-ups of Epicurus embedded in Athenaeus' encyclopedia of types of fish are mostly quoted from the comic poets, but one is the author's own depiction of the behavior of an Epicurean guest at the dinner. This dinner guest pounces on an eel so soon after its entrance from the kitchen that no one else gets a taste. Here Athenaeus adds that this same Epicurean lit himself on fire by gulping down a flat-cake that was too hot (7.298de). This is not to say, however, that Athenaeus would exclude Epicurus from the ranks of the legitimate philosophers of Greek antiquity. It is almost exclusively the Epicureans Page 33 →who are treated as gluttons, but philosophers fare poorly in general. Holford-Strevens has described Athenaeus' diners thus: “the praises they utter of frugality, and their attacks on luxury, serve as a distraction from their attention to the details of luxury they discuss at length; and any awareness they feel of their own bad faith is deflected by attacks on the philosophers for their hypocrisy in eating at all.”41 One other text quoted by Athenaeus could potentially offer further, earlier evidence of a sophisticated understanding of Epicureanism among contemporary comic poets. This is the fragment presented as a possible excerpt of a play by Alexis, a poet of the Middle and New Comedy and a younger contemporary of Epicurus. Alexis lived from around 375 until 275 BCE and thus would have died at the age of fifty when Epicurus was around seventy-five. A character at the dinner named Democritus prefaces his quotation of the play attributed to Alexis with the acknowledgment that he cannot vouch for its authenticity, as he cannot find it in the authoritative sources. Instead, he says that he knows this isolated fragment of the play from a work by Sotion of Alexandria, a Peripatetic philosopher of the second century BCE. In the play, which Sotion identifies as The Instructor in Profligacy—a title that suggests that Epicureanism received frequent mention—a slave named Xanthias delivers the following lines:

Page 34 → (Ath. 8.336e-f = Alexis, fr. 25) [Why do you talk like this, mixing up the Lyceum, the Academy, and the gates of the Odeion, sophists' nonsense? None of this is any good. Let's drink! Let's really drink, Sicon, Sicon! Let's enjoy ourselves as long as we can stay happy! Have a wild time, Manes! Nothing produces more pleasure than the belly.

It's your only father, and your only mother too, whereas personal distinctions—I mean ambassadorships and generalships— are empty boasts that ring as hollow as dreams. Some god will bring about your death at the fated time. All you'll have is what you eat and drink; everything else—Pericles, Codrus, Cimon—it's dust!]42 Here the statement that “[n]othing produces more pleasure than the belly” (literally, “Nothing is sweeter than the belly”) is clearly meant to represent the Epicurean outlook. The slave's disparagement of the military and political accomplishments of Pericles, Codrus, and Cimon would suggest that Alexis is aware of an Epicurean outlook that was encapsulated in the adage “Live unknown,” a saying that Plutarch would later treat as evidence of Epicurean depravity. The slave's equation of aretai to “empty boasts” also echoes Epicurean language. (The word aretai, traditionally translated as “virtues,” is rendered in the preceding translation as “personal distinctions” because of the way the slave glosses it.) A reference to “empty virtues” or “empty personal distinctions” … appears in a fragment of a letter from Epicurus to someone named Anaxarchus (Plutarch, Adv. Col. 1117a). The problem is that internal evidence against the authenticity of the passage is as compelling as Democritus' doubts. For example, the reference to the building in Athens known as the Odeion as a place for philosophical discussion may be an anachronism. Diogenes Laertius (7.184) records that the Stoic Chrysippus held his school in the Odeion, but Diogenes places him there at the end of his life, in the last decade of the third century, which would have been three quarters of a century after the death of Alexis. Metrical and lexical Page 35 →usage are equally suspect, and it seems more likely that Sotion's attribution was incorrect.43 I have limited my discussion here to nonphilosophical sources because travesty and caricature, rather than doctrinal disagreement, are my focus.44 Yet the boundaries between philosophical discourse and satire are porous. The fact that Athenaeus' apparent source for Alexis' (or, more likely, pseudo-Alexis') Epicurean-leaning slave was the philosopher Sotion suggests the possibility that the passage originated not in comedy but in a text with a more serious philosophical purpose.45 We may surmise with more certainty that we owe some of the later stereotypes, parodies, and generally sardonic remarks about Epicurus to the Stoic philosopher Chrysippus (c. 280–207 BCE), who became head of the Stoa in 232. Chrysippus was ten years old when Epicurus died, so his responses to Epicurus would coincide with the Garden's second and third generation. By that time, the notion that Stoicism and Epicureanism were polar opposites may have been entrenched in both schools (though we only find it in fullfledged form in the works of Cicero and Seneca). A habit of ancient Greek biography was to develop stories about the deaths of philosophers that reflected their philosophies.46 (The story that Epicurus died in the bathtub may belong to this tradition.) The death of Chrysippus tells us something about the character of his writings: one of the anecdotes is that he died from laughing uncontrollably at his own joke (Diog. Laert. 7.185). Diogenes Laertius adds that Chrysippus “seems to have been an arrogant person” (7.187) and that his language was so coarse in one work in particular as not to be repeatable (7.187–88).47 The tone of Chrysippus' writings that led to the story about his terminal Page 36 →joke and the report of his arrogance supplies a context for his claim that the source of Epicurean philosophy was Archestratus' Life of Pleasure, an authoritative (but apparently parodic) geographical tour of Mediterranean cuisine that likely focused on fish. This fourth-century BCE work survives only in fragments, but the various titles given to it in antiquity—The Life of Pleasure, The Science of Dining, The Art of Cooking48—add to our sense of its general content. According to Athenaeus, Chrysippus referred to it maliciously as Archestratus' Gastronomía or Gastrología, thus implying that it had a pretentious tone that mimicked philosophical discourse (3.104b).49 Athenaeus' character Ulpian says that Chrysippus called the Gastrologia the “capital city” of Epicurus' philosophy (3.104b), and Ulpian himself identifies Archestratus as Epicurus' “teacher” or “predecessor” (3.101Í).

Archestratus' work takes the form of a didactic poem in hexameters that seems to have imitated Hesiod's Works and Days (cf. Ulpian at Ath. 3.101Í). Ulpian adds that the gluttonous among philosophers call this “lovely epic” their “Theognis” citing another traditional source of wisdom (3.104b). Thus Chrysippus' accusation is doubleedged: Epicurus' teacher was a cookbook writer, and that cookbook writer was a pseudophilosopher. If Archestratus focused on fish (as the ancient citations imply), the identification of his work as the inspiration for Epicureanism is particularly pointed. From Timon and Timocrates (if an exposé by Timocrates indeed belongs to this early era) to Chrysippus and the playwrights of the New Comedy, the early caricatures of Epicurus and his disciples focus most persistently on food, drink, and sex. Less predictably, a distinctively Epicurean lexicon has already emerged as an amusing target. Sardonic references to and parodies of Epicurean vocabulary will become common in later centuries, as one can see in Lucian and Plutarch in particular, where unusual turns of phrase are presented as snippets of quirky Epicurean or Epicurean-sounding language. Epicurean language will also receive scholarly attention from Aristophanes of Byzantium (probably 257–189 BCE). We know this from Diogenes Laertius, who, while he asserts—defensively—that Epicurus' prose was lucid, adds that “Aristophanes the grammarian” criticized Epicurus' idiolect.50 Thus, outsider commentary on the Garden Page 37 →begins by focusing on Epicurean modes of speaking and the allegedly Epicurean devotion to the pleasures of the flesh. Later generations of anti-Epicurean discourse will bring in Epicureanism's Homeric resonances, the specter of women philosophers, the physical appearance of Epicureans, and a persistent questioning of the manliness of the Epicurean philosopher. There is at least one moment, however, in the earliest history of the Garden when an outsider looking askance uses gendered terms to articulate his position. Once again, the Epicurean-friendly Diogenes Laertius found the line too clever to exclude. The story goes that Epicurus' contemporary philosopher Arcesilaus was asked why, while students from the other philosophical schools sometimes go over to the Garden, Epicureans never leave to join the other schools. Arcesilaus replies, “Because men can become eunuchs, but eunuchs never become men” (Diog. Laert. 4.43). Although Arcesilaus' joke has appeared as a punch line to modern discussions of the analytical shortcomings of Epicurean training, his language is not inconsequential.51 The overt point of the eunuch joke may have been the alleged intellectual inferiority of the Garden, but the gendered aspect of his remark is a harbinger of things to come. Critiques of Epicureanism freighted with sexual slur will become the norm. 1. 2. Philodemus, On Frank Speech, col. XXb. 3. For recent reevaluations of Diogenes Laertius, see Gigante 1992, Meier 1992 and 2007, and Warren 2007. Diogenes' verdict on the anti-Epicurean tradition is unequivocal, but Warren suggests that Diogenes' positioning of the Garden at the end of his work was not necessarily an indication of “any personal philosophical allegiance” (138). 4. The precise title is not certain, as it appears in the dative case in the text . The title, which parodies the Epicurean philosophical sense of euphrosyne, is usually understood as a neuter plural and translated The Delights. 5. (Plutarch 1098d; cf. Ath. 7.280a). 6. Roskam 2007b: 43. 7. For Roskam, Timocrates' criticism “aimed at the very heart of Epicurean life” (Roskam 2007b: 43). 8. On Timon's probable dates (325–235), see Clayman 2009: 15 and n. 32, with bibliography. It is possible that all of the philosophers Timon lampoons were presented as characters he meets in the Underworld (Clayman 2009: 3). 9. Long 1978: 81, 72. 10. Athenaeus (13.588b) quotes the second line also but changes cases from accusative to nominative. 11. See Di Marco 1983. 12. Ath. 7.281e and 13.601c-d. There is a pun on (“to set,” “to go down to Hades”) and (“to have pleasure”). Clayman (2009: 90–91) links all of Timon's surviving lines on Epicurus with specific words or lines uttered by Homer's Odysseus. 13. On Piety 53.1512–32, translation by Dirk Obbink (1996: 211).

14. Wilkins 2000a: 33. On the centrality of food in Old, Middle, and New Greek comedy, see Wilkins 2000a: 33–35 and 2000b. 15. According to Olson (2008: 287), the first syllables of the next line, which may also have referred to Epicurean pleasure, are corrupt. 16. The adjective “out of place” or “wicked,” appears frequently as a modifier of in Hellenistic and later Greek sources, where “unnatural pleasure” is the sense (e.g., Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea 1149a: In the late second or early third century CE, Aelian (Varia historia 9.12) claims that Epicureans were expelled for corrupting the youth with “out-of-place” pleasures: 17. The translation of the title as The Men Who Were Fond of Their Comrades is Olson's (2008: 189). 18. Wilkins 2000b: 369. 19. Dohm 1964: 88–92. 20. Dohm (1964: 161) presents Damoxenus fragment 2 as his example of the acme of the tradition of the mageiros character (“Höhepunkt der Kochrolle”). 21. Wilkins 2000b: 405. 22. The end of this line is corrupt. Gallo (1981: 87) assigns the next line to the cook as well and has the interlocutor interrupt only in line 8, with the echoing “'Primal Source,' you scoundrel?” 23. Democritus, fr. 5.50–51: 24. The traditional role of the mageiros as a butcher whose realm includes sacrificial animals may be part of the joke. 25. My translation is influenced by the more literal translation of Inwood and Gerson (1994: 33): “If every pleasure were condensed and were present both in time and in the whole compound [body and soul] or in the most important parts of our nature, then pleasures would never differ from one another.” Bailey (1926: 97) translates as “intensified.” 26. Bailey (1926: 353) attributes to Gassendi the observation that a response to the Cyreniacs may be the context. 27. Another Epicurean locution is parodied in “lack of disturbance.” Compare Sent. Vat. 79: “The serene man is devoid of disturbance to himself or to another” 28. Menander appears as a letter-writing character in Alciphron 4.18. A biographical tradition depicted Epicurus as a friend of Menander (Alciphron 2.4); and in an epigram attributed to Menander, Themistocles saved his country from slavery, and Epicurus saved it from folly (fr. 95 Körte and Thierfelder). For attempts to discover allusions to Epicureanism in Menander's surviving plays and fragments, see Dewitt 1954: 52–53. 29. Dohm (1964: 173–81) attributes this language to the cook's pretentious use of medical vocabulary. 30. Plutarch (Adv. Col. 1122b) quotes an Epicurean use of the word , and Aelius Theon (Progymnasmata 71) quotes a letter in which seems to be an Epicurean word for “sensations” or “emotions.” 31. Wilcox 2000b: 405; Dohm 1964: 181–87. 32. Pausanias 8.2.1 uses the same verb. There Zeus may be the recipient, but the offerings are food: Cecrops refused to sacrifice living things “but offered instead on the altar the cakes the Athenians still call pelanoi” When prefixed with the verb is most commonly used in reference to hero cult rather than to sacrifices to gods (e.g., Plutarch, Thes. 4.1 and Sol. 21.1). 33. Diogenes Laertius (10:14) also records a tradition that placed Epicurus' birthday on the seventh of Gamelion. On the confusion (ancient and modern) between the gathering on the twentieth of every month and the celebration of Epicurus' birthday on the tenth of Gamelion, see Clay 1986 and Sider 1997: 152–53 and 156. Cicero (Fin. 2.101) and Pliny (HN 35.5) differentiate between the two. 34. Using similar vocabulary the Suda (epsilon 2405, lines 11–16 Adler) also remarks on the Epicurean tradition of making offerings: (“Epicurus was so much weaker than pleasure that in his last moments he wrote in his will that offerings be made once a year to his father, his mother and his brothers, and to Metrodorus and Polyaenus [mentioned above], but twice a year to himself”). At PHerc. 1232, fr. 8, Philodemus seems to describe the sacred offerings for communal dinners with a verb with the same stem. See Clay 1998: 81. 35. Dohm 1964: 168. Gallo (1981: 87) translates the single word with the phrase “Li ho santificati in banchetti.” 36. Dohm 1964: 169: “Daher war es für Epikur leicht, Koch zu sein; denn (und hier verspüren wir noch

Hieb gegen den Philosophen) er hatte ja bei seinen unzähligen Festen Gelegenheit genug, sich in diesem Handwerk zu bilden.” 37. On attempts to date the other fragment of Damoxenus' work, see Dohm 1964: 161–62 and Gallo 1981: 79–82. Damoxenus was victorious at the City Dionysia (IG II2 2325.75), “probably in the mid-270's” (Olson 2007: 408). 38. René Brouwer (2002) suggests that Damoxenus' text should be changed to “kneaded,” but the parallel in Hegesippos suggests that the manuscript reading is correct. 39. On the ways that an intertext becomes palpable, see Riffaterre 1981: 5. 40. Quomodo adulator ab amico internoscatur 55c. 41. Stoneman 2000: 418. 42. Translation by Olson (2008). 43. For a thorough discussion of the arguments against its authenticity, see Arnott 1955 and 1996. 44. For a discussion of philosophical sources, see Roskam 2007a and Roskam 2007b: 43–84. 45. Arnott (1996: 821) speculates that the author of the fragment (which in Arnott's view was never part of a complete play) was a Cynic philosopher who “fabricated it as a bogus quotation designed to illustrate the enemy viewpoint in an anti-Epicurean pamphlet composed in the 3rd or 2nd century.” 46. On the multiple deaths of Empedocles, Heraclitus, and Democritus, see Chitwood 2004. 47. According to Diogenes Laertius, the philosopher Carneades (214/3–129/8 BCE, of the New Academy) called Chrysippus a “parasite” on Epicurus' books because Chrysippus competed against Epicurus' prolific writing. He adds, “If Epicurus wrote about something, Chrysippus tried to write just as much,” thus making his writing repetitive, unrevised, and with quotations that fill up whole books (10.17). Apollodorus of Athens had a similar opinion (Diog. Laert. 7.181). 48. (Deipnosophistae 1.4e). 49. On the various titles, see Olson 2000: xxi-xxiv. 50. (Diog. Laert. 10.13). It is possible that Diogenes presents Aristophanes' critique as neutral or even positive, but Bailey's translation (1926: 149) most likely captures the right tone: “He uses current diction to expound his theory, but Aristophanes the grammarian censures it as being too peculiar.” 51. Nussbaum 1986: 73–74 and 1994: 139.

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CHAPTER 2 Odysseus and the Telos “Brave boxers we are not,” nor orators, nor leaders of the people, nor magistrates, “but always dear to us is the banquet” and “every pleasing stirring through the flesh that is sent up to give some pleasure and delight to the spirit.”1 (Epicurean credo, according to Plutarch) The archetypal hedonists of ancient Greek literature are the Phaeacians, the comfort-loving inhabitants of the mythical island of Scheria in Homer's Odyssey.2 Some ancient readers viewed Odysseus' last landfall before reaching Ithaca as a peaceful utopia far removed from the toils of the outside world. But to many, the land of the Phaeacians represented indolence and debauchery. The admiration Odysseus expresses for the Phaeacians at the banquet soon after his rescue by the princess Nausikaa was especially problematic and appears in Plato's Republic as a prime example of the dangers inherent in exposing the youth to poetry.3 Odysseus' troubling assertion, spoken after a decade of war and a decade of wandering, goes as follows: Page 39 → (Od. 9.5–11) [I maintain there is no telos more pleasing than when good cheer fills all the people, and guests sitting side by side throughout the halls listen to the bard, and the tables are loaded with bread and meat, and a steward drawing wine from the bowl brings it around to fill our cups. To my mind this [telos] is something most beautiful.] In Homer, telos is an uncomplicated word with no deep resonance: a telos is an ending or a fitting conclusion. But by the time Homer had acquired classical and then Hellenistic readers, the word was the shared property of the philosophical schools. This semantic development led generations of Greeks and Romans to take the preceding Homeric passage as Odysseus' statement of the fulfillment or goal of life (telos in its later, philosophical sense).4 Because of the centrality of pleasure to the successful Epicurean life and because Epicurus had indeed affirmed that the pleasure is the telos, the connection between Epicurus and the Homeric text seemed unambiguous. Thus Odysseus' professed appreciation of Phaeacian pleasures became an Epicurean manifesto, and Epicurus became styled as a Phaeacian. The survey of early lampoons of Epicurus in the previous chapter demonstrates how incomplete the sources are. But uncovering the connections between Phaeacians and Epicureans is more complex and reveals more clearly how Epicurean histories and traditions come to us through circuitous routes. It is also more rewarding. The centuries-long discourse I explore here offers a surprisingly substantive critique, one that engaged Epicureans in diverse ways. An exploration of the association of Homer with Epicurus highlights Epicurean aspirations Page 40 →for the contemplative life in a calm harbor and provides, along the way, a sketch of Epicurean ethics that will be more nuanced than the preliminary outline I gave in the introduction to this book.

Epicureans and Phaeacians The history of the conjoining of Homer's Phaeacians with Epicurus and his successors in the Garden will always be fragmentary. Some of the important texts are scraps of charred papyri from Herculaneum. Still others survive only as intertexts running beneath the surface of ancient sources that consider Epicureanism only tangentially and usually in an unfavorable light. Today the habit of referring to Epicureans as “Phaeacians” is familiar only to those well acquainted with the intricacies of Epicurean history. But the formula had wide currency in antiquity.5

Its most unambiguous statements appear on the margins of the classical canon, but once those sources are known, it is difficult to miss the presence of an “Epicurus the Phaeacian” theme or cliché in better-known works, such as those by Lucretius, Horace, and Virgil. Particularly significant is Virgil's Dido, whose Homeric ancestry and Epicurean credentials give her an important role in this story. Working backward in time from later to earlier texts, I start with the most obvious example, one that is hostile to Epicurus. It occurs in a work called Homeric Problems by a certain Heraclitus (second or third century CE; not to be confused with the famous Ionian philosopher).6 Revealing that Epicurus is styled as a Phaeacian because of Odysseus' speech and not simply because Epicurean stereotypes evoked images of Phaeacian enjoyment of leisurely meals and other bodily pleasures—including, as the Phaeacian king puts it, “changes of clothes, warm baths, and our beds” (Od. 8.249)—Heraclitus sheds the clearest light on the apparent origins of the cliché. Having introduced Epicurus derisively as “the Phaeacian philosopher, the farmer of pleasure in his secret gardens,” Heraclitus continues, “What Odysseus unwisely and hypocritically lied about at the court of Alcinous, Epicurus—as though the lies were true—proclaimed Page 41 →as the goal of life.”7 He then quotes three lines from Odysseus' “telos speech” (Homeric Problems 79.4). Heraclitus also accuses Epicurus of purloining his philosophy of pleasure directly from the mouth of Odysseus: (“And is it not true that the only things he offered the world were shameful unwitting thefts from Homer?” Homeric Problems 79.2).8 Epicurus had been accused of thievery or plagiarism before, when the Stoic Chrysippus had said that the source of Epicurean philosophy was Archestratus' fourth-century Life of Pleasure or Science of Dining, the geographical tour of Mediterranean cuisine I mentioned in chapter 1 (Deipnosophistai 3.104b). For Heraclitus, Odysseus' best moments were as a warrior at Troy, and his praise of Phaeacia stems simply from a need to ingratiate himself to his potential rescuers.9 Thus Heraclitus concludes, sarcastically, that Epicurus mistook Odyssean lies for the purpose of life and “planted them in his sanctimonious gardens” (, Homeric Problems 79.10; cf. 79.2). Similar criticism of Epicurus' affinities with Odysseus and the Phaeacians appears in the work of Athenaeus (fl. c. 200 CE), who attributes that view to a certain Megacleides (Deipnosophistae 12.513a–e).10 An earlier but related strain of this discourse appears in Lucian's (or pseudo-Lucian's) parodic Parasite, where a self-proclaimed freeloader named Simon quotes Odysseus' telos speech but claims it as the credo not of Epicurus but of the parasite (the “art of parasitic” being Simon's forte). Simon accuses Epicurus of stealing his professed ideal of pleasure from Homer's Odysseus but never attaining it. Instead of living “the life of the Epicureans” in bed with Calypso or enjoying the true life of the slacker among the Phaeacians, Epicurus—Simon asserts—concerned himself with incessant inquiries into the shape of the earth, the infinity of the Page 42 →universe, and the existence of the gods (Parasite 10 and 11). In Simon's estimation, those were pursuits that brought Epicurus into conflict not only with humankind but with the universe itself. Mimicking Epicurean texts, Simon claims that the freeloader achieves what Epicurus wanted: the unburdening of the flesh and a soul free of tarache, or disturbance (Parasite 11; cf. Epicurus, Ep. Men. 132). Simon's hackneyed presentation of Epicurean pleasures and his impatience with Epicurean science accord well with Lucian's attitude elsewhere: Epicureanism may supply some laughs, but so do the enemies of Epicurus. Moving back in time from the eras of Heraclitus and Lucian, one sees that the “Epicurus the Phaeacian” cliché spelled out by Heraclitus is one of Plutarch's favorite anti-Epicurean put-downs. Plutarch (c. 50–c. 120 CE) does not explicitly label the Epicureans as “Phaeacians,” but recognition of the formula is essential to an appreciation of the rhetorical force of his On the Fact That Epicurus Actually Makes a Pleasant Life Impossible (= Non Posse).11 The central argument of this polemic is that the Epicurean life is ironically unpleasant because the Epicureans have given up everything valuable—from heroic acts to all intellectual endeavors, including reading—for the mindless pursuit of sensual pleasures. In the midst of praise for the satisfaction one finds in reading Aristotle and Homer, Plutarch inquires, Who would take greater pleasure in eating and drinking Phaeacian fare than in following Odysseus' tale of his journey? Who would find more pleasure in lying in bed with the most beautiful woman than in staying up late with the stories Xenophon wrote about Pantheia, or Aristobulus about Timocleia, or Theopompus about Thebe? But they [the Epicureans] banish all these pleasures from the mind [psyche], and they even banish the pleasures that come from mathematics. (Non posse

1093c)

A more literal translation of the text reveals that Plutarch's first question must be an intertextual rejoinder: ; (“Who would eat while hungering and drink while thirsting the stuff of the Phaeacians with more pleasure than he would follow Odysseus' tale of his journey?”). The awkward Page 43 →language here is an example of what Michael Riffaterre has called “agrammaticalités,” textual ripples or anomalies that leave behind clues to lost intertexts.12 Thus the obtrusive participles (“hungering” and “thirsting”) mark Plutarch's quotation or imitation of a lost Epicurean text, perhaps one that proclaimed that food and drink provide genuine pleasure only to the hungry and thirsty (cf. Ep. Men. 131). The odd and apparently allusive or borrowed phrase “the stuff of the Phaeacians” () also sounds like the vestige of some other text. Plutarch's second rhetorical question, which implies that his audience will concur that love stories are better than sex, is an anomaly. But Plutarch asserts throughout the Non posse and elsewhere in the Moralia that the Epicureans are sexual gluttons, an assertion that is at odds with the De rerum natura (4.1030–1287) and other Epicurean texts. Plutarch's sarcastic mimicry of Epicurus and his condemnation of the supposedly Phaeacian pleasures of the Epicureans are even clearer elsewhere. At the beginning of the Non posse, Plutarch's mingling of the Homeric with the Epicurean goes beyond making the Epicureans the perpetual dinner guests of the Phaeacians. For Plutarch, their sensibilities are so closely aligned that the voice of the Phaeacian king Alcinous and that of Epicurus are one and the same. Thus, in the opening chapters of the Non posse quoted in the epigraph to this chapter, Plutarch fuses Homeric with Epicurean quotations into a single ersatz Epicurean spokesman who proclaims in hexameters spliced with prose, ‘ (“'Brave boxers we are not,' nor orators, nor leaders of the people, nor magistrates, ‘but always dear to us is the banquet' and ‘every pleasing stirring through the flesh that is sent up to give some pleasure and delight to the spirit,'” 1087b). The two hexameter lines (italicized in my translation) in this macaronic “Epicurean” quotation come from a speech by Alcinous that was regarded in antiquity (as the Homeric scholia reveal) as a notorious avowal of Phaeacian sensuality: Page 44 →

(Od. 8.246–49) [Brave boxers we are not, nor wrestlers, but at fast racing—by foot or by ship—we are the best, and always dear to us are the banquet, the cithara, dances, changes of clothes, warm baths, and our beds.] Between the quoted hexameters, Plutarch inserts his own editorial remark, and the third quotation—with its mentions of flesh, pleasure, joy, and spirit—must be an otherwise unattested fragment of Epicurus. Plutarch's hostile formulation of this “Epicurean” text and his convenient excision of Phaeacian claims to excellence in running and sailing paint adherence to Epicureanism as a repudiation of “masculine” rights and duties. Additionally, in Roman culture (though perhaps not so much in Greek), their excessive interest in food and banquets would be construed as an effeminate characteristic.13 An interest in baths, too, was suspect, particularly when later readers read the Homeric text with luxurious Roman baths in mind.14 These are issues that will emerge more plainly in later chapters of this book. The Garden/Phaeacia formula as we have it here is clearly hostile, but perhaps Plutarch and Heraclitus are distorting a tradition that was initially friendly to the Garden. Norman DeWitt once proposed that the first to add Odysseus' speech on the telos to the Epicurean canon was Epicurus himself. DeWitt (1954: 73) proposed a scenario in which Epicurus deliberately exasperated his adversaries by quoting the poet they most revered, a move “equivalent to quoting the Bible in certain circles in support of evolution.” Elizabeth Asmis, citing Epicurus' apparent quotation of Sophocles' Trachiniai as a parallel (Diog. Laert. 10.137), reminds us that “Epicurus was not averse to citing verses for his own ends.”15 In her view, it is “not implausible” that Epicurus had alluded to Odysseus' telos speech, especially in light of the fact that both Plato and Aristotle had alluded to Odysseus' proclamation on the telos.16 As we have seen, Plato had cited the Homeric passage as an illustration of

insalubrious hedonism (Re-public Page 45 →3.390a–b). Aristotle—citing the passage in a nonhostile way—omitted all of the lines Plato had cited, replacing them with the mention of the bard in the same passage (Politics 1338a 27–30). Thus, without attributing “any special insight to either Odysseus or Homer,” Epicurus may have been declaring the Garden's position within a philosophical tradition.17 More recently, Don Fowler described the tradition as a late arrival, writing, “Vulgarly, the Phaeacians, and Odysseus in Phaeacian mood, were taken to be the precursors of Epicurus.”18 I suspect that Fowler was right, but I would add that the texts of Philodemus attest to the circulation of the formula in learned as well as in popular discourse. The best evidence for the lack of reference to Phaeacians in the original texts of Epicurus comes from Plutarch and Athenaeus. Given Plutarch's frequent quotations of Epicurean texts, it seems likely to me that Plutarch would have quoted Epicurus directly if Epicurus had ever made the outrageous (to Plutarch) comparison between himself and the Phaeacians. As it is, Plutarch sounds as though Epicurus' enemies have found him out: despite the pretense of being a serious philosopher, Epicurus is a self-gratifying Phaeacian. Athenaeus also had several opportunities to mention any connection Epicurus himself may have drawn between the Garden and his circle, and his failure to do so meshes well with the evidence from Plutarch. Although Athenaeus acknowledges the traditional linking of Phaeacians with Epicureans (Ath. 12.513a–e), he does not mention Phaeacia when he refers directly to Epicurus' writings. In the lengthy discussion of types of symposia, Athenaeus frequently mentions Homeric models for symposia (including the Phaeacian gathering), and he mentions Epicurus' nonextant Symposium in those same passages. But Athenaeus gives no hints that Epicurus' Symposium alluded to or resonated with any Homeric scene. Instead, for Athenaeus, Epicurus provides only the sharp contrasts with the Odyssey: Homer gives us the context for a symposium and stipulates who is to be invited; in contrast, Epicurus launches into the symposium without a prologue and thus presents a scene with no place or time. Furthermore, Epicurus' Symposium is un-Homeric in that the gathering is attended solely by philosophers, whom Athenaeus dubs “atom-prophets” (, Ath. 5.187b; cf. 5.177b). While Epicurus' symposiasts are flatterers and Plato's Page 46 →are caustic, Homer's dinner guests temper their speech (The Learned Banqueters 5.182a). I propose a middle ground: that Epicurus occasionally appealed to Homer for evocative expressions of a particular view of the world and that the analogies and allusions grew and took on new meanings among later Epicureans as they responded not only to disparagers of the Garden but also to the uses of Homer in other philosophical discourses, including the Stoic co-option of Odysseus as Stoic hero. Because of their staunch perseverance in overcoming their “labors” and hardships, both Odysseus and Heracles became—in the generations after Epicurus—paradigms of masculinity and models for the archetypal Stoic (e.g., Seneca, De const. 2.1). In response, some circles of Epicureans aligned themselves with another Odysseus, one created not just by Homer but by enemies of Epicurus. Rather than a reflection of particular lines cited by Epicurus, Heraclitus' hyperbolic charge—that Epicurus stole his ethics from Homer—is analogous to Chrysippus' sardonic claim that Epicurus took his philosophy from Archestratus' Life of Pleasure (Ath. 3.101f and 3.104b). Heraclitus identifies a loftier source but characterizes Epicurus' theft as a gross misuse of Homer.

Prudence and Pleasure Although Epicurus may not have lived long enough to hear himself compared unfavorably to Alcinous, he certainly found the need to respond to disparaging judgments on Epicurean pleasures. As we have seen, in the Letter to Menoeceus, Epicurus explains that Epicurean pleasures go hand in hand with phronesis, a term that can be brought into English as “understanding,” “wisdom,” or “prudence.” Because the language here does not echo Homer's speech of Odysseus—the two passages share no vocabulary save the word telos—I am inclined to believe that Epicurus is not aware of the Phaeacian/Epicurean comparison. Yet this passage resonates with the “Epicurus the Phaeacian” tradition, even if we are reading out of order, turning to Epicurus from Plutarch or Heraclitus. Thus Epicurus responds to—or anticipates—the claim that the doctrine of pleasure he “stole” from Odysseus is morally bankrupt: Page 47 → (Ep. Men. 131–32)

[So whenever we say that pleasure is the telos, we do not mean the pleasures of degenerates and pleasures that consist of physical enjoyment…It is neither nonstop drinking and revelry nor physical enjoyment of boys and women nor fish or other offerings of a lavish banquet that produce a pleasant life, but sober reasoning and searching out reasons for choice and avoidance, and banishing the sorts of received opinions that cause the greatest disturbance of the spirit. The fount of all these things and the greatest good is wise understanding [phronesis].] Hints of another strain of this conversation survive in a fragmentary commentary on Homer by Eratosthenes, the ancient scholar and head of the library at Alexandria (c. 285–194 BCE). In a rebuttal to the dominant claim that Phaeacians were paradigms of indolence, sloth, and loose morals, Eratosthenes cites the passage in which Nausikaa first meets Odysseus. At that point, she says to her companions,

(200) (205)

[Do you think he is part of an enemy invasion? There is not man on earth, nor will there ever be, Slippery enough to invade Phaeacia, For we are very dear to the immortal gods, Page 48 → And we live far out in surging sea, At the world's frontier, out of all human contact. This poor man comes here as a wanderer, And we must take care of him now.]19 Athenaenus reports that Eratosthenes supported his favorable view of the Phaeacians by asserting that “it is impossible for Phaeacians not to be wise, since they are very dear to the gods, as Nausikaa says” (Deipnosophistae 1.16e). Bringing Eratosthenes' reading of Homer to bear on the Epicurean tradition may be anachronistic—if he wrote before anyone made a connection between the Garden and the Phaeacians—but we know that Eratosthenes studied philosophy in Athens while the Garden was in its second generation. Eratosthenes' philosophic writings have not survived, and although he was reputed to have criticized some of the early Stoics, we know nothing for certain about his attitude toward the Garden.20 My sense is that Eratosthenes writes in dialogue with an early version of the “Epicurus the Phaeacian” tradition, though it may be that his defense of the phronesis of the Phaeacians influenced later Epicurean interpretations. At any rate, his adducing of Homeric texts to prove that the Phaeacians are virtuous anticipates the careful exegesis of Philodemus, an Epicurean scholar discussed shortly. Athenaeus (to whom we owe the quotation of Eratosthenes) reports that Eratosthenes calls other witnesses besides Nausikaa; he also corrects the mainstream tradition on the words of Odysseus. Philologist though he was (and Suetonius reports that Eratosthenes was the first to call himself a philologus), Eratosthenes' commentary on this passage suggests that he assumed that the meaning of the word telos in Homeric Greek approximated the meaning

that telos conveyed in later philosophical discourse. According to Eratosthenes, the true text of Odysseus' speech on the telos is explicit about the decency and wisdom of the Phaeacians. In Eratosthenes' version, Odysseus proclaims,

Page 49 → [I maintain there is no telos more pleasing than when there is euphrosyne, and wickedness is absent, and guests sitting side by side throughout the halls listen to the bard…]21 Eratosthenes' text replaces the reading now found in the medieval manuscripts (“when euphrosyne fills all the people”) with another version: “when there is euphrosyne, and wickedness is absent.” He glosses his unorthodox multitext reading “wickedness is absent” by explaining that the evil or wickedness that Odysseus speaks of here is “thoughtlessness” or “lack of prudence” (aphrosyne). The word euphrosyne (which I rendered as “good cheer” when I translated the canonical text of Odyssey 9.6) takes on a new tone here because Eratosthenes' adducing of the cognate a-phrosyne (“thoughtlessness”) in his gloss shows that he takes euphrosyne not simply as “good cheer” but, more literally, as “good thinking” or “right thinking.”22 Thus Eratosthenes is implicitly drawing a connection between euphrosyne and phronesis.23 So, instead of serving as negative paradigms for dissolution or moral laxity, Eratosthenes' Phaeacians are admirable for their prudence and wisdom.

Epicurean Inheritors of the Phaeacian Tradition To later Epicureans, it may have been irrelevant whether the comparison between Phaeacians and Epicureans was first voiced by Epicurus himself or by later friend or foe. Once the formula becomes an established joke, the task of later Epicureans is to align themselves for or against the Phaeacians. In other words, the affronted Epicurean must either reject the “Phaeacian” stereotype as mistaken or embrace the lampoon and defend Phaeacian pleasures. It is possible that the life-size statue of a piglet discovered in the Epicurean library known now as the Villa dei Papyri at Herculaneum is evidence of the latter Page 50 →tactic in the case of another anti-Epicurean insult.24 Epicureans were often compared to a herd of gluttonous pigs, so the charming bronze statue that was buried by the eruption of Vesuvius may be the droll riposte of an unperturbed Epicurean (serenity being an Epicurean virtue). If the library belonged to Philodemus' circle, as has seemed all but certain to many scholars, the bronze piglet may even have been the emblem of the Epicurean school in Campania.25 Another Epicurean response would be to cite Scheria as an exemplum not of dissipation but of peace and friendly communion. Such an interpretation of the “Epicurus the Phaeacian” tradition is recorded by Seneca, who remarks that followers of all the philosophical schools look to Homer for their ideal paradigms: Nam modo Stoicum illum faciunt, virtutem solam probantem et voluptates refugientem et ab honesto ne inmortalitatis quidem pretio recedentem, modo Epicureum, laudantem statum quietae civitatis et inter convivía cantusque vitam exigentis, modo Peripateticum tria bonorum genera inducentem, modo Academicum, omnia incerta dicentem. Adparet nihil horum esse in illo, quia omnia sunt. Ista enim inter se dissident. (Epistles 88.5) [For sometimes they make him [Homer] a Stoic, who approves only of virtue and shuns pleasures and refuses to give up honor even at the price of immortality; sometimes they make him an Epicurean, who praises the condition of a peaceable realm that enjoys a life of symposia and songs; sometimes they make him a Peripatetic, who classifies the good in three ways; and sometimes they make him an Academic, who holds that everything is uncertain. It is obvious that none of these philosophies are in Homer, since they all are. For they are mutually exclusive.] Seneca's remark here strongly suggests that an Epicurean or Epicurean-friendly interpretation of the Phaeacian connection (one that highlights tranquility and conviviality) was a commonplace in the first century CE.26 I

imagine that the Page 51 →tradition Seneca knew linked the Garden with Phaeacian groves and gardens (Od. 6.321–22, 7.112–33) and extolled both as utopian communities that offered safe harbor on the fringes of a dangerous world. The Epicurean position was not monolithic, however. Lucretius was familiar with but rejected the tradition that linked Epicurus with the Phaeacians. His dismissal of the notion that Phaeacians could prefigure the Epicureans appears in the famous proem to book 2, where Lucretius contrasts travails at sea with the pleasures of security on land. There he pronounces certain pleasures as unnecessary.

ergo corpoream ad naturam pauca videmus esse opus omnino, quae demant cumque dolorem, delicias quoque uti multas substernere possint. gratius interdum neque natura ipsa requirit, si non aurea sunt iuvenum simulacra per aedes lampadas igniferas manibus retinentia dextris, lumina nocturnis epulis ut suppeditentur, nec domus argento fulget auroque renidet nec citharae reboant laqueata aurataque templa, cum tamen inter se prostrati in gramine molli propter aquae rivum sub ramis arboris altae non magnis opibus iucunde corpora curant, praesertim cum tempestas arridet et anni tempora conspergunt viridantis floribus herbas. (DRN 2.20–33) [Thus we see how few things are at all necessary to satisfy our bodily nature—just enough to remove our pain—and so to provide us with many delights. Nor does nature from time to time require anything more pleasing; even if there are no golden statues of boys throughout the house holding firebearing lamps in hand to furnish light for nighttime banquets, and the house does not glow with silver or gleam with gold, and no paneled and gilded beams echo with the lyre, nevertheless, stretched out in groups on the soft grass near a stream of water under the branches of a tall tree, people happily take refreshment at no great cost, especially when the weather is lovely and the season of the year sprinkles the green grass with flowers.] Page 52 → Lucretius' survey of needless extravagances here alludes directly to particular Phaeacian pleasures. The description of the golden statues (DRN 2.27–29) is a close paraphrase of Odyssey 7.100–102, where Homer's lamp-bearing “golden boys” provide light for Phaeacian dinners. The gold, the silver, the paneling, and the lyre reflect a composite of the dining scene described at the beginning of Odyssey 9 and the Phaeacian palace as

Odysseus first beholds it (Od. 7.81–99).27 The Lucretian description of the palace is overlaid with the postHomeric moralizing vocabulary of excess: the house is oversized like a temple, the ceilings plated with a gross abundance of gold and silver (argento fulget auroque renidet, DRN 27; laqueata aurataque templa, DRN 28). Although most commentaries miss the broader import of this Phaeacian intertext,28 many note the close paraphrasing of Homer29 in DRN 2.24–28, and many readers have recognized in Lucretius' description of unnecessary luxury the setting in which Odysseus addressed King Alcinous on the telos. Thus Lucretius eschews the Phaeacian palace and settles his ideal Epicureans on the grass outside, where friendship and the high branches of a tree offer simpler and better pleasures than a gilded ceiling could provide.30 If the conception of Lucretius as an Epicurean “fundamentalist” is correct, Lucretius' rejection of the Phaeacian aesthetic would be an indication that Lucretius found no praise for Scheria in the texts of Epicurus.31 But if the De rerum natura exhibits a strict adherence exclusively to the words of Epicurus, Lucretius' fundamentalism is not so extreme as to prevent him from responding Page 53 →to contemporary debate, for he clearly knows that the Epicureans have been compared to Phaeacians. Not all first-century Epicureans, however, were so concerned to distinguish Phaeacian from Epicurean pleasures.32 Philodemus (c. 110–c. 40/35 BCE), the other eminent Epicurean philosopher-poet of that era and a central figure in an Epicurean school based in the bay of Naples, turned often to the Phaeacians. His departures from Lucretius are especially interesting in light of the recent discovery that Philodemus wrote a polemic against a rival but apparently contemporary Epicurean school.33 In scholarly texts recovered from the Villa dei Papyri at Herculaneum, Philodemus writes admiringly (and perhaps apologetically) of the Phaeacians, and in a poem preserved for us in the Greek Anthology, he playfully accepts the Epicurean/Phaeacian cliché. The poem invites Piso (apparently L. Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus, consul in 58 BCE, a figure to whom I shall return in chapter 4) for a modest meal in celebration of an “Epicurus day” (the twentieth of each month):34 [Tomorrow, friend Piso, your muse-loving comrade drags you to his modest digs at three in the afternoon, feeding you at your annual visit to the Twentieth. If you will miss udders and Bromian wine mis en bouteilles in Chios, yet you will see faithful comrades, yet you will hear things far sweeter than the land of Page 54 →the Phaeacians. And if you ever turn an eye to us too, Piso, instead of a modest Twentieth feast we shall lead a richer one.]35 By refusing to align the Phaeacians with luxury or excess, Philodemus deftly redeems the Phaeacian/Epicurean stereotype. He links Scheria instead with poetry and the most basic Epicurean pleasures. Thus the Phaeacian pleasures emphasized by Plutarch (wine and food) are crowded out by two crucial Phaeacian pleasures also lauded by Odysseus: friendship and listening to the bard. The reference to the Phaeacians promises Piso that he will receive “the combined pleasures of poetry and Epicurean companions,” as David Sider has put it.36 No paradox is implied: the misconception that poetry and the Garden are intrinsically incompatible has deeper roots in antiEpicurean polemic than in Epicurean reservations about traditional education.37 If Philodemus' poem was thus the inspiration for Catullus 13 and the other poems of the “mini-genre” of the invitation poem in Roman poetry, as claimed by many scholars, Epigram 27 had a wide circulation.38 Epicurean enjoyment of poetry reappears in Philodemus' essay On the Good King according to Homer, a fragmentary and apparently in-house work also addressed to Piso. There Philodemus praises the Phaeacians for listening attentively when Demodocus and Odysseus recite their tales. This detail may be revealing of Philodemus' attitude toward contemporary banqueting; perhaps he is offering an Epicurean corrective to the less decorous dining habits of his Roman contemporaries. In any case, Philodemus contrasts the Phaeacians' appropriate behavior with the excesses of Penelope's suitors. Perhaps defensively, Philodemus defends Demodocus' choice of the (often condemned) story of Ares and Aphrodite, praises Alcinous as a good king who knows how to achieve peace, and challenges the hackneyed notion of the allegedly lazy, effete, and self-indulgent Phaeacian.39 Momigliano described this essay as an Epicurean Page 55 →“appeal to moderation” that argues that the foundation of the ideal king's throne is “[n]ot fear, but love.”40 Philodemus' assertions about the Phaeacian government's aspirations for peace and the usefulness of Phaeacian exercises for military readiness also draw

attention to Philodemus' Roman context. As Fowler put it, Philodemus “assimilates the [Phaeacian] society to an idealized version of the Roman state enjoying the kind of otium that Cicero, rather than Epicurus or L[ucretius], promoted.”41 Horace takes yet another approach. Scholarly positions on Horace's friendliness or hostility toward Epicureanism are diverse, depending as they do on each reader's estimation of the poet's “sincerity,” tone, and ironic selfeffacement.42 Readers of all persuasions, however, should recognize traces of the “Epicurus the Phaeacian” tradition in three poems of the first book of Horace's Epistles. In my reading, these epistles meet the slur head-on by affirming sardonically that the Epicureans are indeed a herd of well-fed and self-indulgent Phaeacians; Horace should know, for he is one of them. First, one poem begins with the claim that Homer can teach correct living “more clearly and better than Chrysippus or Crantor”—Stoic and Academic philosophers, respectively (Epistles 1.1.4). Then Horace contrasts these models that can be learned from Homer with the baser and (implicitly) “Epicurean” models that “Horace” and his friends prefer:

nos numerus sumus et fruges consumere nati, sponsi Penelopae, nebulones, Alcinoique in cute curanda plus aequo operata iuventus, cui pulchrum fuit in medios dormire dies et ad strepitum citharae cessantem ducere somnum. (Epistles 1.2.27–31) Page 56 → [We're mere numbers, simple eaters of earth's substance, we are Penelope's wasteful suitors and Alcinous's young men, indecently busy at grooming their hides. A good life to them meant snoozing until afternoon, enjoying a lazy sleep, lulled by a cithara.]43 In one fragment, the Epicurean Philodemus also finds something to admire in the habits of Penelope's suitors,44 but I take the suitors' presence here as Horatian embellishment of anti-Epicurean polemic. Elsewhere in the same book, a poem ostensibly about the search for a bathing spot with amenities asks whether a particular location offers fine seafood and game, “so I can thence return home fat, and as a Phaeacian” (pinguis ut inde domum possim Phaeaxque reverti, Epistles 1.15.24). Confirmation that fat Phaeacians with well-tended hides (cf. in cute curanda in Epistles 1.2.29) are Epicurean doppelgängers appears at the end of another epistle:

me pinguem et nitidum bene curata cute vises cum ridere voles Epicuri de grege porcum. (1.4.15–16) [When you need a laugh, come visit me— fat, buffed, and well oiled—a pig from Epicurus' herd.] Horace freely appropriates the Phaeacian tradition along with other currents of anti-Epicurean discourse. He even turns Lucretius against himself: Horace's reference to Phaeacian grooming habits (cute curanda, 1.2.29; bene

curata cute, 1.4.15–16) must be a travesty of Lucretius' corpora curant (“they take refreshment” or “attend the body,” DRN 2.31), a phrase Lucretius uses in his acclamation of Epicurean (and, in the context, non-Phaeacian) pleasures. While Horace professedly aligns himself with a version of Epicureanism based on the sort of lampoon later epitomized by Plutarch, his tone marks these references to the Garden as transparent distortions of Epicurean hedonism. Ancient readers with a modicum of sophistication would know that Epicureanism values Page 57 →cerebral pleasures over the physical, once essential bodily needs (food and shelter) have been met.45 The observant reader would also be aware that the tradition of ridiculing the supposedly Epicurean-like Phaeacians (and so the Phaeacian-like Epicureans) for rejecting literature in favor of food and drink also distorts the Homeric passage, for the singer of tales at the Phaeacian table is crucial to Odysseus' statement of what is kalliston (“very/most beautiful”). Significantly, Epicurean (and Epicurean-friendly) sources that refer to the Phaeacian/Epicurean equation acknowledge the presence of the lyre or cithara (emblem of both epic and lyric genres) in the Phaeacian realm. Thus Seneca refers to “symposia and songs” (Epistles 88.5), and the “musical” or “muse-loving” Philodemus (, Epigram 27 Sider) stresses poetics over comestibles. Even Lucretius is protective of Phaeacian pleasures; although the proem to book 2 presents Phaeacian pleasures as “unnecessary,” it does not exaggerate them, and the echoing cithara is included in the Phaeacian vignette. Horace, too, retains the cithara in his sardonic glance at Phaeacians and suitors (although for them the cithara is the accompaniment for sleep, not poetry). Thus far I have described how some Epicurean readings of Homer present (or redeem) the Phaeacians as participants in a pleasant—but not decadent—gathering. The most obvious “Epicurean” components of the Homeric scene are perhaps superficial: shared food and drink in pleasant surroundings. Fragmentary texts by Philodemus lend more seriousness to the analogy by calling attention to the Phaeacians' fostering of peace and security, an interpretation also attested in Seneca's allusion to readers who turn Homer into an Epicurean avant la lettre because of his praise of a “peaceable realm that enjoys a life of symposia and songs.” But this survey of the fragments of Epicurean approval of Phaeacian pleasures suggests that Odysseus' speech on the telos has undergone a reassessment that, in turn, reveals greater profundity. Epicurean interpretations of a gathering where “good cheer fills all the people” did not have to focus exclusively on the superfluous (pleasant festivities) or the essential (food and shelter). More important is the Homeric scene's potential as a précis of some basic Epicurean requirements for happiness: tranquil security, the consciousness of Page 58 →being alive at a particular moment, and the enjoyment of friendship and community. First, I would draw attention to the timing of Odysseus' declaration, which follows his salvation from the sea. The presentation of Epicurean happiness as the state obtained by one who has obtained safety from the perils of the sea is a pervasive Epicurean metaphor. Witness Lucretius on Epicurus as a rescuer from the waves:

…quique per artem fluctibus e tantis vitam tantisque tenebris in tam tranquillo et tam clara luce locavit. (DRN 5.10–13; cf. DRN 2.1–4, 6.33–34) […who through his art restored our life from high waves and deep darkness to such calm waters and brilliant light.] Conversely, the still, calm sea is a symbol for philosophical tranquility in the texts of Epicurus and his followers (cf. Fowler 2002a: 31). The image of a safe harbor provides a related metaphor. Philodemus, for example, contrasts the turbulent life of the Stoic to the serene life of the Epicurean who has sailed into a harbor (PHerc. 463). In the Catalepton (supposedly—or perhaps in reality—by Virgil), Virgil's arrival to study with the Epicurean Siro in the bay of Naples represents the attainment of blissful harbors (ad beatos vela mittimus portus)

where he may seek a life free from turmoil (ab omni…cura) (Catalepton 5.8–10).46 In DRN 2.13, the nonEpicureans' striving by day and by night for power and wealth is described in an aquatic metaphor (emergere) that seems to echo Odysseus' struggle with the waves for two nights and days (Od. 5.388–89, echoed in turn by Propertius 3.12.32; see Fowler 2002a: 63–65). Cicero pointedly presents Cato as the antithesis to the Epicurean in the proem to the De republica: although Cato could have chosen otium and tranquility, he chose instead—as civic duty required—to be buffeted by the waves and storms even into old age: cum cogeret eum necessitas nulla, in his undis et tempestatibus ad summam senectutem maluit iactari quam in illa tranquillitate atque otio iucundissime vivere (De rep. 1.1). To an Epicurean, old age is a metaphorical anchoring in a safe harbor (Sent. Vat. 17.2–3). In contrast is the metaphor of the safe harbor Page 59 →as death, in writers who presuppose the immortality of the soul—an impossibility in Epicurean thinking (Plutarch, De tranquillitate animae 476a; Seneca, Ad Polybium de consolatione 9). Francesca Longo Auricchio (2004: 39–40) traces the safe harbor imagery found in Epicurean texts back to poetry by Aeschylus, Euripides, and others that predate Epicurus. But my own view is that the tragic poets are mediators of the Homeric tradition and that Epicureans (perhaps beginning with Epicurus) associated the topos with Odysseus' release from toils at sea. But the telos speech also epitomizes other aspects of the most basic Epicurean values. The friendship and fellowship that Odysseus found among Phaeacians (and that Epicureans find among each other) are not simply pleasurable in a banal or trivial sense. Rather, friendship is a necessary constituent of the happiness of the Epicurean philosopher.47 One Epicurean saying (probably a quotation from an epistle of Epicurus) uses a striking metaphor: “Friendship dances around the world, urging us all toward blessedness” (H Sent. Vat. 52). Another asserts, “Of the things wisdom acquires for the blessedness of life as a whole, far the greatest is the possession of friendship” (Principal Doctrines 27). Yet another says, “The noble person is engages most with wisdom and friendship; the former of which is a mortal good, the latter, immortal” (Sent. Vat. 78). According to Diogenes Laertius' catalog of the traits Epicurus expected of a wise person, the wise will desert no friend and may even die for a friend (10.120). Conversely, one's life can be overturned by a false friend's betrayal (Sent. Vat. 56–57). As for our few wholly intact texts of Epicurus, the Letter to Menoeceus ends with the exhortation to study philosophy night and day—not just alone, but also with a like-minded companion (Ep. Men. 135). For a more expansive view of the ways Odysseus among the Phaeacians emblemizes in concrete (if rudimentary) terms some of the Garden's most hallowed teachings, I turn to A. A. Long's recent synopsis of the teachings of Epicurus. Long describes the Epicurean stance in the following terms: “Subjectivity, moment-by-moment consciousness, being at peace in the world, what it feels like to be securely happy—these are the fundamental starting-points and concerns of Epicureanism. As to the sources of the Epicurean's trouble-free subjectivity, these are, in essence, threefold: a like-minded community of mutually supportive Page 60 →friends, intelligence (phronesis) in managing the hedonistic calculus for daily life, and atomistic science.”48 Taking the Phaeacians as Odysseus' “like-minded community,” we see that Odysseus has obtained one of Long's sources of “trouble-free subjectivity.” I would assert that the second song of the bard Demodocus (on the sorrows of the Trojan War) leads Odysseus and the Phaeacians toward a measure of phronesis, or wise understanding, as commended to Menoeceus (Ep. Men. 132). For a deeper phronesis, we would need to accept Eratosthenes' emendation of Odysseus' speech, which lends a more philosophical meaning to the euphrosyne at the table. But regardless of the amount of phronesis at the Phaeacian table as Odysseus describes it in his speech on the telos, one element is clearly lacking: atomistic science. To supply the missing exposition of Epicurean science, we must turn to Virgil's Aeneid.

Virgil's Dido and a Garden in North Africa Virgil's Dido provides the last and most compelling example I will examine here of the Phaeacian/Epicurean intertext. Although Virgil created her generations before Heraclitus wrote his Homeric Problems, Dido provides a fitting culmination because the connection between Homer and Epicurus is plainly elevated in Virgil beyond the level of cliché, reaching instead the status of vital paraphilosophical inquiry. Many readers, ancient and modern, have recognized that Dido makes her first entrance in the Aeneid cast as a new Nausikaa (cf. Aulus Gellius 9.9). Commentators since antiquity have also remarked that Virgil's Dido espouses an intermittently Epicurean outlook, sometimes in the face of Aeneas' apparent (but also imperfect) Stoicism.49 Some scholars go further, demonstrating that the Epicurean atmosphere surrounding Dido's court is couched not just in the traditional

language of the Garden but in specifically Lucretian terms.50 Here I present a combined approach that reveals how Dido's Homeric credentials intensify her Epicurean attributes. Page 61 → I shall start my analysis with Dido's Phaeacian heritage. Aeneas has come to her after nearly drowning in the sea, where he had declared while in the throes—like Odysseus before his rescue by Nausikaa—that warriors who die in battle rather than in the waves are “three and four times blessed” (Aen. 1.94–96; Od. 5.305–6). Then Dido's first appearance in the Aeneid (just before she agrees to help Aeneas) echoes closely the description of Nausikaa on the Phaeacian shore (just before she agrees to help Odysseus): both are compared to Artemis/Diana surrounded by her nymphs, and both embody the beauty and self-possession of the goddess (Aen. 1.498–504; Od. 6.102–9). Further accentuating the Phaeacian association, Venus herself had also played Nausikaa when she met Aeneas near the shores of Dido's Carthage (Aen. 1.327–29 and Od. 6.149–52; Aen. 1.338–41 and Od. 6.194–96), and she stood in for the girl (Athena) who assists Odysseus (Aen. 1.315; Od. 7.14–77). Venus' departure from Aeneas in that scene also gestures toward the story of Ares and Aphrodite as sung by the Phaeacian Demodocus: like Aphrodite in the Phaeacian story, Venus escapes to Cyprus, where she can enjoy the incense lit for her by the Paphians (Aen. 1.415–17; Od. 8.362–66).51 The goddesses in both scenes conceal the hero with mist so that he can make his way unmolested to safety (Aeneas to Dido, Odysseus to Nausikaa's mother Arete). Then the Homeric reminiscences reverberate with an Epicurean voice. As Aeneas reaches Dido, she welcomes the Trojans in friendly language that has rightly been recognized as not only Epicurean but Lucretian: solvite corde metum, Teucri, secludite curas (Aen. 1.562).52 This echoes a phrase in Lucretius' programmatic description of the Epicurean mind: “far removed from worry and fear” (curasemota metuque, DRN 2.19). That description appears in the proem to the second book of De rerum natura, a passage with multiple Odyssean and Phaeacian references, as we shall see. Further Lucretian vocabulary also appears in the next lines, thus amplifying the Epicurean overtones: res dura; novitas; genus Aeneadum, tantum incendia belli.53 But Dido's entrance is only one sign of her Phaeacian past. Although this episode of the Aeneid rehearses a plethora of other Homeric and post-Homeric scenes, the Phaeacian elements in Virgil's Dido persist.54 Commentators Page 62 →since antiquity have noted that Dido looks like Nausikaa; stands in for her mother, Arete; and speaks like her father, Alcinous.55 Dido's banquet for the Trojans recalls the Phaeacian banquet hosted by Nausikaa's parents, and when Aeneas tells his story there, he is following Odysseus' precedent (Od. 9–12). Dido's bard Iopas replaces the Phaeacian bard Demodocus.56 Like Alcinous in the Odyssey, Dido offers her guest safe passage or, alternatively, the option to stay (Aen. 1.569–74; Od. 7.311–24).57 Close connections between Dido's palace and the Phaeacian palace as described in Odyssey 7.100–102 introduce a particularly significant parallel. As we have seen, Lucretius had already expelled gold, silver, paneling, and other Phaeacian luxuries from the ideal Epicurean gathering (DRN 2.23–28). In a move that epitomizes one mode of Virgilian/Lucretian intertextuality,58 the Aeneid reinscribes such luxuries into the Epicurean/Phaeacian world, echoing the very language Lucretius had used to assert that Epicureans prefer simple picnics over Phaeacian banquets: fit strepitus tectis vocemque per ampla uolutant/atria; dependent lychni laquearibus aureis/incensi et noctem flammis funalia uincunt (“A roar arises in the hall and they send their voices echoing through the great palace; burning lamps hang from the gold-paneled beams and torches conquer the night with their blaze,” Aen. 1.725–27; cf. DRN 2.24–28). Even the lyre the bard Iopas plays is golden (Aen. 1.741–42). Virgil's reuse of Lucretian phrases here has affinities with Horace's travestying of Lucretius (Epistles 1.2.29, 1.4.15–16; DRN 2.31), but Virgil's text creates more of a dialogue that reexamines the Lucretian Page 63 →stance. As in Virgil's reconsideration of myths dismissed by Lucretius, the tone is not parodic but searching.59 The Dido episode can also be read as a revision of the tradition that was hostile to Phaeacia. Ancient and modern readers have questioned the friendliness of the Phaeacians, and Venus' fear that the Carthaginians are not trustworthy (Aen. 1.661) echoes Athena's and Nausikaa's warnings to Odysseus (Od. 7.32–33, 6.274). At her first meeting with the Trojans, however, Dido delivers her quasi-Lucretian friendly greeting and then accounts for her people's apparent lack of hospitality by attributing the Carthaginians' wariness to their vulnerable position as recent exiles (Aen. 1.561–63). After this, the Trojans suffer none of the apparent lapses in hospitality that Odysseus had met with in Scheria. Virgil's refashioning of the bard's song at the banquet also has something in

common with Eratosthenes' rereading (or rewriting) of Homer. As many commentators have noted, Virgil's text is strewn with signposts that present Iopas in part as a new Demodocus, the bard of the Phaeacian banquet.60 But the Aeneid replaces Demodocus' song (notorious in antiquity) about the love affair of Ares and Aphrodite with a song of natural philosophy. In his commentary on this scene, Servius remarks that the elevated philosophical theme suits Dido's still-chaste demeanor.61 Meanwhile, as host of the banquet, Dido is not only the paradigm of Epicurean friendliness and hospitality but also a model of Phaeacian/Epicurean piety and prudence: she has just made a libation to the gods but barely tastes the wine (Aen. 1.736–37). Dido's temperance is especially noticeable since Venus had suggested that wine has a role to play in Dido's downfall (Aen. 1.686). As in the Epicurean tradition exemplified by Philodemus and in the Phaeacian-friendly tradition exemplified by Eratosthenes, the pleasure in a Phaeacian banquet has less to do with the wine or the food (which receive little attention in the Virgilian scene) and much to do with poetry, friendship, and euphrosyne. But most significantly, the song of Dido's bard Iopas brings to the table a crucial Epicurean component missing from all other manifestations of the conventional pairing of Epicureans and Phaeacians: Epicurean science. The Epicurean Page 64 →Kyriae Doxai 12 teaches that there can be “no uncontaminated pleasure” without science. Another saying that is probably culled from a longer text by Epicurus states, “Learning is not followed by pleasurable entertainment. Rather, [Epicurean] learning and pleasure take place at the same time” (Sent. Vat. 27). Most specifically, Epicurus' Letter to Herodotus describes the tight connection between happiness and astral physics: “we must believe that obtaining accurate knowledge of the causes of the most important matters is the point of natural science, and that happiness depends on the knowledge of celestial phenomena” (78).62 These texts bring new meaning to the steady applause with which both Tyrians and Trojans respond to Iopas. Not simply an epic bard whose song has natural science as its unexpected new subject matter, Virgil's Iopas is a singer of philosophical poetry in the tradition of Lucretius. The programmatic summary with which Virgil lays out the content of Iopas' song echoes the programmatic summaries and recapitulations that appear at the beginning of every book of the De rerum natura.63 As is regular in the Lucretian synopses, the summary of Iopas' song is articulated by a series of prominent indirect questions (in bold here):

Hic canit errantem lunam solisque labores, Unde hominum genus et pecudes, unde imber et ignes, Arcturum pluviasque Hyadas geminosque Triones, Quid tantum Oceano properent se tingere soles Hiberni, vel quae tradis mora noctibus obstet. Lombardo's translation best captures the grand didactic style of the song and its intertwining of pleasure with science. He sang Of the wandering moon and the sun's toils, Of the origin of human and animal kind, Of how rain falls and why lightning flashes, Page 65 → Of Arcturus, the Bears, and the misty Hyades, Of why the winter sun rushes down to Ocean,

And why long winter nights are slow to end.64 As though to bestow authorial approval on Iopas' words, the text here not only echoes Lucretius but repeats verbatim Virgil's own echoes of Lucretius in the Georgics (Aen. 1.745–46 = Georgics 2.481–82).65 Thus Iopas' song fills out our list of prerequisites for Epicurean happiness: friendship, phronesis, and natural science (the latter being the broader category that includes Long's study of the atom). Julia Dyson has also drawn attention to “an odd detail for which there is no known epic model”: Dido touches the vessel “as far as the mouth” (summo tenus attigit ore, Aen. 1.737). As Dyson points out, the peculiar turn of phrase becomes more meaningful when we have Lucretius before us. Here the crucial intertext (occurring twice in Lucretius) is the honey on the cup that tricks children into drinking medicine (or, metaphorically, potential Epicureans into learning philosophy). The children are tricked labrorum tenus (“as far as the lips”) into drinking the bitter liquid (perpotet amarum…laticem, DRN 1.940–41, 4.11–25). But after Dido touches the wine “as far as the lips,” she then drinks not wine but love (longumque bibebat amorem, Aen. 1.749). Here Virgil recalls a pun that occurs in Lucretius as well as in the Eclogues, where amarus (“bitter”) plays on amor (“love”).66 Although food and wine receive scant attention in this scene, the love Dido drinks is a dangerous poison. Since Venus and Juno have contrived to send Amor to Dido, some readers take Dido's subsequent downfall as Virgilian condemnation of Dido's later crypto-Epicurean assertion that the gods do not meddle in human lives: she utters with evident sarcasm, scilicet is superis labor est, ea cura quietos sollictat (“Surely this toil concerns the gods, this concern troubles their repose,” Aen. 4.379–80). Yet a convinced Epicurean might read Dido's demise not as confirmation that her Epicurean notions are wrong but as fulfillment of Lucretius' warnings against the horrible perils of erotic love. If the divine machinery of the Aeneid can be said to prove Epicurus wrong, the description of Dido's passion can be said to prove Lucretius Page 66 →right.67 The language that describes Dido's lovesickness is strongly evocative of the attack against passion in book 4 of Lucretius. As commentators have noted, Dido's sleeplessness, as described in the opening of Aeneid 4 (lines 1 and 5), is the result of “worry” or “disturbance,” a condition that Epicurus calls tarache and that Lucretius calls cura.68 Thus the vocabulary of Dido's insomnia confirms the repeated theme of Lucretius' polemic against erotic love: passion is bound to result in such cura and thus deprives the would-be philosopher of Epicurean ataraxia (“tranquillity”). Furthermore, Lucretius (notoriously) describes love and sex as a sort of “wound” (uulnus, DRN 4.1049, 1070, 1120), the very image with which book 4 of the Aeneid opens: uulnus alit uenis (“she feeds the wound with her blood,” Aen. 4.2; cf. uiuit subpectore uulnus, “the wound survives in her breast,” 4.67). Even Virgil's description of Dido's obsession with the image and voice of Aeneas (Aen. 4.83–84) evokes Lucretius' description of the role of simulacra (“images”) and the sound of the lover's name in the arousal of lovers (DRN 4.1061–62).69 Although Venus and Juno have been described at work behind the scenes, both the symptoms and the mechanics of Dido's passion are Lucretian. Virgilian intertextuality, however, is nothing like Plutarch's cut-and-paste technique. Plutarch's pastiche of Homeric and Epicurean texts forecloses a favorable view of the Garden's affinities with Phaeacia, but Virgil's intertextual modes open up the interpretive options. At first glance, the reader might suspect that the Aeneid simply anticipates Plutarch's anti-Epicurean persona by tapping into the prevailing anti-Epicurean discourse. That Dido is an Easterner and that the most clichéd of her “barbarian” attributes overlap with her Phaeacian elements add to this impression.70 Other, more sinister Homeric elements in Dido's ancestry—Calypso, Circe, the Cyclops—would also support such a reading, especially since those aspects emerge gradually, as though they were lurking under a Phaeacian veneer.71 Thus the appearance of the Epicurean/ Phaeacian equation in the Aeneid might seem to support a reading of the epic Page 67 →that champions Aeneas over Dido, Stoicism over Epicureanism, Rome over Africa and the East.72 Yet, when we recall that the Garden itself is not univocal regarding the Phaeacians, another possibility emerges: perhaps Virgil's overturning of Lucretius' rejection of the alleged connection between the Garden and Phaeacia does not dismiss Epicureanism but simply aligns Dido with a less austere (but not debased) Epicurean tradition. Another way to view it might be to take Lucretius as the fundamentalist (Sedley 1998a) and Virgil as the colleague of latter-day, Campanian Epicureans. Once Dido is stricken with love, the Phaeacian intertext slips away. Dido loses all resemblance to the virginal Nausikaa, along with her prospects for Epicurean tranquility. The Aeneid is not an allegory on Epicurean worldviews, and the exploration of Epicurean values is not the main theme of the Dido episode. But attention to

the Phaeacian lineage of Dido demonstrates that Virgil takes part in a great dialogue not just with Homer, Lucretius, and Epicurus (to pass over so many other sources of Virgil's inspiration) but with generations of friends and foes of the Garden, who, in turn, are engaged in spirited dialogue with Homer and Epicurus. Interpretations of Virgil's Aeneid are notoriously diverse, and my own conviction is that one can appeal to Virgil's use of earlier texts to argue (with equal success) either for or against Virgilian sympathy for an Epicurean point of view. In this connection, we must consider the last lines of Aeneid 4, where the description of Dido's death meshes perfectly with Lucretian descriptions of the mortality of the soul:

omnis et una dilapsus calor atque in uentos uita recessit (4.704–5) [And at once all the warmth and life slipped away and receded into the winds.] This final description of Dido's death evokes Lucretius' descriptions of the soul's dissipation into air at death (DRN 3.128–29, 3.214–15, 3.400–401, 3.455–56) and thus aligns the narrator—for the moment at least—with the Garden. For Page 68 →some readers, this Lucretian intertext, “an intertext that subverts some of our certainties” (as R. O. A. M. Lyne puts it) will stand as Virgil's last word on Dido's Epicurean leanings.73 Those readers may then take Dido's ghostly reappearance in the underworld as a sort of illusion or even as the illusory fulfillment of Dido's threat to haunt Aeneas.74 Others may agree with the claim that Dido's reappearance in the underworld constitutes a final undermining of Dido's Epicurean spirit.

Dido among Epicureans Although Plutarch liked to maintain that Epicureans are too focused on bodily pleasures to read books, one can imagine various Epicurean responses to the Aeneid, including Epicurean readings that accept Dido as a worthy representative of the Garden. Such hypothetical Epicurean readers might pity Aeneas not only for his loss of the refuge of Phaeacian/Epicurean harbors but also for his subsequent zeal for bloodshed and revenge (though recent readers of Philodemus' On Anger would disagree on the latter).75 An Epicurean attuned to the Phaeacian /Epicurean tradition might also understand Aeneas' delivery from the storm as an obvious allusion to the saving wisdom of the Garden and might see Aeneas' departure from Dido as a return to worldly turmoil and suffering. As we have seen, salvation from troubled seas is a pervasive Epicurean metaphor. Such an interpretation of Virgil may seem as eccentric as Eratosthenes' Phaeacian-friendly interpretation of Homer. Yet perhaps eccentricity is to be expected of the Epicurean. Not all Epicurean readings of the Aeneid must remain hypothetical. Eccentric or not, stray fragments of an Epicurean reading of Virgil in which the Epicurean identifies with Dido survive in the writings of Seneca. According to Seneca, an Epicurean philosopher named Diodorus who committed suicide in the mid-first century CE chose as his last words the penultimate declaration of Virgil's Dido: vixi, et quem dederat cursum fortuna peregi (“I have lived, and I have run the course that fortune granted,” Aen. 4.653). Diodorus the Epicurean is otherwise unknown, and it is difficult to appraise Seneca's claim that Diodorus quoted Dido before slitting his own throat. The imperfectly contex-tualized Page 69 →tale projects a complex and arresting image: a male Epicurean philosopher (presumably Greek, if we judge by his name), quotes in Latin—knife in hand—the exit speech of Virgil's Carthaginian queen. Although Seneca does not mark Diodorus' quotation of the Aeneid with any citation or attribution, he makes clear that the words have a particular resonance. For Seneca, the lines are not merely Virgilian or tragic in a general sense but are emblematic of a type of respectable, austere Epicureanism that he admires. In fact, Seneca quotes Dido's words at Aeneid 4.653 three times (De vita beata 19; De beneficiis 5.17.5; Epistles 12.9).76 Each time, he quotes the line with approval and with implicit (and sometimes explicit) acknowledgment

of the Epicurean content of her words. In Epistle 12.10, Seneca mentions to his addressee, Lucilius, the dissolute life of Pacuvius (a vice-governor of Syria under Tiberius), who allegedly ended his dinners with mock funerals in which attendants carried him to bed singing in Greek, “He has lived his life” Seneca proposes Dido's words as a more seemly alternative, not just for Pacuvius, but for himself and his reader(s): “Let us do from a good motive [conscientia] what he did from a bad one; let us say as we go happily and joyfully to our sleep, vixi, et quem dederat cursum fortuna peregi.” Seneca does not ignore the fact that Dido's words are a prelude to suicide. After quoting Dido, Seneca cites Epicurus on suicide: “It is bad to live under constraint; but there is no constraint to live under constraint.” Since Seneca “quotes” Epicurus in Latin rather than in the original Greek and since the original is lost (as are most texts of Epicurus), it is difficult to know where quotation ends and interpretation begins, but Seneca's epistle continues, “Many short, simple paths to freedom are open to us. Let us thank god that no one can be held in life. We may spurn the constraints themselves.” At this point, Seneca anticipates Lucilius' response: “Epicurus,” inquis, “dixit, Quid tibi cum alieno?” (“'So spoke Epicurus,' you say. ‘Why do you quote a philosopher you oppose?'”). Seneca responds with the assertion that the best ideas are shared property. Dido's third appearance in Seneca's works occurs in his On Benefits, in the midst of his lengthy meditation on “ingratitude” (perhaps better translated as “bitter resentment”). From the context, it is obvious that Dido's words exemplify the sort of gratefulness that ordinary people lack: Page 70 → Who dies without complaint? Who dares to say in the end, “I have lived, and I have run the course that fortune granted”? Who dies without rebelling, without wailing? Yet not to be satisfied with the time one has had [praeterito tempore] is to be an ingrate. (Ben. 5.17.5) The broader context of this passage in the argument of On Benefits also makes clear that Seneca aligns Dido's gratefulness with the wisdom of Epicurus, who taught that one ought to appreciate one's past good fortune (praeterita…bona, Ben. 3.4.1) and that an increase in time does not increase pleasure (cf. Ben. 5.17.6–7 and Epicurus, Principal Doctrines 19). Seneca's account of Epicurus' teachings on gratitude is confirmed in part by Epicurus' reference to the aging philosopher's gratitude (charis) for past experience (Ep. Men. 122), but I suspect that Seneca is also thinking of Lucretius' personified “Nature,” who denounces the resentment of foolish mortals who do not want to die (DRN 3.931–77).77 This context also suggests that Seneca understands Dido's declaration at Aeneid 4.653 as the words of the proverbial Epicurean who leaves life as a satisfied guest (ut plenus vitae conuiua, DRN 938). The notion that the true Epicurean faces death with equanimity is not made explicit in the canonical texts of Epicurus but stands out in other Epicurean sources. In a saying attributed to Metrodorus (another founding member of the Garden), the sage says he will leave life singing that he has lived well ( Sent. Vat. 47). The Epicurean tradition also attributes composure and happiness to the dying Epicurus (Diog. Laert. 10.15–16). Thus, in Seneca's reading, Dido's last words express a composure worthy of best Epicurean practice. To return to Diodorus, Seneca does not explain why Diodorus has chosen to die. What is clear is that Diodorus is content with the years he has spent “at anchor” in the safety of the Garden's metaphorical harbors (ille interim beatus ac plenus bona conscientia reddidit sibi testimonium vita excedens laudavitque aetatis in portus et ad ancoram actae quietem, De vita beata 19). Although some of Diodorus' detractors held that suicide was unacceptable to Epicurus, Seneca's assertion to the contrary demonstrates his close familiarity with the texts of Epicurus. Fundamental to Epicureanism is the notion that life offers pleasures even when adversity exists (Ep. Men. 126–27). Thus a sage would not commit suicide simply because of the loss of vision (Diog. Laert. 10.119). This does not mean, however, that the Garden prohibited suicide (cf. Cicero, Tusc. Page 71 →5.118). In fact, Diodorus' emulation of Dido and Seneca's citing of Epicurus in Epistles 12.9 suggest that Seneca and Diodorus read Dido's suicide as an act that was both dignified and Epicurean. I started this chapter with an Odyssean speech in Homer that provided a text for a centuries-long conversation about Epicureanism and that led some Epicurean readers to seek their models in Homer. Having followed that conversation through its reincarnations in the Aeneid, I have ended with an Epicurean reading of Virgil that finds something redemptive in Dido's death. The next chapter will add to this picture the possibility that the many

inspirations for Virgil's Dido included traditions about women philosophers in the Garden. But that, in turn, leads me to wonder if Dido is the emblem not of a woman philosopher but of something female—or womanish—about the Garden.

1. (Plutarch 1087b). 2. I first explored the intersections between Homer's Phaeacians and the formulating of Epicurean ideals in an article that focused on Virgil's Dido in Classical Antiquity (Gordon 1998). This revisiting has benefited from Elizabeth Asmis' comments on a draft of this chapter, as well as Adler 2003, Algra 1997 and 2003, Armstrong et al. 2004, Fowler 2002a, Gale 2000, Gordon and Suits 2003, Long 2006, Morrison 2007, O'Keefe 2001, Sedley 1998, and Russell and Konstan 2005. 3. On Phaeacians as hedonists, see Plato, Republic 3.390a–b (a passage that also cites Od. 9.5–11) and Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae 12.531a–b. Kaiser 1964 outlines the ancient responses to Odysseus' speech. 4. A one-word translation into English is not always adequate. See Inwood and Donini 1999: 684 (quoted in n. 6 of my introduction). See also Sedley 1999 and Ambrose 1965. In referring to Odysseus' speech, Athenaeus uses the phrase “purpose of life” (Ath. 12.513e). 5. For a short list of ancient sources that associate the Phaeacians specifically with Epicureans, see Bignone (1936: 269–70). DeWitt (1954: 365 n. 12) and Buffière (1956: 319–21) cite the same texts. More recent scholarship that describes the tradition connecting Phaeacians and Epicureans includes Sider 1995b, Asmis 1995, and Fowler 2002a. 6. For text and translation, see Russell and Konstan 2005. 7. Similarly, the second-century Essay on the Life and Poetry of Homer attributed to Plutarch asserts that Epicurus was “misled” by Odysseus, whose endurance through changing fortunes also misled Aristippus to praise poverty and labor as well as pleasure (Vit. Hom. 150). The expanded title of this Life of Homer is the title chosen by the recent translators (Keaney and Lamerton 1996). 8. The logic of Heraclitus' vitriol does not stand up to translation. Buffière (1962: 86) translates, “Le peu qui'il a laissé au monde, il faut encore qu'il l'ait impudemment volé à Homère, sans le savoir.” 9. For discussion of Odysseus' speech, see Most 1989. 10. There is, however, at least one Homeric scholion (to Od. 9.28) that cites Epicurus' “borrowing” from Homer with approval. See Dindorf 1855: 408. 11. I refer to the “outer speaker” in a given essay as “Plutarch” because his voice, though it may be fictive in some ways, seems to be “grounded on the historical author,” as Morrison (2006: 35) has written of the voices of “Horace” and “Callimachus” 12. Riffaterre 1981: 5. Not necessarily a matter of grammatical error, an “ungrammaticality” can be a shift in syntax or register that signals an allusion or quotation. 13. See Corbeill 1997. For Plutarch's qualified admiration of Rome, see Swain 1996: 135–86. 14. For epigraphical and other documentation for Roman opinions about the baths, see Dunbabin 1989. 15. Asmis 1995: 17. 16. Asmis 1995: 17, citing Bignone 1936: 269–73. 17. Asmis 1995:17. 18. Fowler 2002a: 82. 19. Od. 6.200–207, translation by Lombardo (2000). Quoted by permission of Hackett Publishing. 20. On Eratosthenes and the Stoics, see Pfeiffer 1968: 152–70. 21. Quoted by Athenaeus (Ath. 1.16d). 22. Plutarch alludes several times to the Epicurean use of the term euphrosyne (Non posse 1092e, 1097f). 23. Like Aristotle (Politics 1338a 27), Eratosthenes took euphrosyne in Odyssey 9.6 in a philosophical or intellectual sense. The Homeric scholiasts also consider this interpretation of euphrosyne. Ironically, euphrosyne is a word that a later Epicurean tradition uses to refer to specifically carnal pleasures. See Diogenes of Oenoanda, fr. 10, col. 4 Smith. Plutarch alludes several times to the Epicurean use of the term euphrosyne and suggests that they have co-opted the term for inappropriate use (Non posse 1092e, 1097f). 24. Naples, Museo Archaeologico Nazionale 5893, illustration in Sider 2005: 4. 25. See Sedley 1998: 65 and Gigante 1995; but contrast Porter 2007.

26. A sardonic argument over whether Odysseus was a better model for Stoicism or for Epicureanism appears also in Lucian's Parasite (10–11). 27. Purple dye (later a catchword for excess) is less recognizable as a peculiarly Phaeacian accoutrement, but the superfluous purple coverlets Lucretius spurns in the next lines—as no more helpful to the sick than a “plebeian” cover (DRN 2.34–36)—also recall Arete's purple wool and the purple bedding provided to Odysseus by the Phaeacians on his first night after washing up on their shores (Od. 7.336–38). Purple dye is also abundant in Virgil's Carthage (e.g., Aen. 1.700, 11.72–75), where it seems to be not only Phaeacian but typically Tyrian. 28. But see Fowler 2002: 82–109. 29. See Bailey 1947: 802 on line 2.25. See also Gale 1994: 111 (noting the Epicurean/Phaeacian tradition) and Fowler 2002a: 82–96 (spelling out the Phaeacian allusion in detail). 30. Lines 2.29–33 reappear in De rerum natura in Lucretius' description of the peaceful stage in the primitive history of human life (5.1392–96). There, the context is the development of music, and the scene is of a group of people who (sated with food) lie on the grass listening to music. After the repeated lines in the vignette of primitive happiness break off, Lucretius adds, “Then there was joking, then conversation, then sweet laughter” (tum ioca, tum sermo, tum dulces esse cachinni/consuerant, 5.1397). 31. On Lucretius as Epicurean fundamentalist, see Sedley 1998: 71 and Sedley's third chapter in general. 32. See Fowler 2002a: 95–96 n. 19. 33. Delattre 1996 and 1997. 34. On the ancient and modern confusion between the monthly gathering on the twentieth and the celebration of Epicurus' birthday, see Clay 1986 and Sider 1997: 152–53 and 156. Gigante (as translated by Obbink [1995: 81]) explains the confusion by placing Epicurus' birthday on the twentieth of Gamelion and writes that the dinner of the poem occurs in the month of Gamelion and thus celebrates not only the monthly Epicurean “Twentieth” but also Epicurus' birthday. 35. Epigram 27 Sider = Palatine Anthology 11.44 = 22 Gow and Page, translation by Sider (1997: 152), with modifications. 36. Sider 1995: 47. 37. See the following discussion in text and Clay 1995, Asmis 1995, Sider 1995, and Wigodsky 1995. 38. Sider 1997: 153. See Gowers 1993, chapter 4, “Invitation poems”; Gigante 2003: 24; Armstrong 2004: 4. Sider points out that Philodemus' epigram did not necessarily predate Catullus 13. 39. See Asmis 1991: 37 and 41 and Sider 1991: 50. Jufresa (1982; which I know only from Sider's reference [1997, 160]) argues that the Good King presents the Phaeacians “as the model of a Utopian Epicurean community.” 40. Momigliano 1941: 153. 41. Fowler 2002a: 95 n. 19. 42. Harrison (1995: 47), who describes a late twentieth-century scholarly consensus that painted Horace as “an independent purveyer of familiar ethical generalizations,” argues that Horace's engagement with philosophy (including Stoicism and Epicureanism) was in fact both serious and deep. Another important dissenter from the communis opinio is Ferri (1993: 84–94), who treats Horace's Epistles as a response to Lucretius. More recently, Morrison (2007: 129) has described the “recommendations, doubts, backsliding, and progress of ‘Horace' in Epistles i,” aspects he regards as firm indications of the seriousness of Horace's interrogation of Epicureanism. 43. Translation by Fuchs (1977: 54). 44. See Asmis 1991: 38. 45. Diogenes Laertius (10.137) contrasts pleasures of the body with the greater pleasures of the mind or spirit (), a report that is consistent with Epicurus' Ep. Men. 132. For discussion, see Gosling and Taylor 1982: 349–54 and Long 1986. 46. See Gigante 1990: 190; Chambert 2004: 43–46; Clay 2004: 25–36. 47. On Epicurean friendship, see Long 2006, O'Keefe 2001, and Algra 1997 and 2003. 48. Long 2006: 202. 49. For Virgilian citations and bibliography, see Pease 1935 and Dyson 1996. Adler examines Epicurean and Stoic echoes in the Aeneid also but comes to conclusions very different from mine. 50. Recent treatments of Lucretian language in Virgil's Dido episode include Hardie 1986, Hamilton 1993,

Lyne 1994, and Dyson 1996. Compare also Brown 1987: 142. Farrell (1997: 234–35) demonstrates that Virgil also uses Lucretian language to present an Epicurean point of view in the episode of Nisus and Euryalus in Aeneid 9. Virgil's debt to Lucretius in general has of course long been recognized. 51. On Venus as Nausikaa, Athena in Scheria, and Demodocus' Aphrodite, see Knauer 1964: 158–63. Knauer points out that Aeneas' comparison of his (disguised) mother to Diana recalls Odysseus' comparison of Nausikaa to Artemis (159 n. 1). 52. See Dyson 1996: 205. 53. Aen. 1.560–66; Dyson 1996: 206 n. 10. 54. On Dido's “multiplicity” in general, see Hexter 1992, especially 337. 55. See Aulus Gellius 9.9; Knauer 1964: 174 and passim; Clausen 1987: 15–26; Hardie 1986: passim. My summary here focuses on the correspondences between Virgilian characters and their antecedents; also relevant to the Phaeacia/Carthage analogy are the storms, invocations, and wrecks at sea that preceded the respective heroes' arrivals, as well as the shade-filled, prosperous landscapes that receive them. 56. See Hardie 1986: 60–66. 57. Woven in with these Homeric strands is the memory of an earlier reincarnation of Nausikaa the young Medea of Apollonius' Argonautica. Apollonius' tale of Medea's divinely orchestrated love for Jason (who also makes his way to Medea enshrouded in mist) asserts itself frequently in the Aeneid, especially in book 4, which Servius (praef. in Aen 4.247.1–4) described as entirely Apollonian: totus hic liber translatus est de tertio Apollonii. In some respects, the character Medea may also be a precursor of the Homeric Nausikaa (cf. Reece 1993: 109–10). On Virgil's mingling of the Homeric with the Apollonian, see Clausen 1987. Medea's Phaeacian attributes are less emphatic, but the Phaeacians themselves (as Phaeacians) play a crucial role in the Argonautica. 58. On Virgil's habit of quoting Lucretius in alien contexts and sometimes even reversing his Epicurean wisdom, see Hardie 1986: passim; Farrell 1991: 169–206; Dyson 1996: 204, with n. 3; Gale 2000: 4 and 125–27. 59. On Virgil's reassessment of myths condemned by Lucretius, see Gale 2000: 126–27. 60. See especially Segal 1971, Hardie 1986, and Dyson 1996. 61. Servius ad Aen. 1.742: bene philosophica introducitur cantilena in convivio reginae adhuc castae. The Iopas passage is also heavy with intertextual rejoinders: Virgil excises an erotic passage that Lucretius had highlighted in the proem to De rerum natura 1, which, in turn, gestures toward the Phaeacian story by depicting Mars in the arms of Venus. 62. The full text is as follows: 63. DRN 1.54–61, 2.62–66, 3.31–40 (where the indirect questions refer back to lessons just presented). 64. Lombardo 2005: 26. 65. See Hardie 1986: 33–51. See also Gale 1995: 36–61. 66. For example, amarus in DRN 1.940 plays on amor in DRN 1.924, and see Eclogues 3.109–10. 67. Dyson (1996: 204) describes Dido as “a Lucretian exemplum malum” and reads book 4 as a censure of Epicureanism. 68. Brown 1987: 142; Hamilton 1993: 249. 69. Hamilton 1993: 250. 70. On Dido and Eastern stereotypes, see Hexter 1992. The tecta laqueata of Dido's palace are an especially rich allusion; in addition of having Phaeacian associations (DRN 2.28), such paneling was also considered Trojan or barbarian (for sources, see Dyson 1996). 71. One of the most sinister (and ostensibly non-Phaeacian) Homeric elements of Aeneid 4 circles back to Phaeacia: when Dido curses Aeneas, her malediction echoes the parting shot hurled at Odysseus by Polyphemus (Aen. 4.612–29; Od. 9.528–535). In Homer, the Cyclopes have a vague connection with the Phaeacians (Od. 7.205–6) and are the Phaeacians' former neighbors (Od. 6.3–6), a proximity the Aeneid recalls by placing the Cyclops episode temporally and spatially near the Carthage episode (see Quint 1989: 120–23). 72. For the claim that Virgil's Dido demonstrates the obvious errors of Epicureanism, see Feeney 1991: 171–72 and Dyson 1996. For support of the idea that Virgil's depiction of Dido is friendly to the Garden, see Williams 1983: 210–13 and Mellinghoff-Bourgerie 1990. 73. Lyne 1994: 196.

74. See Lyne 1994: 196. 75. For differing views on the Epicurean and/or Stoic ramifications of Aeneas' killing of Turnus, see Galinsky 1988, Putnam 1990, Erler 1992, and Fowler 1997. 76. For commentary on Seneca's quotation of Dido in De vita beata and the Epistles, see Görler 1996. 77. Compare ingrata at DRN 3.937 and ingratum at 3.934.

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CHAPTER 3 A Woman Named “Pleasing” When an eel was served, an Epicurean who was dining with us said, “The Helen of dishes has arrived; so I shall be Paris.” And before anyone else could reach for the eel, he fell upon it and gobbled it down to the bone. (Athenaeus, The Learned Banqueters 7.298d-e)'1 At the entrance to the Vatican Library in Rome sits an oversized statue of a figure commonly identified as Saint Hippolytus. 2 The statue is clearly a pastiche: the lower half is the fragment of a second-century CE Roman copy of an earlier Greek original, most of the upper half is part of another statue, the head and arms belong to yet another era, and the entire figure was restored in the sixteenth century. A composite statue is nothing extraordinary: inscriptions on older statues were often recut in antiquity to display new names, and sculptors of various eras frequently used the remains of ancient statues to create portraits of more recent figures. Scholars disagree about whether this particular statue was remodeled in antiquity for display in a church, a cemetery, or the pagan library of the Pantheon. It is also not clear how much the Renaissance sculptor knew about the various fragments and their provenance. Records kept by the scholar who discovered the lower half (and perhaps more) in 1551 are unclear. Some scholars also doubt that Saint Hippolytus was the intended subject of the third-century additions, but these issues do not concern us here.3 Page 73 → What matters are the feet, the hems of the clothing that adorn the figure, and the throne on which it sits. As the work of Margherita Guarducci has shown, the statue's double hems—a long (unisex) mantle or himation worn over a longer and elaborately fluted chiton or tunic—reveal unmistakably that the original statue depicted a woman.4 A classical or Hellenistic Greek portrait statue of a man would depict the mantle without a longer underlying garment displayed beneath its hem, and the ankles would be readily visible.5 Here the delicate folds of the chiton are so long as to reveal only the front portions of the feet, and the sandals seem appropriate for a woman rather than for a man.6 To a sixteenth-century restorer, these niceties may have passed unnoticed, or perhaps contemporary artistic conventions made them simply irrelevant. But in the eighteenth century, a sculptor who made a copy of the statue for the church of San Lorenzo in Damasco apparently noticed the error: the new sculpture of Hippolytus omits the feminine chiton.7 I rehearse this account of the early life of a sculpture here because the fragile but suggestive evidence that ultimately unites this statue with Epicurean history is indicative of the obstacles and uncertainties one meets in writing a history of female Epicurean philosophers, companions, and students. The Epicurean/Phaeacian tradition may be intricate, but here the picture is often murky and perplexing. In the case of the statue, Margherita Guarducci has Page 74 →made the tantalizing conjecture that it depicts a female leader of the Garden. She notes that the female figure sits—with right foot forward—on a rounded throne with front legs in the form of a lion's head and feet, details striking to anyone conversant with the conventional portrayals of ancient philosophers. As is the case with other philosophers, the ancient portraits of Epicurus follow a distinct and readily recognizable blueprint. A series of statues of Epicurus displays the same carefully delineated stance: right leg projected and left relaxed and set back.8 In each of these portraits, Epicurus sits on a throne with rounded back and front legs in the stylized form of a lion. Statues of the Epicurean disciples Hermarchus and Metrodorus follow the posture set by Epicurus, thus presenting them as the “rightful followers and continuators” of Epicurus' teach-ings.9 In portrait sculpture, the throne, similar to seats of honor in the Theater of Dionysus, belongs only to the Epicureans. The visual language of the securely identified Epicurean portraits is discussed in chapter 5. Our focus for now is the fact that a statue of a woman had salient iconographical features in common with the portrait statues of the founding Epicureans.

While Guarducci's interpretation hangs on an admittedly slender thread, it is difficult to ignore.10 Could the shared iconographical language signify that the statue is a portrait of a female Epicurean philosopher whom early Epicureans placed on a level comparable to that of Epicurus, Hermarchus, Metrodorus, or Colotes? If so, who was she? Settling on a well-attested first-generation Epicurean name, Guarducci identifies the statue as a woman named Themista; Bernard Frischer suggests that a likelier candidate—if the statue represents an Epicurean woman—would be a woman named Leontion.11 But we must step back at this point and consider a more basic question and a broader range of material. What other signs do we have that the Garden was not an entirely male realm? How complex is the evidence, and what sources are meaningful? Most of our information about Themista, Leontion, and other women who may have Page 75 →pursued philosophy in the Garden is as uncertain as the identification of the ancient statue that has survived as part of the portrait of Saint Hippolytus. This chapter examines that uncertainty and shows that writing a history of Epicurean women is an illuminating but never straightforward affair.

Women in the Garden Most of our data about the association of women with the Garden comes from an anti-Epicurean tradition that intersects at times with the rhetoric about Epicurean “Phaeacians” discussed in the last chapter. Cicero's refutation of the teachings of Epicurus in On Ends offers a relatively uncomplicated introduction to the presence of women in that tradition. There, addressing the Epicurean character Torquatus, Cicero contends that the Garden cannot defend itself because it has not produced a single great man: “What kind of advocacy is it, what sort of case does pleasure have, if no witness or supporter can be found among those of greatest renown? On my side the historical record brings forth men who spent their whole life striving for glory and were deaf to the call of pleasure. In your argument, history is silent.”12 According to Cicero, the Garden also does not revere the famous men that the other philosophical schools treat with appropriate respect. Instead, Epicurus writes about an Epicurean woman named Themista, never mentioning the names of Solon, Themistocles, or the other great Greek statesmen. Cicero asks, “Is it not better to speak of them than to fill countless volumes in praise of Themista?” He adds nothing more about this woman: the fact that she is female is enough. Tellingly, Cicero insists that these Epicurean aberrations are particularly un-Roman: “Let us leave that to the Greeks. We are indebted to them for philosophy and for all higher learning, but they can take licenses that we cannot.”13 In Cicero's On the Nature of the Gods, we read that it is not just that women Page 76 →were addressed in Epicurean texts; an Epicurean woman actually had the audacity to write one. Wrongheaded Epicurean notions led Epicurus, Metrodorus, and Hermarchus to refute the great philosophers Pythagoras, Plato, and Empedocles. Cicero's skeptical Academic interlocutor continues, “Leontion, a little prostitute [meretricula], no less, dared to write in refutation of Theophrastus.” He begrudgingly concedes that her Attic Greek is good, but the rhetorical purpose of his mention of Leontion's writing is to demonstrate the depravity of the Epicureans, not to highlight her achievement. He ends his comments on Leontion by claiming, “So enormous was the wantonness of Epicurus' Garden.”14 As the author of the entry on Leontion in a popular eighteenth-century biographical dictionary writes, “it is pleasant to observe, how peevishly Cicero expresses himself upon this.”15 A consideration of Cicero's many references to the small corpus of Epicurean texts that have survived strongly suggests that his testimony can be trusted here. His approach to the extant texts of Epicurus can be sardonic, misleading, or dismissive, but he displays his erudition as he cites them.16 Elsewhere he does not seem to invent texts or their most literal content, so it seems reasonable to accept the rudiments of his assertions: a woman named Themista was mentioned or addressed (apparently often) in the philosophical writings of Epicurus, and a woman named Leontion wrote an Epicurean philosophical text.17 Pliny (who may simply be following Cicero) confirms the latter, writing that “a woman, no less” wrote against Theophrastus (HN, preface, 29). It is noteworthy that Pliny calls her a woman (femina) rather than a prostitute (meretricula). Yet he connects her work about the eloquent Theophrastus with a proverb about “choosing one's tree to hang from,” implying that she—” hoist with her own petard”—had written a critique that merely exposed her own ineptitude.18 Page 77 → A range of Greek and Roman sources flesh out the evidence offered by Cicero and Pliny. A slender trace emerges

when Seneca twice quotes a letter from Metrodorus to his (unnamed) sister, in which Metrodorus offers Epicurean consolation on the death of her child (Ep. 98.9, 99.25). When Metrodorus tells her that “all the good of mortals is mortal” (mortale est omne mortalium, Ep. 98.9), is this a one-way philosophical message, or can we imagine the sister as an educated respondent? Diogenes Laertius mentions a sister of Metrodorus who married another Epicurean: “he [Metrodorus] gave his sister Batis to Idomeneus in marriage” (10.23). In the late twentieth century, the Italian scholar Anna Angeli argued that one of the Epicurean papyri from Herculaneum (PHerc. 176) included a biography of Batis that praised her virtue and wisdom.19 In Angeli's reading, this biography of Batis was documented with excerpts of her letters, one of which has often been presented in modern scholarship as a charming letter from Epicurus to a child. …20 [We have arrived in Lampsacus in good health—I and Pythocles, Hermarchus, and Ktesippos—and we have found Themista and the rest of our friends in good health as well. You do well if you and your mama are in good health and if you obey your papa and Matro, as before. You should know well, Apia, that I and all the rest of us love you greatly because you are obedient…] If Angeli's attribution of the letter to Batis is correct, Batis was a philosophical colleague of the founding members of the Garden whose travels included a visit with Themista. According to Angeli, the biography quotes five letters from Page 78 →Batis, two of them written on the occasion of the death of Metrodorus. But the texts are poorly preserved, and Batis' presence in the papyri is shadowy at best. Her own name is never mentioned in the surviving columns of the papyrus that may contain her biography.21 Much later—in non-Epicurean texts—Themista and Leontion appear as paradigmatic figures whose accomplishments may serve as models for others. Themista is mentioned as an Epicurean philosopher or student by the Christian apologist Clement of Alexandria (late second to early third century CE). Clement cites her as one of several historical women who, like Judith and Esther, prove that women are capable of acquiring wisdom (his point being that women can and must learn the teachings of the Christian faith): “And what is more, Themista of Lampsacus, daughter of Zoilos, wife of Leonteus of Lampsacus, pursued Epicureanism, just as Myia the daughter of Theano pursued Pythagoreanism” (Stromata 4.19.121).22 The inclusion of Themista here is particularly striking, as Clement expresses loathing for Epicureanism elsewhere.23 In Against Piso, Cicero contemptuously refers to his enemy as “wiser than Themista” (63), which suggests that Themista's erudition was already proverbial in Cicero's lifetime. Leontion, too, appears as a paradigm, in Aelius Theon's Progymnasmata (first century CE), a set of “preliminary exercises” for instruction in schools of rhetoric. For Theon, it is not the fact that Leontion was a woman that is remarkable. Instead, he proposes that his students cite Leontion when they need an example of someone whose achievements are especially praiseworthy because of the social distance traversed: “It is also worth admiring a workman or someone from the lower class who makes something good of himself, as they say Simon the leather worker and Leontion the hetaera became pursuers of philosophy.”24 Theon's and Clement's use of Leontion and Themista Page 79 →as proverbial figures demonstrates their status as legends but provides no further guarantees of their existence as historical individuals. If we approach them with caution, many passages in Diogenes Laertius' Lives and Opinions of the Eminent Philosophers have great potential for uncovering a more grounded history of the paradigmatic Leontion and Themista, as well as other women associated with the Garden.25 The two firmest pieces of evidence in Diogenes Laertius' Epicurean-friendly Life of Epicurus concern Themista only. First, it is especially significant that Diogenes includes the following entry in his list of distinguished Epicureans: “Leonteus of Lampsacus and his wife Themista, to whom [feminine singular] Epicurus wrote letters” (10.25). The proximity of the name of Colotes (an important Epicurean scholar and another citizen of Lampsacus), which directly follows those of Leonteus and Themista in that list, may give us a sense of Themista's importance. Second, Diogenes includes a particular work addressed to Themista (Neocles: Dedicated to Themista) in his catalog of now lost texts of Epicurus (10.28).26 The Epicurean Metrodorus is the only other dedicatee to appear in Diogenes' list of the fortyone “best” works of Epicurus (10.27-28).

In contrast, while Leontion is mentioned in the Life of Epicurus, she appears nowhere in Diogenes' list of important Epicureans or in his lists of Epicurean texts. If it were not for Cicero's reference to her writing against Theophrastus, this silence would weigh very heavily against the probability that we are right to identify her as a philosopher.27 Two embedded quotations in Diogenes' Life of Epicurus are also relevant, however. These are a scrap of a letter addressed to Leontion and another to Themista (discussed in the next section of this chapter). The fact that the fragments belong to letters is striking, because the only surviving full texts of Epicurus are philosophical treatises in epistolary form. All three of these epistles are preserved by Diogenes at the end of the Life: a summary of the philosophy of nature addressed to Herodotus, a summary of astronomy and meteorology addressed to Pythocles, and an outline of Epicurean ethics addressed to Menoeceus. Thus the epistolary form of the fragments Diogenes connects with Themista and Leontion may suggest that the Page 80 →women were students or fellow pursuers of wisdom like Herodotus, Pythocles, or Menoeceus. But Diogenes Laertius' references to Epicurean letters other than the three philosophical epistles he preserves are problematic.

Epicurus as Habitual Letter Writer Sayings and clever repartee are the essential vehicles for Diogenes Laertius' presentation in the Lives and Opinions of almost all of the philosophers he treats. Most of his sages have a penchant for speaking in maxims or punch lines, and their longer remarks are often presented as rejoinders and retorts. When Diogenes occasionally includes letters, they are complete or several sentences long.28 In the survey of Epicurus' life and reputation, however, the vehicles are fragmentary letters and references to letters. The use of excerpts from letters is notable, since Diogenes could have continued the pattern set by the use of sayings and conversations in the accounts of Solon, Anaxagoras, Socrates, Diogenes the Cynic, and the other philosophers. Epicurus' sayings—the Kyriae Doxai—are consigned to the end of Diogenes Laertius' book on Epicurus, completely isolated from the bios. There they appear as philosophical teachings that cap not only the presentation of Epicureanism but Diogenes' work on Greek philosophy as a whole. All three of the philosophical epistles preserved by Diogenes Laertius are summaries or epitomes of longer nonepistolary books, the letter format being a pedagogical tool.29 Personal letters that focus on mundane or intimate details are another matter altogether. Deliberate conflation of the personal with the philosophical provided material for learned parody in Alciphron's Letters of Courtesans (second or third century CE). The inclusion of Leontion in Alciphron's Letters is not in itself particularly noteworthy, as the other eighteen letters in the courtesan collection are penned by non-Epicurean literary and historical hetaerae. But within her letter to another hetaera named Lamia, Leontion deplores the correspondence she receives from an aged and lecherous “socratizing” Epicurus, who, she says, wants to make Page 81 →her “his Xanthippe.”30 She asserts that she will run anywhere, “fleeing from land to land to escape his interminable letters” (17.3). The texts pressed on Leontion by this nearly octogenarian Epicurus are described, at one moment, as confidential (“well-sealed”) notes and, at the next moment, as philosophical books (17.2).31 The fact that Epicurus is trying to educate Leontion in his dotage implies a further devaluing of the historical Leontion's status as philosopher, as it removes her from the “founding fathers” by at least a generation. Unless the text is corrupt, Alciphron's Leontion cannot even get the book titles right: she refers to “his Kyriae Doxai about Nature and his distorted Canons” ( 4.17.2). After conflating Epicurus' On Nature with the Principal Doctrines (Kyriae Doxai), she puns that she will be, according to nature, the mistress (kyra) of herself (, 4.17.2). At any rate, Epicurus' eagerness to teach Leontion about Epicureanism makes him a strange suitor. Her intended flight from these writings suggests that she views them not only as unwelcome philosophical tracts but also as personal and intrusive correspondence. Ironically, Alciphron's fictional letter from Leontion—one entry in Alciphon's extended series of fictional letters—presents letter writing as a particularly Epicurean habit. The contours of this Epicurean habit are complex. Historical reality certainly plays a role: papyri from Herculaneum reveal intense interest in the correspondence of the early Epicureans, and many fragments quote letters or preserve them in full.32 In addition to the three epistolary treatises preserved by Diogenes Laertius, we have citations to apparently authentic letters in Cicero, Plutarch, Seneca, and elsewhere. Letter writing was enough of a hallmark of Epicurean intellectual life that several scholars have viewed the epistolary form of the epistles of Seneca and Horace as a sort of homage to Epicurus.33 The prominence of philosophical epistles in

Epicurus' oeuvre was due in part to an urge to unite the clusters of Epicureans who were scattered across the Mediterranean Page 82 →as well as to disseminate Epicurean wisdom and in part to the Garden's focus on the pursuit of personal happiness. Accordingly, the Epicurean teachings presented in the epistles are ostensibly tailored for particular personages or types of people at particular moments. Thus the Letter to Herodotus is framed as a comprehensive outline that will help followers who are acquainted with some details but need a comprehensive overview. The Letter to Pythocles presents an introduction to celestial phenomena that is easier to grasp than Epicurus' larger work. Menoeceus, the addressee of an outline of Epicurean ethics, is an older man who is advised by Epicurus that it is never too late to turn to philosophy. One hindrance to distinguishing similarly focused philosophical epistles from citations of more intimate correspondence is the lack of ancient Greek terms that discriminate between personal correspondence and what present-day readers would identify as philosophical epistles. Occasionally the diminutive (“little letter”) seems to signal that a particular text was an item of private correspondence rather than an epistolary essay or treatise, but in general the ancient sources designate all letters, whether private or not, simply as “epistles” (). Despite the absence of a clear nomenclature, however, the ways a particular letter displays its epistolarity can help one discern a difference. The three epistles preserved in full by Diogenes Laertius display very rudimentary epistolary window dressing: the greeting at the opening, a few singular second-person imperatives, and the exhortation at the end. Only the Letter to Pythocles frames itself as a response to a letter from the addressee. Reference to the receipt of the earlier letter is made precise when its messenger is identified as a particular person named Cleon, but that is the most noteworthy nod to the epistolary form. The Letter to Menoeceus seems less like a treatise and more like a letter because of its comparative brevity and its inclusion of more imperatives that exhort the addressee to “do” or to “practice” or to “believe” (10.123).34 None of the three epistles, however, supplies any news, requests a response, expresses personal affection or concern, or offers details about the disposition of writer or addressee. References to most of the rest of Epicurus' correspondence reveal an entirely different pattern. An outline of the first few pages of Diogenes' Life of Epicurus will convey that difference and will illustrate the prominence of letters in a hypothetical Page 83 →database of references to Epicurean women and womanizing Epicureans. First—after a short introduction on Epicurus' childhood, his education, and the beginnings of his career—Diogenes mentions that Diotimus the Stoic attacked Epicurus by composing fifty dirty letters and passing them off as “from Epicurus” (¿ 10.3). Next, Diogenes refers to the slanderer who attributed to Epicurus some letters that others assign to the Stoic Chrysippus (10.3). After mentioning these spurious collections, Diogenes quickly summarizes stories about Epicurus perpetrated by Posidonius the Stoic, Nicolaus, Sotion, and Dionysius of Halicarnassus. These writers had asserted that Epicurus assisted his parents in their contemptible trades (the mother as a caster of spells, the father as a schoolmaster), that one of his brothers prostituted himself and consorted with “Leontion the hetaera,” that Epicurus plagiarized Democritus and Aristippus, and that he was not an Athenian citizen (10.4). Next we hear about the claim that Epicurus wrote letters that flattered Lysimachus' minister Mithras, addressing him as one ought to address Apollo. At this point, we meet the fragments of the letters to Leontion and Themista mentioned in the previous section of this chapter. The language of these letters is extravagant: “By Lord Apollo, my dear little Leontion, how we burst into applause when we read your letter” (); “If you [plural], and Themista in particular invite me, I am capable of twirling thrice and rushing to wherever you are”(, 10.5).35 Idiosyncratic Epicurean language of the sort parodied in New Comedy may be at play here. The signification of “twirling thrice” is lost to modern readers, and the word for “applause” () was unusual enough to inspire an entry in the Suda, with this fragmentary letter as the only source (kappa 2480 Adler). Diogenes also records that these sources assert that Epicurus wrote to Pythocles (whom they identify as “good looking”), “I shall sit here awaiting your desired, godlike entrance” (10.5).36 There follows a reference to a Theodorus who mentions another letter from Epicurus to Themista in his Against Epicurus, and another unnamed source mentions letters to many hetaerae Page 84 →and to Leontion in particular. The latter source also asserts that Epicurus' disciple Metrodorus was enamored of Leontion (10.5). Soon after this, we have the famous (or notorious, depending on the commentator) quotation from a letter to Pythocles: “Hoist sail, dear boy, and flee all culture” ( 10.6). After surveying these letters, Diogenes Laertius mentions Timocrates' nonextant Delightful People, the exposé of the Epicureans' alleged intemperance and what Timocrates called “those nighttime philosophies” of the Garden ( 10.6). According to

Diogenes Laertius, Timocrates cited letters to document his critique. Among Timocrates' many allegations in Delightful People was the claim that Epicurus spent an entire mina per day on food, “as he himself says in the letter to Leontion, and in the letter to the philosophers at Mytilene” (10.7). At this point, Diogenes interrupts the catalog of abuse to interject his own opinion about the letter collectors he has cataloged: “But these people are out of their minds” ( Diog. Laert. 10.9). He follows this assertion with testimonials to the kindness, goodness, and patriotism of Epicurus and to the worldwide friendships he fostered. Epicurus' correspondence appears less frequently in this section, where Diogenes apparently offers his own judgments of Epicurus or cites Epicurean-friendly sources. References to letters of Epicurus resume when Diogenes offers documentation of Epicurus' well-regulated appetite. Having noted Epicurus' usual satisfaction with bread and water alone, he quotes the philosopher as saying, “Send me a little pot of cheese, so that I can feast when I wish” (10.11). The last letter Diogenes mentions before he moves on to the three epistolary treatises is one to Idomeneus, in which Epicurus writes (on the last day of his life) of his joy despite his suffering and enjoins his addressee to care for the children of Metrodorus (10.22). Whether these nonphilosophical letters are cited to praise Epicurus or to condemn him, their epistolarity is emphatic. Their status as private messages is indicated by requests for a visit, an invitation, or a small gift of food or by exuberant expressions of delight in communication with the addressees. Frank disclosure is also characteristic. In Athenaeus' The Learned Banqueters, from the late second century CE, one of the diners claims that Epicurus complained in the Letters to Hermarchus that Leontion was having sex with “all” the Epicureans, in his plain view (13.588b). Why are letters and letter writing so prominent in Diogenes' Life of Epicurus and elsewhere? The strong connection between Epicurean biography (or caricature) Page 85 →and letter writing must be due in part to the role letters played in Epicurus' actual interactions with students and followers. Also relevant is the traditional reverence for Epicurus. Texts by Philodemus and other papyri from Herculaneum reveal an Epicurean practice of collection, quotation, and citation of biographical facts; a tradition that was bound up with the Epicurean focus on individual knowledge, lifestyle, and comportment. Letters were an ideal vehicle for conveying much-wanted data. Personal letters—whether authentic or fictive—served anti-Epicurean discourse as well. Epicurus' theory of divinity and his teachings about the size of the sun drew some ridicule, but nothing was so telling as what Epicurus had for dinner. In the case of letter fragments that Diogenes knows from the hostile sources, however, it is essential to note the implicit presentation of these texts as purloined or intercepted letters. It is as though accidental or opportunistic interception has revealed sordid realities or as though confidential self-disclosure has exposed true intentions. When the letters are damning, the implication is that the third-party reader (as though looking through a peephole) enjoys access to information that a deceitful and ignominious Epicurus meant to keep hidden. The outsider discovers the outrageous price that Epicurus pays for food or listens in on his conversations with hetaerae. The unstated claim that the letter has accidentally reached an unintended reader gives it the badge of authenticity: this is the real Epicurus. The fact of the Garden's bad reputation would be enough to spur the collection (or fabrication) of incriminating letters, and Epicureans could respond with more favorable documents from their own hagiographies. Thus a friendly reader catches him expressing concern for a small child or discovers that Epicurus was pleased with a mere pot of cheese. The eavesdropping qualities of these letters have affinities with fictional epistles such as Ovid's Heroides and Alciphron's Letters and must make us suspicious of their authenticity. Why are Epicurus' correspondents in the collections so often women? Historical reality may intrude here. But in cases of hostile quotation (or fabrication), the explanation is closely tied up with the references to food. Although we cannot know exactly what Diotimus the Stoic invented, most of the letters that appear in Diogenes' Life of Epicurus share a focus on women, food, or the attractive boy Pythocles, whom, according to Alciphron's Letters of Courtesans, Epicurus imagined as his “Alcibiades” (4.17.3). Critics of Epicurus believed (or liked to claim) that the satiation of bodily desires was central to Epicurean practice. What better way to expose the Epicureans' excessive interest in sex Page 86 →than the promulgation of allegedly purloined letters to Pythocles and various hetaerae? The letters confirm the stereotypical complaint against the Epicureans: all body and no mind. I will

return to the connection between women and comestibles later in this chapter. The sources for the Epicurus-friendly letters are equally partisan. The fragments counter the stereotypes by citing Epicurus' abstemiousness. Epicurus could be redeemed through displays of his filial piety. Thus we have the Letter to Mother, an Epicurean text that appears in the second-century CE inscription of Diogenes of Oenoanda.37 This letter in the voice of Epicurus is framed as a response to the mother's worried inquiries and refers to the funds delivered to the apparently young Epicurus via Cleon (who bears the same name as the messenger mentioned in the Letter to Pythocles). The letter writer argues that generous support from home is not necessary: …(fr. 126, cols. 1-3 Smith) [By Zeus, be sparing with the contributions you are always sending us. I do not want you to go without something in order that I may have more than I need; I would rather go without so you do not, and at any rate, I enjoy abundance in all respects…] In the letter, Epicurus also consoles his mother and offers a scientific explanation for the nightmares she has had about her distant son. The reference in Diogenes Laertius' Life to the mother's alleged profession as an incantationmonger Page 87 →suggests that she would be in special need of a more scientific approach. The Oenoanda text does triple duty as a biographical sketch, a philosophy lesson about dreaming, and a tract that confronts a negative stereotype.38 But it functions also as a formal document that stands up to a raft of intercepted letters. As an inscription on stone, displayed on the walls of a stoa, the letter achieves canonical status. In direct opposition to letters that represent his crude desires, the Letter to Mother portrays another Epicurus, a man who assures his mother that the modest funds he has are plenty and who imparted Epicurean wisdom to her. Not only does the letter demonstrate that Epicurus cared for his mother, but by depicting him engaged in philosophical discussion with her, it suggests obliquely that the place of women in the Garden was an honorable one. As an internal Epicurean document, the Letter to Mother has affinities with the Cynic epistles and the epistolary texts that present the teachings of other philosophical schools.39 The Cynic epistles sometimes focus on the body and on particular personal anecdotes, but there we have the converse of the Epicurean paradigm: contempt for bodily desires replaces Epicurean indulgence. An undated collection of letters purportedly written to and by female followers of Pythagoras also focus at times on the body. But the Pythagorean women write to each other about issues consonant with the traditional roles of respectable women: care of children, selection of caretakers, clothing, behavior of husbands.40 These letters are presented not as intercepted but as collected for edification, and nowhere do they display untoward fascination with sex or food. But the situation with Epicurus goes beyond this contrast. Turning back to Diogenes Laertius' Lives and Opinions of the Greek Philosophers, we can see the difference between the Cynic epistles and the letters cataloged by Diogenes Laertius. What we have in the latter is the construction of biography via letters summarily cited by primarily hostile sources. Instead of presentations of full texts, we find citation, allusion, and fragment. Rather than a collection that approached the form of a novel, we have a pastiche. Thus far, the many references to Epicurean letters have not gotten us much closer to a reliable picture of the involvement of women in the history of the Garden. Cicero's mention of Leontion as a writer and his mention of Themista as someone addressed in actual Epicurean books become even more striking when contrasted to the presence of women in collections of personal correspondence. Page 88 →As historical evidence, letters cataloged by Diogenes Laertius may have as little historical validity as the fictional Letter to Mother or the letter Alciphron composed for Leontion. Perhaps the likeliest candidates for authenticity are Diogenes' direct quotations of letters to Leontion, Themista, and Pythocles (10.5 and 10.6). This would strengthen and expand the information we have from Cicero and from the Letter to Pythocles. But our confidence must be shaken by the fact that the quotations appear among the many items that Diogenes presents as the unfounded allegations of writers of unsound mind. The pleasure Epicurus expresses from the arrival of Leontion's letter and his enthusiastic appeal for an invitation from Themista (and her husband) are also suspect. The short quotations stress their status as actual correspondence, and the exuberance expressed may have more to do with character portrayal than with historicity. A first-century CE teacher of grammar and rhetoric named Aelius Theon recommended against using florid language of the sort found in this excerpt from a letter attributed to Epicurus: ; (“Tell me, Polyaenus, how may I

rejoice, how may I be delighted, how may there be great joy for me?”)41 Theon cites this example for illustrative purposes only, as he suspects that this and other letters of Epicurus are fraudulent. He identifies them as items that circulated as alleged words of Epicurus (). As a scrupulous reader, Theon adds, (“But to this day I do not find them anywhere in his collected works”).

An Appetite for Women Hostile sources occasionally refer to the philosophical work of some Epicurean women, as we have seen in the case of Cicero's reference to Leontion's critique of Theophrastus (Nat. D. 1.93). While the ancient sources refrain from identifying Leontion as a “philosopher” (noun), they sometimes refer to her “philosophizing” (verb), but her engagement in that activity makes a fleeting appearance. Many generations after Epicurus, a character in the The Learned Banqueters named Myrtilus refers to Leontion's pursuit of philosophy, just after Page 89 →he has established Epicurus' lack of education by quoting Epicurus himself and then Timon of Phlius. Myrtilus adds, (13.588b) [Didn't this Epicurus have as his lover Leontion, who was notorious for being a hetaera? She did not stop being a hetaera when she began to pursue philosophy [i.e., “to philosophize”], but had sex with all the Epicureans in their gardens, even in front of Epicurus, leading him—as he fretted about her often—to divulge the issue in his Letters to Hermarchus.] Athenaeus' testimony may be trustworthy up to a point. His reference to Leontion's pursuit of philosophy is corroborated by Cicero's testimony, and he may well know of a set of genuine Letters to Hermarchus that mention Leontion. But he undercuts the reference to her intellect with an opposing allusion to her sexuality, giving prominence to the latter. Noteworthy, too, is the way he refers to her sex partners as “Epicureans,” as though she were not one of them. This is the norm: nowhere does the Greek adjective for “Epicurean” appear in the feminine. Even when Clement mentions Themista, he writes—as we have seen—that she “philosophized Epicurean things” (, not that she was an Epicurean philosopher. Sex is the obvious connection between women and the Garden in our unsympathetic sources, but most telling is the collocation of the “Epicurean hetaerae” with “Epicurean” wine and food. Perhaps the first to conjoin Epicurus' allegedly excessive eating habits with his consorting with women was the defector Timocrates. We have already seen that Timocrates' exposé cites a letter to Leontion that names the large sum Epicurus supposedly spent daily on food. He adds that other hetaerae—named Mammarion, Hedeia, Erotion, and Nikidion—were also sex partners of Epicurus and Metrodorus (, Diog. Laert.10.7). Page 90 →In addition to his listing of these four “other” hetaerae, Timocrates claims in his exposé that Epicurus vomited twice a day because of his decadent lifestyle (). Another important witness is Plutarch, who reports that the skeptical Academic Carneades (second century BCE) ridiculed Epicurus for cultivating his memories of women, wine, and food—the particulars of which he tracked by keeping a ledger to help him remember such details as “how often I had intercourse with Leontion,” “where I drank Thasion wine,” or “on which twentieth of the month I dined most sumptuously” (Non posse 1089c). In the same passage, Plutarch's anti-Epicurean spokesman Theon jokes that the remembered pleasures have meanwhile aged into stale food and the dregs of old wine. The references here to the nurturing of pleasurable memories take direct aim at Epicurean philosophy: the Epicurean theory of pleasure stressed the recalling of good memories as a means for maintaining the feeling of well-being. The duration of the meaningful pleasures themselves could be short lived. Plutarch also makes (or transmits) a philosophically based joke on the Epicurean glutton that combines food with sex when he contrasts Archimedes' legendary cry of (“Eureka!” or “I have found it!”) with an Epicurean yell: (“I have eaten!” or “I have kissed!” Non posse 1094c).42 Highlighting the misrepresentation of Epicurean hedonism that revolves around the Epicureans' alleged addiction to the pleasures of the flesh, the joke presents the women as food for the proverbial Epicurean glutton. Similarly, in the passage quoted as the epigraph to this chapter, Athenaeus creates an Epicurean dinner guest who draws the same connection. When a plate of eel is brought to the table, the Epicurean declares, “The Helen of dishes has arrived; so I shall be Paris” (Learned Banqueters

7.298d-e). As we saw in the introduction, Epicurus himself had acknowledged his detractors' linking of sex with food and particularly with fish (a luxury): “It is neither nonstop drinking and revelry nor physical enjoyment of boys and women nor fish or other elements of a lavish banquet that produce a pleasant life…” (Ep. Men. 131). In the fifth book of The Learned Banqueters, where Athenaeus discusses ways the various Greek philosophers present their symposia, he describes the other philosophers' correct symposium style and records anecdotes about their remarks on the gluttony of the unwanted guests. But the Epicurean symposium is the epicenter of gluttony. Athenaeus asserts that Epicurus sends the participants Page 91 →straight to the food, skipping the requisite libation (5.179d). Thus, he adds, the Epicureans are like the paradigmatically disorderly woman in Se-monides' catalog of the types of women: “She often eats the offerings before they are sacrificed” (5.179d-e; Semonides, fr. 7.56 West). Semonides' poem equates this woman with the thieving and sexually voracious ferret. Athenaeus connects this ferret woman with the (presumably male) Epicurean. Even in texts in which an array of intellectuals and philosophers is represented as guests at a symposium, the Epicureans are presented in a bad light. In Athenaeus, they are treated as laughingstocks precisely for their interest in the food of which everyone else also partakes. Similarly, in Plutarch's Quaestiones conviviales, Epicurus “emerges very often as the villain of the piece, the opposite of everything that a philosopher ought to be.”43 Perhaps the portrayal of the Epicureans as the anti-intellectuals at the party highlights the seriousness of the others. Or is Epicurus an amulet against a possible charge of the other diners' dissipation? My sense is that the Epicureans provide the extreme case that proves the austerity of the rest. Other passages that link Epicureanism with food reveal a profound animosity that insists that there is a chasm between the Garden and masculine courage. When Plutarch's anti-Epicurean character Theon alludes to the valor of Aristotle, Theophrastus, and various other historical heroes who liberated or restored their cities, he contrasts their successful “recalls of the banished, release for the imprisoned, and the restoration of wives and children” to Epicurus' sending of wheat and barley to friends in need (Non posse 1097c). Plutarch seems to be disparaging not just the meagerness of Epicurus' response but the fact that succor was rendered in the form of food. Theon also cites a lack of regard for patriotic heroism when he ridicules the way Epicurus sent his exuberant and profuse thanks when he himself was the recipient: “If someone omitted the word food from the philosopher's epistle one would think it was written to express gratitude for the liberation or rescuing of Athens or of all Greece” (1097d).

Plutarch's Garden of Women In chapter 2, we met Plutarch as a prime player on the hostile side of the customary linking of Epicureans with Phaeacians. While the general context of Page 92 →some of Plutarch's writings can be mysterious, his purpose in referring to Epicurean women within the context of each piece is clear: they are not philosophers but sex partners. To Timocrates' list of five hetaerae, Plutarch adds Boidion (but omits Mammarion). He also adds some predictable particulars. For example, he presents the beauty of the “Epicurean hetaerae” as an established fact. In the Non posse, Plutarch refers to Leontion, Boidion, Hedeia, and Nikidion as “young and attractive women” (1097d-e). Likewise, when Plutarch suggests that an Epicurean would go to bed with a woman instead of staying up to read literature, the woman is extremely beautiful (1093c). Lest we view his occasional designation of these sex partners as “women” (gynaikes) rather than hetaerae as a salutary advance, I hasten to add that Plutarch describes them as though they were lovely beasts. Apparently punning on the literal meanings of the names Leontion (“Little Lioness”) and Boidion (“Little Heifer”), he jokes that Leontion, Boidion, Hedeia, and Nikidion “grazed” around the Garden (1097e-f). The closest he comes to representing Leontion as a philosopher is one passage where he stops short of referring to her as a hetaera. When he claims that Epicurus lived sequentially with Hedeia and Leontion, the latter's name stands alone, while the former appears as “Hedeia the hetaera” (1129b). Themista, who is never called a hetaera in any text, is entirely absent from Plutarch. What value do the texts of Plutarch have for an investigation into the involvement of women in the Garden? Does he offer any assistance toward the writing of a history? To answer these questions, we must consider his full antiEpicurean oeuvre and the cultural contexts of his critiques and polemics. As a recent study has put the problem, Plutarch's tendentious references to Epicureanism sometimes “contain a half-truth, which amounts to a whole

lie.”44 Here we must backtrack and take a larger view of his literary and cultural frameworks. His confrontation with the Garden is shaped by his role as a reader and scholar looking back at the long lost classical and Hellenistic Greek past, and at least one of his essays (If “Live Unknown” Was Spoken Wisely) has affinities with the controversia, a rhetorical exercise that required the trenchant presentation of one side of an imaginary debate. The fact that Plutarch polemicizes against particular texts written by a first-generation Epicurean or against an isolated Epicurean maxim is indicative of his vantage point. The Epicureans among his contemporaries may not have been his primary concern. Page 93 → Among the many works of Plutarch survive three texts whose exclusive focus is the depravity of the Garden. Two of these three anti-Epicurean texts are formulated as hostile responses to one particular (nonextant) Epicurean text that was written over three centuries before Plutarch. That text is a work by Epicurus' disciple Colotes called That the Teachings of the Other Philosophers Make Life Impossible. The first of Plutarch's responses is generally known simply as the Reply to Colotes (Adversum Colotem), while the other survives under the countering title On the Fact That Epicurus Actually Makes a Pleasant Life Impossible.45 The third text that focuses exclusively on the Garden dissects the Epicurean dictum “Live unknown” () and bears the title “Is Live Unknown a Wise Precept?” The adage does not appear in any surviving Epicurean text but seems to be authentic.46 Of these three antiEpicurean texts by Plutarch, only the Reply to Colotes offers what appears to be a sustained close reading of an Epicurean text. Plutarch opens the Reply to Colotes by telling his addressee Saturninus that he expects him to read his response “with pleasure.” Saturninus, he continues, is “a lover of the good and the ancient” who enjoys recalling authentic teachings “of the ancients” (1107d). Quotation, paraphrase, and direct argumentation with Colotes appear throughout, with other texts by Epicurus being brought to bear as necessary. Unlike the Reply to Colotes, Plutarch's other two anti-Epicurean works simply use an Epicurean text or adage as a springboard for a pointed critique of the Garden. In the piece On the Fact That Epicurus Actually Makes a Pleasant Life Impossible, Plutarch presents much of the appraisal not in propria persona but in the words of his conversation partners. There the principal critic of Colotes is the youthful Theon, whose vehemence in the opening scene of the piece makes Plutarch guffaw: “‘Oh my,’ I said laughing, “you seem ready to jump on the men's bellies” (1087b). His laughter indicates not just that he relishes the chance to hear an Epicurean pilloried but that he expects that the criticism leveled against Colotes will be over the top. Plutarch himself is the ostensible speaker in If “Live Unknown” Was Spoken Wisely, but there, too, it is difficult to ascertain whether the text offers his considered expression of his own convictions or whether he speaks in the voice of another character like Theon. The primary focus may be the virtuoso criticism Page 94 →of loci classici, perhaps even with a touch of parody. The references to young and lovely hetaerae may be spoken in the voices of the stereotypically crotchety enemies of Epicurus. Plutarch may have lifted the hetaera names from texts by Epicurus. Yet in those passages where Plutarch names the women, there is an absence of direct quotation or serious engagement with particular texts. The slightly different catalog of names makes it unlikely that his source was Timo-crates, but perhaps he is manipulating material from New Comedy or other literary, non-Epicurean sources. It may be significant that there is no appearance by Themista, Leontion, or any other Epicurean hetaera in the Reply to Colotes, Plutarch's only work that responds in detail to an Epicurean text. His texts that remark on the hetaerae are of a different order. He may know of Hedeia and her companions only from literary hearsay, perhaps from a source like New Comedy. There is, however, a simple phrase repeated in each of Plutarch's anti-Epicurean essays that has great potential as evidence for the historical inclusion of women in Epicurean circles. First, in If “Live Unknown” Was Spoken Wisely, Plutarch writes that the adage “Live unknown” would have prevented Lycurgus from framing laws, Pythagorus from teaching, and Socrates from conversing. Moreover, it should—he continues—logically prevent Epicurus from proselytizing, from writing tens of thousands of lines honoring Metrodorus and others, or from sending books revealing his wisdom “to every man and every woman” (, 1129a). Second, in the Reply to Colotes, Plutarch faults Epicurus for broadcasting an action of Metrodorus in letters “to every man and every woman” (, 1126f). Third, in On the Fact that Epicurus Actually Makes a Pleasant Life Impossible, Pythocles is urged “by every man and every woman” to scorn culture (, 1094d). The doubling of the adjective is pointed and puts a heavy

emphasis on the feminine: we might translate, “to all and sundry, including women.” In the Reply to Colotes, the repeated phrase appears among creditable citations, which suggests that Plutarch knew of authentic Epicurean writings to or from “all and sundry, including women.” If we omit the advice to Pythocles and focus only on the first two examples (which clearly refer to items that were “posted”), there is another piece of evidence in favor of historical veracity. We have seen that letters may be produced as documents containing self-revelatory confessions intercepted by a third party. The missives “to every man and every woman,” however, are not a case of purloined letters; there is no secret, insalubrious content. The lack of confidentiality is highlighted, too, by the plurality of the addresses, made “to all and sundry.” Page 95 →The content is overtly philosophical (1129a) or focuses on a public action of Metrodorus (1126f). The addressees are not identified as hetaerae. The affront lies simply in the abundance of female addressees. The lack of reference to intercepted content suggests authenticity.

A Garden of Hetaerae An obviously censorious tone of the Greek texts that list Epicurean women is achieved through their identification of all of the women but the married Themista as hetaerae. (We might note, however, a possible besmirching by association: Philodemus cites a source that claims that the hetaera Mammarion was the lover of Themista's husband, Leonteus [PHerc. 1005, fr. 117, col. VI].) As a great deal of scholarship from the past three decades has noted, the term hetaera (literally, “female companion”) is difficult to translate across historical and cultural boundaries but may be construed as a euphemism for a type of elite prostitute, perhaps very roughly equivalent to a geisha or courtesan. In Cicero's Latin, Leontion has become an outright meretricula, or “little prostitute,” a designation that is less ambiguous (Nat. D. 1. 93). The assertion that Leontion and her associates were hetaerae has survived for over two millennia, appearing also—as we shall see—in present-day studies that attempt to assign these women a serious place in Epicurean history. But perhaps a woman who accompanies a group of men—no matter what her precise role is while in their company—would be a hetaera by definition simply because she had no place elsewhere. Modern readers tend to reify the hetaera and to view her status as though it were a particular occupation. But it may be more appropriate to view the word hetaera as a catchall designation for a woman who—while she may not work in a brothel—is not represented as a conventionally respectable wife or marriageable daughter. The situation is complicated, however, by the fact that postclassical and Roman writers give flesh and bone to the discursive category of the Greek hetaera as much as some of us do today. As Laura McClure has pointed out (writing about Athenaeus), in postclassical eras, the hetaera is “not a historical entity, but a cultural sign” that evokes a long-lost Greek past.47 While some hetaerae may have been drawn from real life, information about them may have been known primarily through depictions in Late Comedy or other literary sources. Page 96 → The Epicurean Philodemus was aware of complaints about erotic encounters in the early Garden and adds the name Demetria (a common Greek name), though no woman by that name is mentioned elsewhere as a woman associated with the Garden. In a fragment from Herculaneum, he writes that a certain man “griped repeatedly that Leontion—and a certain other woman—is mentioned in the pragmateia and that Nikidion was the lover of Idomeneus, Mammarion of Leonteus, and Demetria of Hermarchus” (PHerc. 1005, fr. 117, col. VI).48 The fragmentary title of this papyrus text was “Against the…” or “To the…” with the identification of the opponents or addressees surviving only as the masculine plural definite article.49 The man to whom Philodemus refers may be an outsider (perhaps a Stoic?), a defector like our Timocrates, or a wayward Epicurean. In partial agreement with the earlier interpretations of Marcello Gigante and Anna Angeli, Elizabeth Asmis takes the complainer as a member of a rival branch of Epicureanism whom Philodemus presents as a poor scholar.50 An insensitive and lazy reader of the original texts of Epicurus, this grumbling Epicurean must be one of the types that Philodemus elsewhere refers to as near “parricides” who reject Epicurus' own teachings. The text breaks off again soon after the list of women's names, but it seems that Philodemus is criticizing a wayward Epicurean for interpreting Epicurus in a bad light, not for believing in women who did not exist. If the text were better preserved, we might discover that he is in fact renouncing spurious texts.51 Several columns later, Philodemus mentions poor Epicurean scholars again, this time in the plural: “They censure the lives, friendships, embraces, and the associations they had with each other, just as if they had not read the pragmateia” (PHerc. 1005, fr. 117, col.

XV).52 Again, my sense is that Philodemus' complaint is that they are poor readers, not that they never read the text. Page 97 → If Philodemus meant to affirm the historicity of Nikidion, Mammarion, and Demetria, his would be the only Epicurean text to attest to their existence. Unfortunately, the text is too poorly preserved to know for sure. Perhaps there were no “Epicurean hetaerae” other than Leontion before Timocrates invented them. Or perhaps we should accept Plutarch's implied assertions that the hetaerae were not “Epicureans” but were mere sex partners of Epicureans.53 Perhaps Leontion (whose status is not only that of “hetaera”), Batis, and Themista were the only female participants in philosophical conversations in the early Garden. There is another path to take, however. Several twentieth-century scholars who explored the possibility of the Garden's openness to women students did not discount the claim that women like Nikidion and Leontion were hetaerae. Instead, they based an affirmative interpretation on the hostile sources, arguing that women who consorted with men for pay or personal gain (or who had done so in the past) were encouraged to find refuge in Epicurean philosophy. In the 1950s, Norman DeWitt (a scholar friendly to Epicureanism) formulated a description of the Garden in which male slaves provided the labor force for Epicurean book production, young courtesans offered pleasant companionship, female slaves waited on the courtesans, and the entire community was kept in order by a strict hierarchy headed by Epicurus.54 In the 1980s, Bernard Frischer argued that the Garden granted women full access to all of its activities and that such openness “would have been attractive to both women inclined toward philosophy and, perhaps more importantly, to men who sought the companionship of such sympathetic and intelligent women.”55 In Frischer's reconstruction, the Garden offered philosophical instruction to women of two categories: prostitutes and wives. The first Epicureans sanctioned marriage and child rearing (not the norm in philosophical schools), thus bringing families into the philosophical community.56 But also according to Frischer's scenario, Page 98 →the Garden offered refuge “to social and legal outcasts like slaves and prostitutes and to the demoralized youth of early Hellenistic society.”57 Surviving Epicurean texts do not confirm this interpretation. But around six hundred years after the founding of the Garden, the third-to fourth-century Christian apologist Lactantius recorded rare testimony for the proposal that Garden gates were deliberately opened for women, slaves, and other nonelites. In the Divinae institutiones (303-13 CE), Lactantius argues that women and slaves cannot learn philosophy, because philosophers need to have a command of rhetoric, grammar, geometry, reading, music, and astronomy: Quae universaperdiscere neque feminaepossunt, quibus intrapuberes annos officia mox usibus domesticis profutura discenda sunt, neque servi, quibus per eos annos vel maxime serviendum est quibus possunt discere, neque paupers aut opi-fices aut rustici, quibus in diem victus labore quaerendus est, ob eam causam Tullius ait “abhorrere a multitudine philosophiam.”—at enim rudes Epicurus accipiet.—quomodo ergo illa quae de principiis rerum dicuntur intellegent, quae perplexa et involuta vix etiam politi homines adsequunter? (Divinae Institu-tiones 3.25) [These essentials cannot be learned by women, who while still young must learn their domestic work for the future; nor by slaves, who need to toil especially hard during their younger years when learning would be possible; nor by paupers, nor craftsmen, nor country folk, who must work for their sustenance; for which reason Tullius [Cicero] said, “philosophy shrinks from the multitude.” And yet—it will be objected—Epicurus receives the ignorant. Then how will they understand discourse about the so-called elements of matter, which is baffling and obscure enough for men of distinction?] Lactantius names no farmers, laborers, or paupers who studied Epicureanism, but he does name one woman who became proficient in Epicurean wisdom. This is the well-attested Epicurean Themista (whose name he spells in the object case as Themistem or, in some manuscripts, Themenstem). In fact, Lactanttius describes Themista as the only woman any of the ancient philosophers ever taught (Div. inst. 3.25.15). Unfortunately, here—as elsewhere in his corpus—Lactantius cites no philosophical texts. He suggests obliquely, however, that he Page 99 →found

support for his list of unsuitable candidates for philosophical study in Cicero. This suggests that Lactantius may be simply recycling information about Epicurean acceptance of female students gleaned not from particularly reliable sources but from the now long-standing tradition of hostile criticism. I have already cataloged all of the information Diogenes Laertius supplies about women associated with the Garden. But it may be that Diogenes' most relevant commentary is not about women but about slaves. His testimony is more precise than the broad claims made by Lactantius. First, when Diogenes mentions that Epicurus' three brothers “philosophized with” him (), he adds, “and so did a slave called Mys” (10.3).58 Then, when he eulogizes Epicurus for his “unsurpassed goodwill toward all people,” Diogenes' evidence includes “his gentleness toward his servants, as is clear from his will, and from the fact that these very people ‘symphilosophized' with him, the aforementioned Mys being the most respected among them” (10.10).59 The will stipulates that four slaves, including Mys, be set free (10.21). Diogenes uses the verb “to symphilosophize” () only eight times in the Lives and Opinions, five of them referring to Epicurus. This usage may suggest that Diogenes saw the shared pursuit of wisdom as an especially Epicurean endeavor.60 Both DeWitt and Frischer stress the authority wielded by Epicurus as a father figure. Other modern studies have formulated a less patriarchal interpretation, stressing instead other evidence of Epicurean egalitarianism in the pages of Cicero, Diogenes Laertius, and Plutarch and in the interstices between the surviving fragments of Epicurean texts. Also in the 1980s, Jane Snyder identified Epicureanism as a system that “advocated the emancipation of women.” Like Frischer, she proposed that women and slaves who would ordinarily have exercised no rights or privileges found a different life with Epicurus: “Within the enclosure of the Garden…all members of the group—male and female, Page 100 →free and slave—were entitled to the benefits and responsibilities of the Epicurean school.”61 Snyder acknowledged the lack of ancient Epicurean texts that explicitly endorse an unprecedented openness to women students. But she argued that her description of the Garden would harmonize well with the Epicurean rejection of teleology. Since Epicureanism rejected the notion that human society belongs to a divinely created natural order, the Epicureans might discard traditional attitudes toward all social hierarchies, including gender roles. As Snyder put it, Epicurus' belief that the world was not divinely created would lead him to assert that “man was not created to serve anyone, nor woman to serve man.”62 Snyder also points out that the Epicurean teaching that personal happiness depends on ataraxia (“tranquillity” or “lack of turmoil”) should have ramifications for the lives of women. The Garden's disregard for wealth or status and its focus on science and friendships between individuals should mean “that both sexes were left free to develop their intellectual understanding of the universe through the study of atomic theory, instead of following gender-defined roles designed for economy in attaining material success.”63 Snyder did not deny that the Epicurean women were courtesans; in fact, she asserted that “their position as hetaerae seems to be confirmed by the typically suggestive meanings of their names: Hedeia (‘Sweety’), Mammarion (‘Tits’), Boidion (‘Ox-eyes,' or something to that effect), Demetria (‘Ceres’), and Erotion (‘Lovey’).”64 Thus Snyder's idyllic portrayal of life in the Garden tentatively accepts the ancient assertion that Leontion and Hedeia were courtesans, but it rejects the ancient assumption that a hetaera cannot be a serious student of phi-losophy.65

An Epicurean Hetaera Named “Pleasing”? Many readers have questioned the historicity of all or most of the women that various texts identify as Epicurean hetaerae. Martha Nussbaum, for example, translates the name Mammarion as “Tits” and Hedeia as “Sweety-Pie” and writes, “The authenticity of all the names is highly questionable, clearly; and we see that the beginnings of female philosophizing went hand in hand with the Page 101 →beginnings of sexist ‘humour’ about the character of the women concerned.”66 To my mind, the name Hedeia (“Pleasing” or “Sweet”) seems especially suspect, because it sounds like an obvious play on Epicurean Hedone (“Pleasure”). Sifting fact from polemic is not simple, however. Too narrow a focus on literary and philosophical texts would ignore the broader pool of apparently respectable fourth-century women's names. Epigraphical evidence shows that the most dubious-sounding “Epicurean” names are in fact genuine Greek names, Hedeia (occurring twenty-four times in Greek sources) being one of the most common.67 The popularity of the name among apparently respectable families suggests that the translation “Pleasing,” rather than “Sweety-Pie” or “Sweety,” captures the way it resonated in Greek culture.

All of the names associated in Diogenes and Plutarch with “Epicurean hetaerae” are attested in Attic inscriptions, and the names Hedeia, Nikidion, Mammarion, and Boidion appear together on particular stones. Could this mean that these were the women who lived together in the Garden? The published texts of two inscriptions seems at first to suggest that Nikidion, Hedeia, and Boidion made a pilgrimage from the Garden to the temple of Amphiaraos at Oropos (not far from Athens) and that Mammarion and Hedeia made offerings together at the temple of Asclepius in Athens. Both temples were located in healing sanctuaries where visitors made offerings to the gods in the hope of receiving in return a cure or instructions for therapy. A study by Catherine Castner concentrates on the theological issue: since Epicurus denied that the gods are interested in human affairs, would he have condoned visits to their temples? Citing sources such as Philodemus' On Piety (93), Castner acknowledges that Epicureanism allowed for traditional worship, but she concludes that the quid pro quo of the healing cults was antithetical to Epicurean teachings. The special allowances made for errant female students in Philodemus' On Frank Speaking seemed to supply the solution: “Once the women had made the dedications, they would have found indulgence and forgiveness on the return to the Kepos.”68 This would be a plausible scenario, but later work on the temple archives demonstrates that the appearance of the women's names (among dozens of others) on the same stones is not as significant as printed texts suggest. As Sara Page 102 →Aleshire made clear in her discussion of the inscription from the Asclepieum on the slopes of the Acropolis, the individual names are separated by a break of at least twenty-three lines.69 Furthermore, the inscriptions record temple inventories rather than notices of particular dedications. They demonstrate only that dedications made by these women were present in the temples during two particular inventories; years may have intervened between their offerings. It is even possible that the inscriptions predate the Garden.70 Thus the inscriptional evidence establishes only that names like Mammarion and Hedeia are authentic, not that they belonged to women who had visited the temple together. What else might the names tell us? Consideration of the many hetaera names in Athenaeus' The Learned Banqueters is instructive. Leontion is the only Epicurean woman to be mentioned by Athenaeus, and he cites none of the other names of “Epicurean hetaerae.” Nor do the names of Hedeia and her associates fit particularly well with the general patterns that emerge from Athenaeus' references to hetaerae in Eubolus, Lysias, Menander, and other classical and Hellenistic authors. There we find that hetaerae often have dual names: one primary, the other a nickname.71 Many sources also suggest that hetaerae were “very much an international commodity,” while all of the named Epicurean women appear to have Greek names.72 Yet Plutarch refers to Epicurus being ensconced “in his little garden, and jointly with Polyaenus making babies with the hetaera from Cyzicus” (Non posse 1098b). The hetaera is unnamed, but the location of Cyzicus on the Sea of Marmara in Anatolia deserves notice, as many of the foreign hetaerae mentioned in Athenaeus hail from Asia Minor in particular. Some sources indicate, however, that an Athenian citizen woman (or the legitimate daughter of a citizen) could be a hetaera.73 Athenaeus' story about a daughter of Leontion named Danae adds yet another twist (593b-d).74 According to Athenaeus, Danae was a hetaera who rescued the Ephesian commander Sophron, whose murder had been plotted by another hetaera. The fact that mother and daughter were identified as hetaerae Page 103 →may be significant. In contrast to general practice, where women are identified through the name of husband or father, the matrilineal descent of hetaerae is regularly mentioned in ancient sources. Laura McClure suggests that the appearance of the metronymic in inscriptions may suggest “a specialized use among courtesans.”75 Thus the linking of Leontion with Danae may present Leontion and her daughter as hetaerae by profession, a detail relevant to this discussion if Danae was a historical personage. The possibility remains, however, that the daughter was an exclusively literary creation based on the reputation of Leontion or on other literary incarnations of Leontion.76

Painting Leontion Further inconclusive but significant information may be gleaned from Pliny's history of painting in his Natural History. Pliny lists paintings of Leontion in his surveys of the work of two painters: Aristides of Thebes and another Theban painter named Theorus. Theorus is a lesser-known figure whose works included an Orestes, a Cassandra, and a King Demetrius as well as a painting of “Leontion of Epicurus thinking” (Leontium Epicuri cogitantem).77 At first glance, the genitive “of Epicurus” after her name in Pliny's description of the painting may suggest that the painter presented her as a partner “of Epicurus,” but the genitive may refer as well to her status as

a disciple “of Epicurus.” Regardless, the reference to a painting depicting her in thought is tantalizing. As for Aristides' painting, Pliny refers to it simply as “Epicurus' Leontion” (Leontium Epicuri). A character in The Learned Banqueters named Cynulcus identifies Aristides as a pornographos (a term first attested there; 13.567b). If we assume that there is some kernel of historical truth in Athenaeus' characterization of Aristides as a pornographos, the painting is simply an entry in the tradition of sexualizing the women associated with the Garden. By pornographos, Cynulcus seems to mean, in Madeleine Henry's synopsis, “one who represents prostitutes, in speech, in writing, or in pictorial form, one who publicly admits knowledge of prostitutes and shares this knowledge.”78 But the trail becomes interesting again when we notice Pliny's description Page 104 →of the importance of this painter: Aristides (though his use of color was harsh) was “the first to depict the mind and to convey human sensibility, what the Greeks call ethe [character], and the emotions.” If Pliny is correct to place this Aristides as a contemporary of the famous painter Apelles, the painting might be roughly contemporary with the historical Leontion. The lists of the painters' other works suggest the likelihood that the painting was not a portrait per se but instead offered a mythologized Leontion. But perhaps both Theorus and Aristides were interested more in her passion for philosophy than in her body. Perhaps the tradition of painting portraits of Leontion in meditation (Pliny, HN 35.144; cf. 35.99) represents an alternate tradition (one that regarded her as a bona fide philosopher). Her mind could be a theme of the paintings even if the point was to portray a beautiful hetaera who could also philosophize.

Revisiting Dido In the previous chapter, I suggested that Dido's connections with Epicureanism run deep. Epicurean and Lucretian elements of her language and demeanor in Virgil's Aeneid work in concert with the Phaeacian strands of her literary heritage. Here I would like to stress the significance of Virgil's attribution of Epicurean sentiments to a woman. When Virgil endowed Dido with an Epicurean outlook, he may have imagined her as a new Themista or perhaps a new Leontion. Whether or not there were women among Virgil's Epicurean friends and fellow students, he would have known of Themista and Leontion—if only from the same sources that Cicero knew. The Aeneid's first-century Epicurean readers may have interpreted Virgil's Dido as a literary creation whose gender made sense, while reflecting no hostility against the Garden. The story of Dido's erotic desire as parodied in Petronius' Satyricon, however, belongs unambiguously to the less savory tradition about Epicureanism and the feminine. For Petronius, Dido's Epicurean connections have great comic potential. In the story known as “The Widow of Ephesus” told by Eumolpus in the Satyricon, a soldier discovers an extraordinarily virtuous and beautiful widow starving herself to death in her husband's tomb. As the story often goes in Greek tragedy and its descendants, the suffering woman holds out for many days but then loses her resolve. She rejects the soldier's first offers of food, but her maid cannot resist the fragrance of the wine. Once the maid yields to the soldier's offers of food, the maid, in turn, convinces her mistress to eat by questioning the point of her fidelity to a deceased husband: Id cinerem aut Page 105 →manes credis sentire sepultos? (“Do you think that mere ash or the buried shades care about this?”) The widow eventually accepts nourishment, and the soldier then “launches an assault on her pudicitia [virtue/chastity], employing the same charms he had used to give her the will to live” (Satyricon 112). Here, too, the maid assists, asking the widow: Placitone etiam pugnabis amori? (“Will you fight even a pleasing love?”) And a love affair ensues in the cavelike tomb. In this scene from the Satyricon, the maid speaks to the widow in hexameters, recycling, in both instances, the very lines Anna had used to persuade Dido to release herself from her pledge of fidelity to her own late husband (Aen. 4.34 and 4.38). As the ancient commentator Servius notes, Anna is following Epicurean doctrine (dicit…secundum Epicureos) when she urges Dido on by asking, Id cinerem aut manis credis curare sepultos? (Aen. 4.34).79 Thus, in this particular scene in Virgil, Anna shares her sister's status as an Epicurean avant la lettre. Petronius' recycling of these lines from the Aeneid is clearly a travesty of Epicurean philosophy, in addition to being a more general send-up of the miscreant who spouts off “philosophic” pretexts. That food and sex are involved sharpens the joke. A superficially Epicurean answer to Anna's question might assert that the dispersion of the atoms of the soul at the moment of death renders useless any concern for the dead, but the treatment of the

husband's body in Petronius makes the appeal to Epicurean wisdom especially ghoulish (his corpse is nailed to a cross to replace the corpse the distracted soldier was meant to be guarding). In actual Epicurean practice, the dead were memorialized with especial care, but ridicule of the Epicurean belief in the mortality of the soul came easily. Petronius makes the trajectory from Anna's pleas to the maid's facile pretexts look inevitable. Critics who are convinced that the Aeneid takes a dark view of Epicureanism might conclude that a less than salubrious general connection between Epicureanism and a woman's sexuality is latent in the Aeneid. My own belief is that the larger context of Petronius' parody is the longstanding extra-Virgilian tradition of associating Epicureanism with women, wine, food, and sex. Where does this leave us as we search for evidence of the historical involvement of women in the pursuit of Epicurean wisdom? It seems significant that the two names of “Epicurean women” with the best authority, Themista and Leontion, cannot be construed as “Epicurean” abstractions (as can be Hedeia) and are also the least sexually suggestive. Although it was not uncommon to Page 106 →give animal names to prostitutes, Leontion (“Little Lioness”) is not necessarily erotic.80 Cicero's reference to her writing establishes Leontion as a philosopher in her own right. Cicero's testimony also tells us that Themista (whose name can be translated as “Righteous”) figured in some of Epicurus' philosophical writings. She is not labeled as a hetaera in the ancient texts, and she never appears in any lists that include other “hetaerae,” as do Nikidion and Mammarion. As we have seen, Themista also appears as a student and teacher of Epicureanism in Clement of Alexandria's Stromata (4.19) and Lactantius' Divinae institutiones (3.25.15). Thus Themista and Leontion have the strongest claims on historicity. It is for good reason that both of their names have been suggested for the portrait statue with which we began. Because Leontion figures in Cicero as an Epicurean writer and because several sources treat her as an actual philosopher (or “philosophizer”), she seems—if we are right to read the portrait as Epicurean—to be the better candidate.81 Yet Cicero, Clement, and Lactantius also recognize Themista as an actual Epicurean. What are we to make of references suggesting students of Epicurus, Leontion, and Themista? When situated in the broader context of the cumulative pieces of evidence for female participation in Epicurean endeavors, Plutarch's condescending references to letters sent “to every man and every woman” take on greater weight. It is striking that he mentions no unwholesome content and implies nothing about the recipients' sexuality. The straightforwardness of these repeated mentions of anonymous men and women as Epicurus' addressees suggests that we should take them at face value, thus making them strong evidence for the presence of women in far-flung Epicurean circles. Nothing is implied however, about the standing of these women or about their philosophical qualifications. This slight but meaningful evidence gathered from Plutarch's texts is strengthened further by fragments from Philodemus' treatise On Frank Criticism. Despite severe damage to this text from Herculaneum, the theme of On Frank Criticism is clearly the usefulness and necessity of candor in advancing learning, solidarity, and collaboration among Epicurean friends. A good teacher can instruct almost anyone in the ways of the Garden, but whether honest and forthright correction should be blunt or gentle will depend on the type of student. Trying to offer constructive criticism to rulers and kings is perilous, Page 107 →and Philodemus seems to imply that one would do well to avoid the attempt. But at the other end of the spectrum, the teaching of women is possible, though requiring an especially careful approach. In describing the change in tone required by a teacher or fellow student who wants to instruct women, Philodemus warns that harsh criticism can be counterproductive. A correction that might serve young men well could be crushing to women (VIa.4-6). Without revealing whether he thinks that a woman's vulnerability and limitations are due to cultural or biological forces, Philodemus here discloses his acceptance of some unattractive stereotypes: “They [believe] that they are being reviled, and they feel more distressed by the disgrace, and they are more prone to suspect evils concerning those who admonish them, and, generally, they find more upsetting all the things because of which some people feel stung and, besides, they are more rash and more frivolous and [more concerned with their reputation]” (XXIIa.I-II).82 According to Philodemus, the women's belief that they deserve special treatment only makes matters even worse: “[They demand] that the weakness of their [nature] should be pitied and pardoned and should not be intentionally abused by stronger people. Hence, they quickly end up in tears, because they believe that they are being reproached out of contempt” (XXIIb.1-9).”83 Although these anonymous women students or adherents receive brief mention, their presence in Plutarch and

Philodemus suggests that the Garden was indeed open to women and that Epicureanism appealed to members of society who were not conventional (male) students. Philodemus' tone may shatter any illusion of an idyllic Garden where women “symphilosophize” alongside the men, but perhaps his point of view does not reflect the position of earlier Epicureans. Philodemus' dim view of female character may be due merely to his own disposition or that of his teacher Zeno or to Philodemus' historical and cultural context. We must note, however, that tradition records very few names of female Epicurean philosophers beyond the first-generation era of Leontion, Batis, and Themista.84 Does this mean that their presence was a fluke, that Epicureanism became more conservative as it aged, or that later generations accepted Page 108 →women as students but not as teachers? Or could it be that Leontion and Themista had no existence independent of the biographies of Epicurus and the other male Epicureans? Is it mere wishful thinking that turns the chair of the Saint Hippolytus statue into an Epicurean throne? Whether anti-Epicurean lampoons or polemics invented a hetaera named “Pleasing” or simply capitalized on her presence, it is not difficult to see how Leontion, Hedeia, Nikidion, and their friends functioned in the tradition. Epi-cureanism—in the eyes of its critics—is about food and sex. Ergo, there were women in the Garden. Historical or not, the women are the stuff of legends and satire. But there is something more. That something is encapsulated at the end of one of the entries for “Epicurus” in the Byzantine encyclopedia known as the Suda.85 The encyclopedia article focuses on the impieties, excesses, and illnesses of Epicurus and his brothers and disciples and ends by describing how Epicureans were banished from Rome, Messinia, and Lyktos. In the latter city, the law specified the gruesome punishments to be inflicted on any Epicurean who dared to stay. Such a person would be stripped, covered with milk and honey, and bound for twenty days while the insects made a meal of him. The last line of the Suda entry is the last requirement specified in the law: After this time, if he were still alive, he should be thrown from a cliff, dressed in women's clothes (). This male philosopher in women's clothing will appear again in the next chapters. 1. 2. I thank John Fitzgerald, Dirk Obbink, and Glenn Holland, who critiqued an earlier essay (Gordon 2004) that treated the issue of women in Epicureanism. 3. In the first half of the third century, a table for calculating the dates for Easter and Passover (from 222 CE to 333 CE) was inscribed on the sides of the throne on which the figure sits. On the back were added a list of texts, apparently representing the writings of Hippolytus. For detailed discussion of the statue, see Brent 1995. 4. Guarducci 1974–75 and 1991 5. The contrast between the two hems (for women) and a single hem (for men) is maintained throughout various styles of archaic and classical Greek sculpture and vase painting. Artistic convention and quotidian reality were not necessarily equivalent. Contrast the chitonless portrait costume of the famous statue of Demosthenes with the accusation of his enemy Aeschines, who claimed that if the clothing in which Demosthenes writes his speeches were passed around among the jurors, they would not be able to say whether it belonged to a man or to a woman (Against Timarchus 1.131). The two layers Aeschines describes are Demosthenes' supposed “soft little tunics” () and “elegant little mantles” (). Aulus Gellius (6.12.2) describes how a tunic that covers from view the whole arm and leg was appropriate for women only. 6. On the use of the chiton and himation in portrait sculpture, see Dillon 2006: 74–75 and 110–11. Hellenistic grave reliefs that depict couples demonstrate the pattern clearly: the man (ankles exposed) often wears the himation only, while the woman wears a himation over a longer chiton, the fluted hem of the latter resting on the ground. When the male figures wear a chiton under the mantle (as appears increasingly in the Hellenistic era), the garment is visible on the chest but not at the foot. For examples on grave stelae from Smyrna and elsewhere, see Zanker 1993: plates 1–28; for examples from Rheneia, see Dillon 2006: plates 65 and 67. Cleland, Davies, and Llewellyn-Jones 2007 is a useful resource on Greek and Roman clothing. 7. Frischer 2006: paragraph 188 note 7.

8. See chapter 4 for a discussion of the iconography of the EpicanIn addition to the “Epicurean” legs, the statues of Epicurean men follow a particular schema for the arms (left inside the himation, which envelopes all but the right arm and the right side of the chest). The arms of the Hippolytus statue also conform to this schema, perhaps suggesting that the restorer knew—but did not use—the full upper torso of the original. 9. Frischer 1982: 125 (cf. Guarducci 1976: 181–83). 10. If the portrait is not Epicurean, it may be a representation of the goddess Cybele, who is often depicted enthroned and whose attributes include the lion. 11. Frischer 2006: paragraph 188. 12. quod autem patrocinium aut quae ista causa est voluptatis, quae nec testes ullos e claris viris nec laudatores poterit adhibere? ut enim nos ex annalium monimentis testes excitamus eos, quorum omnis vita consumpta est in laboribus gloriosis, qui voluptatis nomen audire non possent, sic in vestris disputationibus historia muta est (Fin. 2.67–68). The translation in text is by Annas (2001: 49), with modifications. 13. nonne melius est de his aliquid quam tantis voluminibus de Themista loqui? Sint ista Graecorum; quamquam ab iis philosophiam et omnes ingenues disciplinas habemus; sed tamen est aliquid quod nobis non liceat, liceat illis (Fin. 2.68). The translation in text is by Annas (2001: 49), with modifications. 14. Istisne fidentes somniis non modo Epicurus et Metrodorus et Hermarchus contra Pythagoram Platonem Empedoclemque dixerunt, sed meretricula etiam Leontium contra Theophrastum scribere ausa est—scito illa quidem sermone et Attico, sed tamen: tantum Epicuri hortus habuit licentiae (Nat. D. 1.93). 15. Tooke 1798: 293. 16. On Cicero's knowledge of Epicureanism, see Maso 2008. 17. Usener, in his 1887 edition of Epicurus (101–2 and index 411), lists Against Theophrastus as a work of Epicurus, thus suggesting that Leontion was merely the fictitious author. 18. Pliny cites Leontion and the proverb in his preface, where he mentions ineffectual negative reviews of his own work. Pliny claims that the proverb itself was inspired by Leontion's attempt. Teresa Morgan (private correspondence) has encouraged me that I am right to discount Erasmus' very different interpretation of the proverb and to take Pliny to mean that Leontion “dug her own grave” (“hoist with her own petard”). Erasmus seems to have thought that the proverb meant something along the lines of “go hang yourself” (Mynors 1989: 242–43, entry 21). 19. See Angeli 1988b and 1994. 20. Longo Auricchio 1988: testimonium 2. 21. Angeli's identification of the subject of the anonymous biography (1988: 47) relies heavily on apparent references to Timocrates, the errant brother of Batis and Metrodorus. 22. Unfortunately, we cannot know whether Clement means that Themista was a philosopher or that she was a student. 23. “Theopompus and Timaeus, authors of myths and slanders, and Epicurus, the prince of atheism [], and Hipponax and Archilochus must be allowed to write in their shameful manner []” (Stromata 1.1.1). 24. Translation by Kennedy (2003: 111–12), with modifications. Kennedy translates a new edition of Theon's work that relies on alternative readings in an Armenian translation. In the fourteenth century, Giovanni Boccaccio objected, “Since she was so brilliant in such a distinguished field of study, I will not easily believe that Leontium was of humble plebeian origin” (Famous Women, chap. 60, translation by Brown [2003: 124–25]). 25. On Diogenes' methods, see Meier 1978, 1992, and 2007 and Warren 2007. 26. The Neocles of the work dedicated to Themista is apparently the brother of Epicurus who joined Epicurus in his philosophical pursuits (Diog. Laert. 10.28). Another less likely candidate would be Epicurus' father. 27. A fragment of a letter to Leontion from Epicurus mentions a letter from her, but the word Epicurus uses is the diminutive (“little letter”), which implies that it was minor correspondence rather than a philosophical text (Diog. Laert. 10.5). 28. few examples include the pithy sayings of Bias (1.86–88), Thales (1.35–37), Anaxagoras (2.10), Socrates (especially 2.31–37), and Archesilaus (4.34–36); conversations between Socrates and Xanthippe (2.34); and letters from Solon to various rulers (1.64–67) and a letter from Archytas to Dionysius for Plato (3.22). 29. Compare Epicurus' acknowledgment of Pythocles' request for a shorter presentation of earlier works

(Diog. Laert. 10.84). 30. Prone to “socratizing” (), he also wants to make Pythocles his Alcibiades(4.17.3). 31. When Leontion says “writing me well-sealed letters” (), the word here translated “well-sealed” can also be taken as “indestructible,” which Alciphron may have known as an item from the Epicurean lexicon (Epicurus, fr. 356 Usener). 32. See, for example, Angeli 1988b and 1993. 33. On Horace, see Ferri 1993: 85–94 and Morrison 2007. Ferri describes a competition between genres: Horace reverts to an Epicurean genre (the epistle) in response to Lucretius' use of a non-Epicurean genre to present fundamentalist doctrine. On Seneca's epistolary response to Epicurus, see Inwood 2007a. 34. Morrison (2007: 114) draws attention to these imperatives, to some first-person plural pronouns (10.124–25), and to the first-person plural verbs in 10.127. 35. Clay (1998: 247), who offers the translation “on a three-wheeled cart,” stresses the writer's “enthusiasm and warmth.” 36. . 37. See Smith 1993: 555–58 for commentary. 38. See Gordon 1996: 66–93. 39. For text and interpretation of the Cynic epistles, see Malherbe 1977. 40. Hercher 1873. 41. Progymnasmata 71, translation by George Alexander Kennedy (1999: 14). Kennedy is translating a text of the Progymnasmata that has been reconstructed from an Armenian version and that improves on the Greek but may still be corrupt (see his n. 60). 42. On Epicurean education and attitudes toward literature, see Asmis 1995. 43. Stoneman 2000: 415. 44. Roskam 2007: 45. 45. These texts are generally cited now under the titles Adversum Colotem and Non posse, respectively. 46. On the authenticity of the adage, see Roskam 2007. 47. McClure 2003: 5. 48. Much of Philodemus' scholarly work focuses on canonicity, and he seems to use the term pragmateia for the collection of authentic writings by Epicurus and the other first-generation Epicurean teachers. “Writings” may be the best translation, but it may also have the sense of “record book.” Angeli (1988: 191) emends the text, adding the word hetaera, yielding the translation “Leonzio ed un'altra etèra” (“Leontion and another hetaera”). 49. Angeli glosses the title as Ad Contubernales or Agli Amici di Scuola (the title of her 1988 edition). 50. Asmis 1990: 2378–79. 51. Angeli (1988: 272) suggests that the Epicurean who grumbles about the women has been reading spurious letters. 52. Asmis (1990: 2379) translates “lives, friendships, embraces, and associations with diverse individuals.” The fragmentary text is hard to follow, but I wonder if the word here translated as “friendships” (, “befriendings”) could refer to unconventional friendships. 53. As is the case with the designation “Epicurean woman,” “Epicurean hetaera” is a modern construct. The label “Epicurean” does not appear in Greek in the feminine gender. The women are identified as inhabitants of the Epicurean realm but not as “Epicureans.” 54. In DeWitt's scenario (1954: 95–96), the work of male and female slaves is under the supervision of Mys and Phaedrium, respectively. 55. Frischer 1982: 62. 56. Diogenes Laertius writes, “The sage will marry and have children, as Epicurus writes in Problems and On Nature” (10.119). The will of Epicurus as presented by Diogenes Laertius also records instructions about the care of the children of Epicurus' disciples (10.19–21). 57. Frischer 1982: 206. 58. Diogenes pieces together this information from two sources, the reference to the brothers coming from Philodemus and the reference to Mys from “Myronianus in his Historical Parallels”(Diog. Laert. 10.3). 59. 60. The other philosophers for which he uses this verb are Aristotle, Theophrastus, and Chrysippus.

61. Snyder 1989: 102. 62. Snyder 1989: 102. 63. Snyder 1989: 102–3. 64. Snyder 1989: 105. 65. See also Festugière 1955: 30. 66. Nussbaum 1986: 38 n. 10. See also Hawley 1994. 67. Fraser and Matthews 1987. 68. Castner 1982: 56. 69. Aleshire 1989: 67. Having seen this inscription (for which I owe thanks to Harry Kritzas, curator of the National Epigraphical Museum at Athens), I can confirm that the printed editions make the text appear more compact than it actually is. Aleshire's work treats mainly the Asclepieum but is also relevant for the temple of Amphiaraos. 70. Aleshire (1989: 173) dates the inventory from the Asklepieum shortly before 274/3 BCE, not in 301/0 as proposed by Castner. 71. McClure 2003: 63, 68–74. 72. Ogden 1996: 160. 73. Ogden 1996: 160–61. 74. McClure 2003: 155–56. 75. McClure 2003: 76. 76. See McClure 2003: 156 on the likelihood that the story of Danae in Athenaeus is filtered through Greek comedy. 77. HN 35.144 (cf. 35.99). 78. Henry 2000: 507. 79. Petronius' sentire replaces Virgil's curare. 80. On an erotic connotation of lions in general, compare Ar. Lysistrata 232. 81. In his note on In Pisonem 63, Nesbit (1960: 127) writes that the context suggests that Themista wrote about glory. 82. Translation by Voula Tsouna (2007: 109). 83. Translation by Voula Tsouna (2007: 109). 84. Plotina, the politically active wife of the emperor Trajan (c. 53–117 CE), was an Epicurean who successfully petitioned Hadrian to grant the Epicureans the right to appoint a noncitizen as head of their school (van Bremen 2005). Another second-century female Epicurean from Rhodes is praised by Diogenes of Oenoanda (fr. 122 Smith). 85. Suda, epsilon 2405 Adler = Aelian, fr. 39 Hercher, from On Divine Manifestations.

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CHAPTER 4 Virtus and Voluptas So you think that they understand what Epicurus says, but I do not? Let me show you that I do understand. First of all, what he calls I call voluptas… No other word can be found that signifies a Greek word in Latin more exactly than voluptas does.1 (Cicero, Fin. 2.13) Seneca begins one of his epistles to Lucilius with a conventional acknowledgment of a recent communication from his correspondent: Magnam ex epistula tua percepi voluptatem (“I received great pleasure from your letter,” 59.1).2 The formula sounds innocuous, but the choice of opening requires an apology: “Allow me to use these words in their everyday meaning, not in the philosophical sense. We Stoics consider pleasure a vice.” Roman texts frequently juxtapose the Garden with the Stoa, but Seneca's monitoring of his own vocabulary demonstrates how fundamental the issues were. This chapter deals with a particularly Roman response to Epicureanism that places the Garden on one pole and Roman manliness on the other. As a Greek import and as the school that promoted “pleasure,” the Garden threatened to disrupt a requisite component of Roman public life: the vigilant maintenance of the masculine self. A fundamental mode of response to this threat involved a seizing of control of Epicurean language. Page 110 →

Voluptas and Dolor Greek philosophical attitudes toward pleasure are diverse, and discussions of pleasure in Greek texts do not always shift automatically from “pleasure” to “vice.”3 But in Rome, voluptas (“pleasure”) is routinely and aggressively reviled. Epicurean discourse that offers voluptas as the standard translation of the Greek (hedone) is, of course, the exception. Voluptas is the culminating word of the opening line of Lucretius' De rerum natura, signaling its centrality to Lucretius' epic presentation of the wisdom of the Garden.4 Among Roman Epicureans and in common parlance in Roman culture at large, the opposite of voluptas (“pleasure”) is dolor (“pain”). Thus, in Cicero's treatment of Epicureanism in On Ends, the Epicurean spokesman Torquatus frequently contrasts pleasure with pain, with voluptas being the highest good (summum bonum), which all people naturally seek, and dolor being the greatest evil (summum malum), which they instinctively avoid (e.g., Fin 1.29, 42, 55). When Lucretius describes the movement of pain and pleasure from the blood into the bones, he calls dolor the opposite heat (contrarius ardor) of voluptas (3.251–55). Pain and pleasure are also construed as polar opposites in Lucretius' descriptions of their production in the mechanics of sensation. There he explains that the primordia (“first beginnings” or “primary elements”) feel no sensations on their own and thus can feel neither pain nor pleasure: scire licet nullo primordia posse dolore/temptari nullamque voluptatem capere ex se (2.967–68). At several points in his defense of Epicurus, Cicero's Torquatus also reminds us how Epicurus taught that the pursuit of inappropriate, excessive pleasures actually causes pains (a point that detractors of Epicurus most preferred to ignore). Citing vigorous physical exercise for the sake of simple illustration, Torquatus explains, in addition, that someone may choose to endure toil (labor) and pain (dolor) in order to achieve a postponed pleasure. But generally speaking, pleasure is to be sought, and pain is to be avoided. Torquatus takes care to begin his primer on Epicureanism by identifying his goal as the Page 111 →eradication of the wrongheaded idea that pleasure is to be despised and pain is to be extolled.5 For Cicero, the ability to endure pain is a key masculine trait. In the Tusculan Disputations, having attributed to Aristippus the identification of pain as the greatest evil, Cicero withholds editorial comment until his mention of the second philosopher to take that view: “Next, Epicurus obediently went along with that emasculating and

effeminate belief” (hanc enervatam muliebremque sententiam, Tusc. 2.15). Cicero contrasts Spartan boys, athletes at Olympia, and even the lowly gladiator with the Epicurean who would cry out “like a woman” when faced with even a lesser pain (2.46). Later in that passage, he asserts that the same softness that makes someone susceptible to the call of pleasure also makes him prone to the “effeminate and unthinking” (effeminata ac levis) fear of pain (2.52). Similarly, Plutarch asserts that Epicurean teachings about the avoidance of pain amount simply to an inability to withstand its onslaught. In his Reply to Colotes (a work that critiques an Epicurean text), Plutarch asserts that disgrace is what a great man dreads, while pain terrifies children and weak women and men with “womanish” souls.6 Expressing contempt for the Epicurean identification of pleasure as the good and pain as the evil, Cicero refers to the “dangers, the labors, even the pain that any good man undergoes on behalf of his country and his people,” and he lauds Torquatus' more patriotic—and non-Epicurean—ancestors for choosing pain over pleasure (Fin. 1.24). While acknowledging Epicurus' famous disregard for pain on his deathbed (which Epicureans cited as an exemplum of Epicurean equanimity), Cicero uses the diminutive form of the adjective, calling the dying Epicurus “a little bit brave” (forticulum).7 Similarly, Seneca describes a hypothetical Epicurean who is intimidated by “the little stabs of pleasure and pain”8 as “no good protector or avenger of his country, nor a defender of his Page 112 →friends.”9 These simple assertions that loyalty, bravery, and love of country should rightly lead one to shun pleasure (voluptas) and to endure pain (dolor) clearly had some potential for a hostile critique of Epicureanism that questioned the masculinity of the Epicurean. Cicero (and Plutarch, who was well acquainted with the texts of Cicero and with Roman culture) presents the manliness of contempt for pain as self-evident. But the rhetorical opposition between pleasure and pain plays a relatively minor role among the enemies of the Garden. In the most virulent anti-Epicurean discourse, pleasure was the polar opposite not of pain but of a quintessentially Roman quality: virtus.

An Irresistible Alliteration Roman texts from various eras—and by Cicero and Seneca in particular—frequently articulate a dichotomy between voluptas, on the one side, and virtus, on the other. In the confrontation between the two terms, it is hard to miss the repetition of v, u, and the liquids r and l, as well as the answering of tut with tat or of tus with tas. The alliteration is seductive. When the alliteration and paronomasia produced by the collocation of the two terms are marked and unmistakable or when grammatical or syntactical parallelism draws attention to the antithesis, Epicureanism is virtually always the subject. Seneca delivers several extraordinary riffs on the virtus/voluptas theme. But I start with some of Cicero's more sober articulations of the opposition. For the sake of simplicity, I will begin here by translating virtus as “virtue,” postponing, for the moment, a search for a more precise rendering. In his response to the Epicurean Torquatus in On Ends, Cicero reconfigures the disagreement over Epicureanism between himself and Torquatus as an argument not between Cicero and his interlocutor but between virtue and pleasure (virtuti cum voluptate certatio, 2.44). At one point, Cicero tells Torquatus, “You Epicureans, by running your lives according to voluptas, are unable to cultivate or retain virtus.”10 Pleasure is for animals, but even some animals possess something similar to human virtues: “So in the human race,” he asks Torquatus, “will there be no virtue except for the sake of pleasure?” (In ipsis hominibus virtus nisi voluptatis causa nulla erit? Fin. 2.110). In his summing up of his reply to Torquatus, Page 113 →Cicero asserts that any significant praise of virtus must exclude pleasure (bene laudata virtus voluptatis aditus intercludat necesse est, 2.118.35). In the Laws, when Cicero enumerates the qualities that some people (the Epicureans are implied) might place above virtue, he asks, “Or, is it that which is most vile to say: voluptas? But it is in the spurning and repudiating of pleasure that virtus is best discerned” (Legibus 1.19.52). Epicurus is the subject again when Cicero writes that the good orator avoids philosophical vocabulary, not arguing whether the highest good is in the body or the soul or whether it should be defined as manly virtue or pleasure (virtute an voluptate definiatur, De or. 1.222.5). When Cicero contrasts voluptas to the manly endurance of dolor in the passages already quoted, his location of “Epicurean” pleasure in the body is patent. In this passage from On the Orator, he demonstrates that the voluptas/virtus antithesis also belongs to the discourse that condemns Epicurus for focusing on the body at the expense of the intellect. This emphatic distinction between the Epicurean

body and the manly Roman's mind is latent in the passage quoted previously, but the division emerges more clearly at times. In the Tusculan Disputations, Cicero makes the mind/body contrast crystal clear: “To my thinking the highest good is in the mind, to his thinking in the body; to mine in virtue, to his in pleasure” (mihi in virtute, illi in voluptate, Tusc. 3.50).11 In all of these passages, alliterative display and assonance enhance the forcefulness of Cicero's claims and present the opposition of the two terms as incontrovertible. Elsewhere, the repetition of sounds is an indispensable tool in Cicero's most vituperative modes of censure. In On the Orator, when Cicero describes wordplay, especially a category of punning “that relies on a slight change in spelling, which the Greeks call paronomasia,” all of the examples he gives involve hostility. He admires, for example, Cato's riposte Si tu et adversus et aversus impudicus es (“Whether from in front or from behind, you are disgusting,” De or. 2.63.256).12 In his own Verrine orations, Cicero asserts that Verres' recalculation of the calendar (to hurry an election) was based less on astronomy (caeli rationem) than on silver plate (caelati argenti, Verres 2.52.129). Later, he puns that Verres spent his Sicilian winters not only indoors (tectum) but in bed Page 114 →(lectum, 5.10.26). Similarly, in the Pro Caelio, he refers to Clodia as not only noble but notorious (non solum nobili sed etiam nota, Cael. 13.31).13 Cato is lionized again when Cicero claims alliteratively that Cato once attacked Piso with such language that “that most depraved and shameless person almost regretted his consulship” (ut illum hominem perditissimum atque impudentissimum paene iam provinciae paeniteret, Sest. 28.60–61). The power of these examples of rhetorical derision depends on verbal repetition, whether of syllable, vowel, or consonant.14 Such reverberation is constituent of the scathing ridicule designed to provoke uproarious laughter among jurors, senators, and Cicero's other immediate audiences. That Cicero also serves up the virtus/voluptas theme to readers of his philosophical works—where he might have shed his oratorical positioning—is indicative of his strong animus against the Garden. Wordplay is a crucial element of Cicero's jousting with the Epicurean Torquatus in the philosophical treatise On Ends, but the script Cicero writes for Torquatus is relatively colorless. As befits his characterization as a mild—but perhaps not overly astute—Epicurean, Torquatus' replies are devoid of rhetorical flourish. Witty rejoinder is not his forte.15 For Cicero, however, memorable sounds are central to his routine formulation of an Epicurus who was as worthy of ridicule as was a Verres or a Clodia.

Virtus and Virility Settling on a single translation of virtus and its plural is not always simple. The English cognate virtue captures the essence if we recognize the word vir (“man”) in the root and thus take “virtue” to be a masculine quality. Myles McDonnell's recent Roman Manliness: Virtus and the Roman Republic renders virtus as “manliness,” which is an ideal translation for the texts I treat here as long as we take “manliness” to refer to qualities that range from the visual to the ethical.16 McDonnell reminds us, too, that the connotations of virtus change according Page 115 →to context and era and that its purview includes military valor.17 Implicit in the most vigorous Roman appeals to virtus is the contention that Page 116 →the word and the concept of “manliness” itself are the exclusive property of “real” men. Most applications of this concept to the Roman world belong inherently to the language of a dominant or hegemonic masculinity. Attributes of this traditional Roman manliness overlap with qualities that some readers of this book will identify with their own conceptions of manliness (whether articulated with irony or not): for example, the expectation that someone identified as “manly” will look rugged and act valiantly may have been as typical then as it is now. But as Robert Kaster wrote in a review of McDonnell's Roman Manliness, translating virtus with manliness, a word out of common currency but highly evocative, provides a “useful oddity” that keeps us aware of the distance between Roman conceptions and our own.18 In the late republic, the meaning of virtus was contested enough to require frequent definition, but the texts of Cicero insist on its gendered quality. Cicero reminds us more than once that the word comes from that for “man.” In the same passage where he reminds us about the etymology (ex viro virtus),19 Cicero uses the plural of virtus to refer to all moral dispositions that are “up-right”;20 he then asserts that the particularly manly virtus (in the singular) is fortitude or courage (fortitudo, Tusc. 2.43). He writes further, “And the two main duties of fortitude

are contempt of death and contempt of pain, which must be exercised if we wish to be endowed with manly virtues or—since the name virtus is borrowed from ‘men'—if we wish to be men” (Tusc. 2.43). At this point, Cicero turns to philosophy for guidance on attaining this masculine fortitude. Not coincidentally, the first philosopher he turns to is Epicurus, of whom he says, “Along comes Epicurus, not a malicious person [homo], but, rather, an excellent man [vir]: his advice matches his intelligence” (venit Epicurus, homo minime malus vel potius vir optimus tantum monet, quantum intelligit, Tusc. 2.44). Cicero has a low opinion of Epicurus' intellect, and the subsequent sentences disparage Epicurus' stand on pain. Why does Cicero label Epicurus as a vir? In this instance, Cicero modifies the word vir with a sarcastically positive modifier, as he does elsewhere when he calls Antony a “good man” or Sextus Naevius an “excellent man.”21 In Cicero's orations, the word homo belongs to his “lexicon of factional abuse” and is frequently used to refer to men whom Cicero presents as foreign, of low status, or morally corrupt.22 In this instance, by referring sardonically to Epicurus as “not a malicious person” and then correcting himself with “but rather an excellent man,” Cicero draws our attention back to his immediately preceding assertions about manly comportment. The label vir connotes fortitude and manliness in general; the label homo refers to a male who has not or cannot become a man. The ironic modifying of vir with the superlative of the adjective bonus negates the positive connotations of the word vir, and the juxtaposition in reference to Epicurus impugns his virility. Thus, in Cicero's formulation, the Epicurean approach is the way not to achieve manliness. Also in the Tusculan Disputations, Cicero exploits the contrast in reference to the “effeminate and unthinking” approaches to pain by relating a story about Gaius Marius. When Marius underwent an operation on his leg, he broke precedence by refusing to be put in restraints. But then he declined the operation for his other leg: “he bore pain like a vir; but like a homo, he refused to undergo more pain than necessary” (Tusc. 2.22.53). In Roman discussions of the Garden, articulating an antithesis between pleasure and manly virtue is complicated by the fact that the Latin virtus is the standard translation of the Greek arete ( “excellence”), a word often used by Epicurus when referring to moral excellence or ethical behavior. Epicurus explicitly contrasts arete to his opponents' misreadings of Epicurean “pleasure” or “living pleasurably” in the Letter to Menoeceus 132 (codified in part as the fifth saying in the Principal Doctrines). In Greek, arete is sometimes presented as though it had an etymological connection with the word for “man” (aner), but the relationship is looser and less persistent. When Cicero and then Seneca (in a later era) refer directly to Epicurean discussions of arete, their less gendered use of virtus as a translation of arete into Latin usually spills quickly over to usage that insists on the association of virtus (and therefore arete) with masculinity. This slippage results in an anachronistic and imprecise (or shall I say willful?) rendering of the Greek.23 But the tradition runs Page 117 →deep. Roman usage of virtus as a translation may even have influenced later Greek uses of arete. In his On the Fact That Epicurus Actually Makes a Pleasant Life Impossible, Plutarch's use of the Greek arete aligns closer than usual with the Latin virtus when he claims that the Epicurean belief in mortality leads them to lose courage and to belittle “arete and action” (Non posse 1104f). But the assertion that courage and action are manly traits is latent rather than explicit here. Despite Lucretius' apparent detachment from contemporary controversies, he may be responding obliquely to the alliterative anti-Epicurean cliché when he couples the two words in an address to Memmius. In the first book of the De rerum natura, he tells his addressee that Memmius' virtus and the pleasure Lucretius hopes to find in his friendship beguile the poet and persuade him to work through the night: Sed tua me virtus tamen et sperata voluptas suavis amicitiae quem vis efferre laborem suadet et inducit noctes vigilare serenas… (1.140–42) [But still your virtus and the hoped-for pleasure of your sweet friendship urge me to take on any labor and to keep watch through the quiet of the night…]

Rather than being antithetical values, Memmius' virtus leads to Lucretius' pleasure. Lucretius' frequent treatment of words that share sounds or letters as though the words have significant atomic elements in common strengthens his implicit claim that voluptas and virtus belong together.24 The mention of the labor entailed in the pursuit of the enjoyment of “sweet friendship” also makes an Epicurean point. Labor, like dolor, was imagined as something the Epicureans could not endure.25 In this passage, virtus may have the sound of a Romanized arete that does not call attention to the notion of manliness. But perhaps these Page 118 →lines reclaim manliness for Epicurus. In the beginning of his poem, Lucretius had attributed intellectual virtus (animi virtutem, DRN 1.70) to Epicurus. As Don Fowler wrote, Lucretius' Epicurus is like a Roman soldier marching beyond the frontier, “so the poet advances into new areas of poetics, and thereby acquires something of the masculine virtus or manliness proper to real Roman men.”26

Virtus and Romanitas That virtus is particularly Roman (and that pleasure is foreign) is an implicit claim throughout many antiEpicurean sources. But in a variety of other Latin texts, the connection between virtus and true Romanness is made explicit. In his plea to declare Marc Antony as a public enemy, Cicero describes virtus as a quality that is “peculiar to the Roman genus and race” and that has been handed down as an inheritance from Roman forefathers (Philippics 4.13). In the context of a biography of the quintessentially foreign invader of Rome, Cicero's contemporary Cornelius Nepos states categorically that everyone knows that the Romans outshine all other peoples in virtus (Hannibal 1). In a later era, Pliny, in his encyclopedic discussion of humanity and the peoples of the world in his Natural History, writes, “Of all the peoples in the whole world, the one that is without a doubt unsurpassed in virtus is the Roman race” (7.130). Like some of his predecessors, Pliny calls attention to the tendentious nature of this claim with his implicit protest: Roman virtus is unmatched “without a doubt” (haud dubie). As we have seen, Cicero also aligns virtus with allegiance to Rome and aligns pleasure with the abandonment of civic duty in the Pro Sestio, an oration that rails at times against the Epicurean and consul Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus. The authenticity and righteousness of these claims is asserted not only by the alliterative force of the sounds but by the elegant chiasmus (cum virtute, non cum desidia, cum dignitate, non cum voluptate [Sest. 66.138]). Many cultures might claim manliness and bravery in general as central constituents of their national character. But the particularity of Roman manliness comes further to the fore when we examine the broader constellation of moral qualities that are said to make a Roman man. In On Ends, when Cicero presents the constituents of “the honorable” (honestum, a quality that his imagined Epicureans spurn), he enumerates wisdom, justice, courage, and a fourth Page 119 →value that entails self-regulation and restraint (ordo et moderatio). This fourth value, he tells Torquatus, “dreads temerity and does not dare injure anyone by impudent word or deed; and has scruples against doing or saying anything that might seem insufficiently manly [parum virile]” (Fin. 2.47.14). A quality with a close relationship to this self-restraint and another hallmark of correct masculinity is pudicitia. In a work addressed to his young son (The Classification of Rhetoric), Cicero lists four things in whose name an action may be rhetorically justified: filial devotion, pudicitia, religion, and country (aut pietatis aut pudicitiae aut religionis aut patriae nomine, Part. 42). Later in the same essay, he enumerates three items that are constitutive of the good and the necessary: life, pudicitia, and freedom (vita, pudicitia, libertas, Part. 86). The word pudicitia describes a type of sexual morality but is so specific to Roman culture that translation into English is as vexed as that of virtus. In her recent study of Roman sexual morality, Rebecca Langlands describes Roman pudicitia as “a concept that belongs to a different and distant culture and a different way of thinking about sex and about ethics.”27 A crucial indication of that cultural difference is that pudicitia is required not only of women but also of Roman men. While it is a commonplace in Roman texts as well as in modern scholarship to use the word to refer to the sexual modesty and chastity of respectable women, Langlands shows that Cicero treats pudicitia—a type of manly chastity and sexual restraint—as a “core civic virtue,” linking it with appropriate masculinity as well as with allegiance to Rome.28 It is important to keep in mind that modern Mediterranean conceptions of manliness differ from those of ancient Rome regarding sexual prowess, which seems not to have a place in the constellation of qualities identified with Roman virtus. Attention to differing views of the meaning of male sexual activity highlights even more intensely

the questionable gender of the Epicurean male. In many twentieth- and twenty-first-century societies, sexual prowess is an important element of conventional constructions of masculinity, and frequent sexual contact with women implies a type of manliness that may be expressed in entirely positive terms. But as Langlands has shown in her treatment of the ancient Roman concept of pudicitia, “Far from the Don Juan stereotype of virility being proved through sexual conquest, the inability to prevent oneself from serial debauchery is seen as a sign of weakness akin to the desire to be penetrated Page 120 →by other men.”29 As scholarship from the last two decades has demonstrated, invective against men sometimes did not differentiate between the victim's alleged sexual relations with women and those with men. Cicero, for example, casts Verres as “quite the man among women, and a sluttish girl among men” (magis vir inter mulieres, impura inter viros muliercula, Verres 2.192). In a more general context, Catharine Edwards has described how the Roman conception of luxury and lust as “cognate vices” is evident from polemics that use similar terms to articulate the condemnation of overindulgence in both food and sex. As she puts it, “the skirmishes between Roman moralists and alleged voluptuaries took place on the conceptual borders between masculine and feminine, public and private, Roman and alien.”30 An awareness of Roman concerns about the maintenance of male pudicitia helps further explain why the view of Epicurean men as effeminates seemed logical and coherent to a hostile audience. Greeks who understood Epicurean pleasures as the pleasures of “nonstop drinking and revelry,” “physical enjoyment of boys and women,” or “fish or other elements of a lavish banquet” (Ep. Men. 132) would question the morality of the Garden. But they would not necessarily impute a deviant sexuality or gender to the allegedly miscreant Epicureans. Roman culture, however, attributed unseemly appetites (for sex and for food) to unmanly men.31 Thus the alleged womanishness of anyone with a penchant for voluptas.

The Antiquity of the Virtus/Voluptas Figure In Rome, the stylized virtue/pleasure antithesis that plays on the repetitions of the sounds of virtus and voluptas is thoroughly enmeshed with anti-Epicurean polemic and seems not to have been harnessed for other purposes. At one point in On Duties, Cicero uses the terms in reference to philosophical hedonism more generally, but the point there is to introduce Epicurus, who adapted the sentiment when the Cyreniacs went out of style.32 Cicero comes close to deploying the figure in non-Epicurean contexts, but the word position there prevents Page 121 →alliteration from being prominent.33 Yet both Cicero and Quintilian (born around 35 CE) claim implicitly that the figure had great antiquity through unambiguous tracing of the virtus/voluptas antithesis back to Hellenistic and classical Greek texts. This gives the formula a complex history, but a closer look reveals that the sources named by Cicero and Quintilian do not focus directly on an antithesis between manly virtue and pleasure. In fact, while the word voluptas is there, the word hedone does not figure at all in the extant Greek source that both Quintilian and Cicero cite. In The Orator's Education (Institutio oratoria), Quintilian treats the use of virtus and voluptas (as a contrasting pair) as a type of rhetorical personification: Sed formas quoque fingimus saepe, ut Famam Vergilius, ut Voluptatem ac Virtutem, quem ad modum a Xenophonte traditur, Prodicus, ut Mortem ac Vitam, quas contendentes in satura tradit, Ennius. (9.2.36) [Again, we often invent Personifications, as Virgil invented Rumour, Prodicus (according to Xenophon's report) Pleasure and Virtue, and Ennius Death and Life, whom he represents in a Satire as debating with each other.]34 Unfortunately, the literary passage where Ennius presents “Death and Life” is lost, but readers of the Aeneid will remember how Virgil's Fama (Rumor) wreaks havoc on the lives of Dido and Aeneas. Fama is as terrifying, foul, and destructive a demon as they come (Aen. 4.173–95). Quintilian's reference to the personified Virtus and Voluptas looks straightforward, but he has neglected to cite the Latin intermediary for Xenophon's Greek. His citation may indicate that he knows a Latin text in which personification was as explicit as it is in Virgil, where Fama has a head, arms, and running feet. We are left wondering if he has in mind a vivid scene in a (now lost)

Roman literary text or if it is Cicero's (or some other Roman writer's) interpretation of Prodicus' story that made such an impression on Quintilian. Cicero's is extant: in On Duties, Cicero relates Page 122 →a story the Greek Sophist Prodicus told about Heracles (according to Xenophon). In Cicero's version of the story, Heracles is given the choice between two paths of life: Pleasure or Virtue (duas….vias, unam Voluptatis, alteram Virtutis, Off. 1.118). The long-suffering Heracles, who will later become a hero of the Stoics, chooses the latter.35 The Greek original has also survived, and there we find not two paths but two women. Both are beautiful, but one is austere and modest, while the other is adorned in such a way as to exaggerate her beauty and to put her body on display. The immodest woman runs to meet Heracles, crying, “If you befriend me, I will lead you on the sweetest and easiest path of life [] , and you will taste every pleasure [] and live without hardship.” Her promises include a life free from war and trouble and full of delightful experiences with food, drink, sex, and soft beds. Heracles asks her name, and she replies, “My friends call me Happiness, but those who hate me nickname me Vice” ( Kakiav, Memorabilia 2.1.26). Next, it is revealed that the woman who offers the difficult life is named “Virtue” (). But apart from its appearance in the cognate word “sweetest” (), hedone plays no role in the story. The choice of the word virtus is unremarkable, but it is a pity that we cannot know who transformed “happiness” into “pleasure.” The virtus/voluptas figure also did not appear fully formed in Cicero's (lost) Hellenistic Greek source. Cicero uses voluptas and virtus in translating a nonextant Greek text when he tells how the Stoic Cleanthes (a contemporary of Epicurus) used to describe a hypothetical painting of Pleasure. In the painting, the personified Pleasure—lavishly dressed and regally ornamented—is surrounded by her slaves the Virtues, who whisper to her, “We virtues were born to serve you; this is our only job” (Fin. 2.69). Earlier in the same work, Cicero had alluded to a similar trope by asking, “Why should you introduce pleasure into a gathering of virtues, ‘as though you were introducing a prostitute Page 123 →into the company of maidens'?”36 The Stoics were emphatic about the relationship between virtue and pleasure: pleasure may sometimes be an outcome of the pursuit of arete or virtus, but those qualities must never be subservient to pleasure. The anticipation of pleasure cannot be the point of virtus. Seneca (who often identifies himself as a Stoic) offers an example from agriculture. When a field has been ploughed for crops, some flowers may grow between the rows. But although the flowers may please the eye, they were not the goal of the sower's labor: “The farmer had another purpose; the flowers are just additional. Thus voluptas is neither the reward nor the cause of virtus but its by-product” (sic voluptas non est merces nec causa virtutis sed accessio, De vita beata 8.9). The context of Seneca's remarks is his extended censure of Epicureanism in On the Happy Life, to which I will return later in this chapter. Given the Stoic concern with virtue and pleasure, it seems logical to locate the original source for the virtus /voluptas figure in Roman Stoicism. Torquatus certainly refers to Stoics' usage when he cites their claim that virtus needs no voluptas (virtutem autem…voluptatem atque, Fin. 1.61). But while Cleanthes' Greek may have been influential, identifying it as a close source (when translated into Latin) of the figure as we have it elsewhere does not satisfy. First, the notion of virtues as handmaids to pleasure is not an element of the virtus/voluptas figure. Second, the shift from plural to singular also changes the sense. When the personified Virtues are presented as a group, as they are in Cicero's description of the painting that Cleanthes described in Greek, they are of course represented in the plural: “the virtues” rather than the singular virtus. But elsewhere Cicero uses virtus in the singular, thus highlighting an implicit claim that “manly virtue” is a singular and uncontested Roman value: there can be no Roman “manlinesses.” Occasionally, Cicero and Torquatus seem to be waging a battle between the singular and the plural. In his interrogation of what constitutes a good life, Torquatus describes philosophical approaches not to virtus but to the virtues (e.g., wisdom, temperance, courage, and justice; Fin. 1.42–50). Torquatus refers not to Roman virtus but to the plural of arete, while Cicero holds up virtus itself as the exemplary badge of masculinity. Xenophon's story of the personified Arete and Evil predates both Epicureanism and Stoicism, but it does seem likely that Cleanthes' personification of virtues and pleasure was engaged with early conflicts between the Stoa and the Page 124 →Garden. These antecedents may have inspired a Roman Stoic text (oral or written, but now lost) to create the virtus/voluptas discourse I explore in this chapter. Yet it may be reasonable to pin its invention on Cicero.

Pleasure Is Pleasure Cicero's insistence on the diametric opposition of virtus to voluptas works in concert with a complementary claim he makes in equally categorical terms. This is his blustering contention that there is only one way to translate the Greek into Latin: et quidem saepe quaerimus verbum Latinum par Graeco et quod idem valeat; hic nihil fuit, quod quaereremus: nullum inveniri verbum potest quod magis idem declaret Latine, quod Graece, quam declarat voluptas. (Fin. 2.13) [We often search for a Latin equivalent to a Greek word with the same connotation. But here no search was necessary. No other word can be found that signifies a Greek word in Latin more exactly than voluptas does.] Cicero is not merely asserting that there is a simple and unavoidable, one-to-one correspondence between hedone and voluptas. More than that, his claim here is that hedone presents a unique case: no other Greek word is so easy to translate. Elsewhere, Cicero argues that the translation of philosophical Greek discourse into Latin prose is a task that requires care and expertise. While clumsy translators (interpretes indiserti) might insist on word-forword translation, Cicero is willing to use several Latin words to translate a Greek one, and he is even willing to leave a word in the original Greek when necessary (Fin. 3.15).37 Why is it that no such subtleties are required in the case of hedone? Why should a particular word possess such extreme and unprecedented translatability? Cicero's persistence makes clear that he does not make his claim for seamless, unproblematic equivalence by accident. With incredulity, he exclaims to Torquatus, egone non intellego, quid sit Graece, Latine voluptas? utram tandem linguam nescio? deinde qui fit, ut ego nesciam, sciant omnes, quicumque Epicurei esse voluerunt? (“Do I not understand what hedone is in Greek, and Page 125 →what voluptas is in Latin? Which language do I not know? And moreover, how comes it that I do not know, when any people at all who want to be Epicureans do know?” Fin. 2.12). He challenges again, many sentences later, Satisne igitur videor vim verborum tenere, an sum etiam nunc vel Graece loqui vel Latine docendus? (“Now do you think I do not grasp the significance of the words, or do I still need to be taught to speak Greek or Latin?” Fin. 2.15). Cicero's reiterations heighten my suspicion that he is committing “the scandal of putting the translated in the service of the translating culture.”38 As translators and theorists who focus on the ethical ramifications of translation of contemporary texts today have stressed, a translation can signal cultural difference by acknowledging distance and by preserving the salient details of cultural particularity. Cicero's refusal to consider a “thick translation” prohibits contextualization: to allow any distancing between Greek hedone and Roman voluptas would be to question their sameness.39 It is ironic that—in the same work—Cicero slips in the word cupiditas (“desire,” “lust,” or “greed”) as another translation of “pleasures.”40 Even more ironic is the fact that Cicero elsewhere derides Piso's misunderstanding of Epicurean voluptas: “He did not ask what sort, or when, or how, but just devoured the word itself” (cuius et quo tempore et quo modo, non quaerebat, verbum ipsum…devorarat, Sest. 23). Ostensibly, Cicero's remonstrations are rejoinders to an Epicurean tradition of identifying pleasure as the absence of pain, which Cicero presents as a contradiction of the opposition of pleasure to pain in Epicurean theory (Fin. 2.12).41 In a passage where he interrogates the Greek philosopher (who, as to be Page 126 →expected, speaks exclusively in Latin), Epicurus is made to state that “the opposite of pain is not pleasure but the absence of pain” (dolori non voluptas contraria est sed doloris privatio, 2.28). We know from Cicero's Torquatus and from Philodemus that later Epicureans sometimes expressed disagreement about this issue, but the theoretical construct seems to have good lineage, and both Torquatus and Philodemus promote it. Plutarch, too, will express great consternation with Epicurean talk of “not pain” or “painlessness” and whether it was to be located in the body or the spirit (1089d). Yet Cicero's ventriloquism is probably unfair. There is no Greek text that matches precisely the line Cicero attributes to Epicurus (“the opposite of pain is not pleasure but the absence of pain”). Rather than flatly denying that the opposite of is pain, extant Epicurean texts define the telos both as pleasure and as the absence of pain (), a distinction that demonstrates that internal Epicurean discussions were more nuanced than Cicero implies.42 Powell remarks that the translation issue compounds the oversimplification: “It clearly does not make

sense to define voluptas as a settled state of absence of pain, but it may not have been quite so obviously ludicrous to define in that way (at least after the Epicureans had been doing so for two centuries).”43 Cicero's case for the stark equivalence of voluptas and hedone has a more fundamental motivation than is implied by his exasperation with an Epicurean claim that pleasure is the absence of pain. Raising, once again, the specter of the Epicurean hetaera (clearly a metaphor here), he aligns pleasure with prostitution and asserts that rehabilitation is impossible. Pleasure's one-dimensional character is unmistakable: quid enim necesse est, tamquam meretricem in matronarum coetum, sic voluptatem in virtutum concilium adducere? (“Why should you introduce pleasure into a gathering of virtues, as though you were introducing a prostitute into the company of matrons?” Fin. 2.12). Next, Cicero progresses to oblique confrontation with Epicurus' well-known correction of widespread misapprehensions about Epicurean pleasure. As Epicurus wrote to Page 127 →Menoeceus, “whenever we say that pleasure is the , we do not mean the pleasures of degenerates” (Ep. Men. 131). In Cicero's view, a doctrine of “pleasure” admits of no subtleties, and once the word pleasure is out, any attempt at refinement is mere backpedaling. Continuing with the image of Pleasure among the matrons, Cicero writes, invidiosum nomen est, infame, suspectum. Itaque hoc frequenter dici solet a vobis, non intellegere nos, quam dicat Epicurus voluptatem. quod quidem mihi si quando dictum est—est autem dictum nonparum saepe—, etsi satis clemens sum in disputando, tamen interdum soleo subirasci. (Fin. 2.12) [Her name itself is odious, notorious, suspect. For this reason, you Epicureans have a frequent habit of saying that we do not know what Epicurus meant by pleasure. When I hear this assertion (and I hear it none too seldom), though as a disputant I am a good-tempered enough, I get a little angry.] For Cicero, the Epicurean insistence that “the pleasures of degenerates” are not the Epicurean pleasures is simply a refusal to acknowledge the definition of voluptas. He agrees with the Epicureans that making oneself sick from overindulgence would have to be unpleasant: “None of us would think that degenerates of that sort live pleasantly [iucunde]” (Fin. 2.23). But then he goes on to list refined but extravagant pleasures that he implies Epicureans do intend to enjoy. These are the pleasures of sophisticated and elegant men “with the best cooks, bakers, fish, birds, game, all these exquisite things;” fine wine, and great entertainment in sumptuous surroundings. (Note, once again, the fish, the non-Epicurean pleasure cataloged in Ep. Men. 132.) Cicero denies that degenerates of this latter sort can live happily (bene…aut beate [Fin. 2.23]). The upshot is that Epicurus' claim that “pleasure is not pleasure” does not hold water. The difference between the two types of degenerate pleasures proves “not that voluptas is not voluptas, but that voluptas is not the highest good” (non ut voluptas ne sit voluptas, sed ut voluptas non sit summum bonum, Fin. 2.24). Cicero insists, moreover, on the self-evidence of the physicality of pleasure: omnes enim iucundum motum, quo sensus hilaretur Graece , Latine voluptatem vocant (“Everyone calls a pleasing stimulation of the senses hedone in Greek and voluptas in Latin,” Fin. 2.8). He painstakingly concedes that voluptas has two connotations: “gladness of mind” (laetitiam in animo) and “a pleasing sensation of delight in the body” (commotionem suavem iucunditatis in corpore, Page 128 →2.13). Yet he stresses the bodily aspects by appealing to good usage: in standard Latin (omnium Latine loquentium more), “voluptas” is a pleasure that is felt by one of the senses (2.14).44 Thus it emerges that, at its most basic level, Cicero's objection to Epicurus' correction of received opinion is two-pronged: Cicero wishes to deny that intellectual or spiritual pleasures are significant aspects of Epicurean hedone, and he wants to downplay Epicurean teachings about the need to discriminate between beneficial pleasures and those that ought to be rejected. Instead of recognizing the centrality of the notion of “choice and avoidance” to Epicurean ethics, Cicero treats it as mere posturing. The translation of hedone with voluptas provides a high-inference shortcut for Roman commentators on Epicureanism. Pleasures connoted by voluptas are more obviously connected with the body, and the word itself is “odious, notorious, suspect” (invidiosum nomen est, infame, suspectum). A look at two hostile synopses of Epicureanism in Greek authors will be instructive here. In Plutarch's Non posse, the enthusiastically antiEpicurean interlocutor Theon encapsulates Epicureanism thusly: “they think that the good resides around the belly, and around all those other pores of the flesh through which pleasure and not-pain flow; and that all things

good and wise were invented for the sake of the pleasure of the belly (and for the good anticipation of this pleasure, as the wise Metrodorus said).”45 It is no accident that Theon uses the word for “belly” or the phrase for “pleasure of the belly” in place of the word hedone. In Greek, the word for “pleasure” does not, on its own, convey the pejorative sense that Theon's attack will require. In fact, Plutarch's entire piece is built around the claim that Epicureanism is—ironically—deeply unpleasant. The early Epicurean Colotes had written a treatise called “That It Is Not Possible to Live according to the Teachings of the Other Philosophers” ( , Non posse 1086cd). Plutarch's Theon proposes a riposte: “Let us try to prove, if ever we are able, that it is not possible to live pleasantly [] according to their teachings!” (1087b) The diseases that wracked Epicurean bodies will provide Theon with useful evidence, but he argues Page 129 →also that the Epicurean outlook imbues their lives with pervasive psychic pains as well: “If renown is pleasant [], disgrace is painful []; and nothing is more disgraceful than lack of friends, idleness, irreligion, hedonism, or being regarded with contempt”(1100a). In Plutarch's view, the pleasures that are off-limits to Epicureans are honorable pleasures that more decent men will enjoy. An oration by a contemporary of Plutarch, the Greek orator and popular philosopher Dio Chrysostom, also demonstrates how the word hedone, as a less sufficient hostile descriptor for Epicureanism than the value-laden voluptas, needed buttressing. Meditating on human awareness of the divine in his Olympic Discourse (delivered at Olympia in the year 97 CE), Dio Chrysostom contrasts people in general with the perverse Epicureans, who have chosen to block their ears. In formulating his quick, hostile characterization of Epicureanism, he proposes three synonyms, all of which have unambiguously negative moral connotations. Despising the gods, the Epicureans worship an evil female demon, “a certain wantonness [], or great indolence [] and unrestrained lewdness [], whom they call Pleasure [], a womanish god indeed,” whom they honor and worship in Asiatic style (with cymbals or tambourines and pipes).46 Dio's claim that the Epicureans worship in Asiatic style is especially pointed, given the context at Olympia (the quintessentially Greek cultic center). According to Dio's account, Hedone is merely a Greek name the Epicureans have given to this foreign she-demon. How would a less tendentious translator bring into Latin? One might reasonably argue (as some Latin-speaking Epicureans surely would have) that voluptas is in fact an entirely acceptable rendering of hedone—provided that it is not presented as the opposite of virtus. Yet a Roman Epicurean other than Cicero's Torquatus (a historical person whose words are formulated by Cicero years after the fictional setting of the conversation) might be chary of using the word voluptas. In fact, one of Cicero's correspondents opts for nontranslation. This is the Roman statesman Gaius Cassius Longinus, who had become an Epicurean two or three years before he wrote to Cicero in 45 BCE.47 Cicero had mentioned Epicurean ideas (in an unfavorable light) in previous letters, framing Page 130 →his own philosophical outlook as serious and profound, while characterizing Cassius' as “based in the kitchen” (Ad fam. 15.18.1). In a letter of the next year (45 BCE), Cicero described his correspondent's turn toward Epicureanism as his “divorce” from virtus in favor of inglorious voluptas. He had also alluded to Cassius' conversion to the Garden as Cassius' new doubt that “the good must be chosen for its own sake” (a Greek philosophical phrase Cicero quotes in Greek; Ad fam. 15.17.3). There Cicero's reference to Cassias' philosophical “doubt” is based on a one-dimensional but not incorrect characterization: for an Epicurean, pleasure and the good are conjoined. Cassius sends a gracious but trenchant response in which he treats the exchange of letters as friendly repartee: “I feel that I am speaking and joking with you face to face” (videor enim, cum praesente loqui et iocari [Ad. fam. 15.19.1]). In his rejoinder, he reclaims for the Garden a commitment to the good and to justice by quoting (in part) the categorical statement from the Letter to Menoeceus encapsulated in the fifth saying of the Principal Doctrines: “It is impossible to live pleasurably unless one lives in accordance with wisdom, goodness, and justice; nor can one live in accordance with wisdom, goodness, and justice without living pleasurably.” When quoting this precept, Cassius declines to translate or , switching back to Greek when he needs to mention “pleasure” and “pleasurably.” difficile est enim persuadere hominibus vero et virtute, iustitia, parari et verum et probabile est; ipse enim Epicurus, a quo omnes Catii et Amafinii, mali verborum interpretes, proficiscuntur, dicit: . (Ad fam. 15.19.2)

[Yes, it is difficult to persuade people that “the good must be chosen for its own sake”; but it is both demonstrable and true that hedone [pleasure] and ataraxia [tranquillity] are to be obtained through virtus, justice, and the “good.” Epicurus himself, from whom all those Catiuses and Amafiniuses—poor translators of words—take their source, says, “It is impossible to live pleasurably unless one lives in accordance with goodness and justice.”]48 Page 131 →Cassius' mention of inept translators of Epicurus, “all those Catiuses and Amafiniuses—poor translators of words,” makes unmistakable his reluctance to use the word voluptas. The context implies—I believe—that Cassius felt that Catius' and Amafinius' clumsy introduction of the word voluptas into the Roman Epicurean lexicon had misrepresented Epicurean hedonism to Roman readers. Also implied is an awareness that the adverb (“pleasantly” or “sweetly”) was also difficult to translate in an Epicurean context because of the lack of a suitable Latin adverb that was also cognate to a word for “pleasure” in Latin.49 This lack of a cognate noun/adverb pair poses a problem in English also, as neither “pleasantly” nor “pleasurably” seems quite adequate. Translators often choose instead to translate the adverb/verb pair as “to live a pleasant life.” Lucretius was not squeamish about embracing the word voluptas, but his other terms for Epicurean pleasure make frequent appearances, particularly in the proem to book 2 of the De rerum natura, which presents a synopsis of Epicurean values: detachment from strife, the achievement of tranquillity, release from fear, the enjoyment of simple pleasures in good company, and the study of natural science. Three times in the first six lines of book 2, we meet the word with which the book starts: “sweet” (suave), an adjective that is far less sensual than the noun voluptas.50 In the same letter, Cassius also challenges Cicero's habitual juxtaposition of virtus and voluptas. Cicero had mentioned the excellent character and record of Pansa, the Roman general and politician who governed Bithynia in 47–46. As Cicero acknowledges, Pansa happened to be an Epicurean. It was in an ironic yet respectful reference to Pansa that Cicero had written that “the good must be chosen for its own sake.” Thus Cassius continues his defense of Epicureanism, again using Greek when referring to it: ltaque et Pansa, qui sequitur virtutem retinet, et ii, qui a vobis vocantur, sunt omnisque virtutes et colunt et retinent (“And so Pansa, who follows ‘pleasure,' retains virtus, and those who are called by you [plural] ‘lovers of pleasure' are Page 132 →‘lovers of the good' and ‘lovers of justice,' and they retain and cultivate all of the virtues,” Ad fam. 15.19.3). Although, in referring to Pansa, he quotes Cicero's usual use of the word virtus (singular), he then refers to Epicurean virtutes (virtus in the plural). His use of the plural sounds deliberate and significant, particularly in light of the fact that Torquatus sometimes uses the plural as well. The plural implies that what matters to these two Epicureans is not masculinity so much but a range of virtues.

Over the Top: Seneca on Manly Virtue and Pleasure Over one hundred years later, in an essay addressed to his brother Gallio titled On the Happy Life, Seneca offers the following illustration of the virtus/voluptas theme: Altum quiddam est virtus, excelsum et regale, invictum, infatigabile; voluptas humile, servile, imbecillum, caducum, cuius statio ac domicilium fornices etpopinae sunt. Virtutem in templo convenies, in foro, in curia, pro muris stantem, pulveru-lentam, coloratam, callosas habentem manus; voluptatem latitantem saepius ac tenebras captantem circa balinea ac sudatoria ac loca aedilem metuentia, mollem, enervem, mero atque unguento madentem, pallidam aut fucatam et medicamentis pollinctam. (De vita beata 7.3) [Virtus is something exalted, something elevated and regal, unconquered, unfaltering; voluptas is lowly, servile, feeble, and decaying, whose hovel and staging ground are the brothels and the taverns. Virtus you will find in the temple, in the forum, in the senate house, defending the city walls, dusty and sunburnt, hands callused. Voluptas you will find most often seeking out darkness, lurking around the baths and sweating rooms and places that fear the magistrates; soft, languid, reeking of wine and perfume, pallid or else painted and made up like a corpse.]

This passage recalls the many Greek texts that “express a gender-oriented distinction between public and private both in terms of persons, places, and, more abstractly, spheres of life.”51 It is not novel to cite Seneca's formulation as a radical example of Roman expositions of correct masculinity and its polar opposite. But most discussions of this splendidly over-the-top (and yet paradigmatic) Page 133 →passage do not remark on its specific context. The manliness/pleasure dichotomy alone should alert us to the fact that the Garden is the focus here. Closer examination reveals that the passage comes from the prologue to an extended polemic against the Epicurean claim that pleasure is the crucial component of “the happy life.” The professed aim of On the Happy Life is to interrogate the various philosophical schools in search of guidance for achieving happiness. The essay begins, “Everyone wishes to live happily, my brother Gallio, but they cannot see their way.” Philosophy is to provide direction. Because the Epicureans—in their “factory of pleasure”—might claim to hold a monopoly on happiness, Seneca turns first to a refutation of their teachings, focusing on Epicurus for roughly one-third of the piece before turning to other philosophical approaches.52 Although he mentions Epicureans later in the piece, he sums up the main anti-Epicurean tirade at 16.1, where he asserts, “Therefore true happiness is founded upon virtus.” Seneca's rant against Epicurus begins quietly.53 Vident et in iliis qui summum bonum dixerunt quam turpi illud loco posuerint. Itaque negantposse voluptatem a virtute diduci et aiunt nec honeste quemquam vivere ut non iucunde vivat, nec iucunde ut non honeste quoque. Non uideo quo-modo ista tam diversa in eandem copulam coiciantur. Quid est, oro uos, cur separari voluptas a virtute non possit? (De vita beata 7.1) [Even those who have said that the highest good is in the belly see in how dishonorable a place they have placed it. And thus they deny that voluptas can be severed from virtus, and say that no one can live honorably without living pleasantly, nor pleasurably without living honorably. I do not see how two things so divergent could be cast in the same mold. Why on earth cannot pleasure be separated from virtus?] It is especially important here to leave virtus untranslated, because Seneca is paraphrasing the text from Epicurus' Letter to Menoeceus that responds to critics Page 134 →who take the Epicureans as dissolute voluptuaries (a text I have quoted many times in this book). Epicurus counters, as we have seen, that “the virtues [aretai] are by nature part of living pleasurably, and living pleasurably is inseparable from them” (Ep. Men. 132). This quotation from Epicurus follows directly the statement quoted more fully in the introduction to this book and in chapter 2: “it is neither nonstop drinking and revelry nor physical enjoyment of boys and women nor fish or other elements of a lavish banquet table that produce a pleasant life” (Ep. Men. 131). But although Seneca is using virtus as a translation of the philosophical term arete (a term not so conspicuously wrapped up with virility), his discussion of virtus quickly devolves into a tirade about the gendering of the Epicurean.54 A few lines after his complaint that Epicureans claim that a person cannot “live honorably without living pleasurably,” Seneca repeats his question in slightly different terms: “Why do you conjoin two things that are so divergent, so contradictory?” This second formulation of the question put to the Epicureans introduces the passage with which we started this section: “Virtus is something exalted, something elevated and regal, unconquered, unfaltering; voluptas is lowly, servile, feeble.” It is no coincidence that these passages are consecutive. In On the Happy Life, Seneca alludes again and again to the true Epicurean belief that moral goodness and pleasure go hand in hand. At places, he acknowledges that a good Epicurean might avoid the dissolute life and thus achieve true happiness, but he warns that the hazards are legion. The admonitions against the dangers of taking pleasure as a guide are admonitions against the loss of manhood. Quisquis ad virtutem accessit, dedit generosae indolis specimen: qui voluptatem sequitur uidetur eneruis, fractus, degenerans uiro, perventurus in turpia nisi aliquis distinxerit illi voluptates, ut sciat quae ex eis intra naturale desiderium resistant, quae praeceps ferantur infinitaeque sint et quo magis inplentur eo magis inexplebiles. Agedum, virtus antecedat, tutum erit omne vestigium. (De vita beata 13.4–5)

[He who reaches for virtus provides a model of the noble character; but he who pursues voluptas is shown to be weakly, effeminate, falling short of being a man, Page 135 →and headed for depravity unless someone distinguishes for him the differences between pleasures, so that he knows which are within the boundary of natural desire, and which whisk one away and are infinite and become more insatiable the more they are satisfied. Come then, let virtus direct us, and every footstep will be safe.] Later in On the Happy Life, Seneca offers variations on the virtus/voluptas theme as it relates to Epicurus' discussion of virtues (aretai) in the Letter to Menoeceus and its codification as the fifth saying in the Principal Doctrines. At one point, the hypothetical Epicurean asks, “What prevents virtus and voluptas from being joined into one [in unum virtutem voluptatemque confundi] and constituting the highest good so that the honorable [honestum] and the pleasant [iucundum] may be one and the same?” (15.1). Seneca's answer is a less dramatic reiteration of his description of the radical differences between virtus and voluptas (De vita beata 7.3). In Cicero's On Ends, the Epicurean conjoining pleasure with moral goodness is subjected to ridicule at many turns. At one point, the Epicurean Torquatus incorporates a closer translation of Epicurus' words to Menoeceus when he protests, “Epicurus, the man whom you [plural] say is too devoted to pleasures, broadcasts that no one can live pleasantly without living wisely, honorably, and justly; nor wisely, honorably, and justly without living pleasantly” (Clamat Epicurus, is quem vos nimis voluptatibus esse deditum dicitis, non posse iucunde vivi nisi sapieter, honeste, iusteque vivatur, nece sapienter, honeste, iuste nisi iucunde, 1.57). In his refutation, Cicero responds to Torquatus, “You say, ‘But Epicurus says'—for this is your brilliant strong suit [lumen]—'that someone who does not live honorably cannot live pleasantly.' As if I should care what he says or denies! What I ask is, what would be a consistent response from someone who places the highest good in voluptas?” (Fin. 2.70). In On Benefits, an essay addressed to Aebutius Liberalis, Seneca returns to the theme when he writes that a virtuous act (honestum) must have virtue itself as its goal. The words honestus and honos are often allied with virtus, and the usual shift to the vocabulary of manliness and pleasure occurs in next sentence.55 Page 136 →In hac parte nobis pugna est cum Epicureis, delicata et umbratica turba in convivio suo philosophantium, apud quos virtus voluptatum ministra est, illisparet, illis deservit, illas supra se videt. (Ben. 4.1.3) [Here we have a quarrel with the Epicureans, an effeminate, shade-loving clan of philosophizing banqueters among whom virtus is the handmaid of pleasures that it obeys, that it waits upon, that it sees reigning over it.] This passage echoes Cleanthes' description of the painting of the Virtues waiting on Pleasure as presented in Cicero's On Ends (Fin. 2.69, discussed earlier in this chapter); Seneca and Cicero are referring to the same Stoic texts. At this point, the hypothetical Epicurean (whom Seneca immediately rebuffs) again paraphrases Epicurus: “There is no voluptas without virtus” (Ben. 4.2.1). With Seneca we also come full circle to the contrast of pain to pleasure with which this chapter started. In his short critique of the Garden in On Benefits, he brings dolor back into the virtus/voluptas antithesis. Having retorted to the hypothetical Epicurean that he will not quibble over the Epicurean's claim that the pleasant life cannot exist without virtus, he asserts (here as elsewhere) that he objects not to the way the Epicureans place pleasure ahead of manly virtue (post voluptatem ponitur virtus) but to their habit of associating the two at all. For virtus, he writes, “is the enemy and despiser of pleasure, and it recoils as far as possible from it, being more acquainted with the masculine struggles of toil and pain than with your effeminate so-called good” (contemptrix eius et hostis et longissime ab illa resiliens, labori ac dolori, virilibus incommodes, quam isti effeminato bono, Ben. 4.2.4). Thus he combines the virtus/voluptas cliché with the juxtaposition of dolor to voluptas.

“I received great pleasure from your letter” The rhetoric of pleasure versus manly virtue exists in particular realms. For Cicero, the hostile juxtaposition belongs primarily to the anti-Epicurean tirades (or occasionally to his more sober critiques of Epicureanism) in his

oratorical and philosophical writings. In Cicero's letters, the words virtus and voluptas lose their charged meanings. Cicero, too, takes pleasure in receiving letters, and he recites the formulaic “I took great pleasure in your letter” without apology. “Manly virtue” and “pleasure” can even occur next to each other without Page 137 →being situated on two sides of an ethical divide. In a letter to his Epicurean friend Titus Pomponius Atticus dated to December of 51 BCE, Cicero alludes to the binary he articulates elsewhere when he writes about the pleasure he takes in his own integrity as consul.56 With urbane allusiveness, he writes to his Epicurean friend that he refrains from claiming for himself the virtue of restraint, which would connote “a virtue opposed to pleasure” (quae virtus voluptati resistere videtur), for the pleasure is the greatest he has ever felt (Att. 5.20.6). Virtus is very rarely attributed to a woman in Cicero's era. As a recent discussion puts it, “Virtus is the ideal of masculine behavior that all men ought to embody, that some women have the good fortune of attaining, and that men derided as effeminate conspicuously fail to achieve.”57 But in writing to Atticus about his beloved daughter, Tullia, Cicero refers to her “virtue, humanity, and devotion” and laments that his present grief, his exile, prevents him from taking pleasure in her singular goodness (Att. 11.17.1). He praises the virtus of his wife, Terentia, and again of Tullia with similar wording in a letter to Terentia also written while Cicero was in exile, when his wife and daughter were facing disaster in Rome. There, too, voluptas is mentioned in concert with virtus, this time in reference to Tullia's bravery and the pleasure (now replaced by grieving) that she had taken in her father's love (Ad fam. 14.1.1).58 The point of these unusual uses of virtus is to stress the exceptionality of Tullia's strengths—rare among females, but occasionally shared also by her mother. The peaceful coexistence of virtus and voluptas in Cicero's letters draws attention to the tendentiousness of the binary elsewhere. The use of both terms in the same sentence also demonstrates how their potentially vituperative force can be either unleashed or occluded. When writing in his letter to Atticus of the voluptas that should be afforded by Tullia's virtus, Cicero draws attention away from the sounds of the words by focusing on a string of virtues and by avoiding parallel structure: Ego autem ex ipsius virtute, humanitate, pietate, non modo eam voluptatem non cepi quam capere ex singulari filia debui… (“Far from enjoying Page 138 →the pleasure I ought to take in the virtus, humanity, and devotion of such a paragon of daughters…”) (Att. 11.17.1). Sardonic derision and contempt disappear along with the alliteration. When used against Epicurus, the virtus/voluptas figure is formulated so as to reveal apparently obvious and incontrovertible truths, but the power of the words evaporates when Epicureanism is not at issue. 1. Ergo illi intellegunt quid Epicurus dicat, ego non intellego? Ut scias me intellegere, primum idem esse dico voluptatem, quod ille …Nullum inveniri verbum potest quod magis idem declaret Latine, quod Graece, quam declarat voluptas. 2. While Seneca's epistles are in some ways fictional, an understanding of their epistolary form is nonetheless essential to interpretation. On their fictional nature, see Griffin 1992: 416–19; on their epistolarity, see Wilson 2001 and Inwood 2007. Bourgery (1911: 43–45) reckoned that Seneca presents thirty-two letters—which would likely have taken months to reach the recipient—as having been sent in approximately forty days. 3. For a survey of the most important texts, see Gosling and Taylor 1982. Foucault treats a range of Greek literary and philosophical texts that reveal how “the use of pleasures” was not scorned but was problematized as elite culture sought to “moderate, limit, and regulate” sexual pleasures (Foucault 1984 [trans. 1985]: 53). 4. Yet, when he refers to Epicurean pleasures, Lucretius frequently uses other, less charged words for “pleasant” or “sweet” (sauvis, dulcis, iucundus), as in the proem to the second book (DRN 2.1, 3, 4, 5, 7). See n. 50 in this chapter. 5. Sed utperspiciatis, unde omnis iste natus error sit voluptatem accusantium doloremque laudantium, totam rem aperiam eaque ipsa, quae ab illo inventore veritatis et quasi architecto beatae vitae dicta sunt, explicabo (“But to show you whence arose the mistaken attacks on pleasure and the mistaken praises of pain, I shall make the whole subject clear, and I shall expound the very words that were spoken by the discoverer of truth, the architect, as it were, of the happy life,” Cicero, Fin. 1.32). 6. (Adv. Col. 1126e).

7. Tusc. 2.45. Seneca refers often to the nobility of Epicurus on his deathbed (cf. Epistles 42.25, 66.47–48). 8. ad voluptatum dolorumquepunctiunculas concutitur (De vita beata 15.4). 9. Sed ne patriae quidem bonus tutor aut vindex est nec amicorum propugnator, si ad voluptates vergit (De vita beata 15.4). 10. Non igitur potestis voluptate omnia dirigentes aut tueri aut retinere virtutem (Fin. 2.71). 11. For Epicurus, rational thought is located in the chest: Arrighetti (1973) restores this passage from a scholium to Epistula ad Herodotum 66. 12. See Corbeill 1996: 152–53 on the sexual connotation of “from in front” and “from behind.” 13. All of these examples are cited by Laurand (1907: 226–27). 14. Marked alliteration and other phonetic repetitions are also crucial in Roman comedy and the “hoary tradition of the Italic carmen” (Dominik and Hall 2007: 58). 15. See Corbeill 1996: 194 on Roman admiration for “wit spoken in defense against humorous abuse, a technique the rhetoricians call humor in respondendo.” 16. McDonnell stresses the nonethical meaning of virtus in texts that predate Cicero. 17. McDonnell (2006: 12) argues that virtus did not have “an intrinsically broad semantic range” but that its meaning depended on the context. 18. Kaster 2007. 19. appellata est enim ex viro virtus (Tusc. 2.43). 20. omnes rectae animi adfectiones virtutes appellentur (Tusc. 2.43). 21. Phil. 2.56; Quinct. 4.19. In his recent survey of Cicero's style, Michael von Albrecht (2003: 101) identifies these phrases as a type of “elementary irony” that the mature Cicero would disdain. 22. Francesca Santoro L'Hoir 1992: 11. 23. See Barton 2001: 128. 24. In Lucretius' alphabetical atomism, the elements at play in a particular word must stay in order; otherwise, the substance changes. Here, then, the letters v-t-s are the essence shared by the words. On Lucretius' treatment of letters as the primary elements of words, see De rerum natura 1.908–14 on ignis (“fire”) and lignum (“wood”) and Armstrong 1995. 25. In De finibus 1.24.7, Cicero contrasts Epicurean pleasure with “the dangers, the labors, even the pains” (pericula, labores, dolores etiam) that a good man undergoes for his country and friends. 26. Fowler 2002: 153. 27. Langlands 2006: 3. 28. Langlands 2006: 281. 29. Langlands 2006: 293. 30. Edwards 1993: 5. 31. Corbeill (1996: 143) examines how “[o]rators of the late Republic conflate the phenomena of the immodest banquet and the effeminate male.” 32. Atqui ab Aristippo Cyrenaici atque Annicerii philosophi nominati omne bonum in voluptate posuerunt virtutemque censuerunt ob eam rem esse laudandam, quod efficiens esset voluptatis. Quibus obsoletis floret Epicurus, eiusdem fere adiutor auctorque sententiae (Off. 3.116.6). 33. Manly virtue and pleasure are opposed in the same sentence in reference to Verres, but the more operative alliteration is between virtus and victoria: Certe maior est virtutis victoriaeque iucunditas quam ista voluptas quae percipitur ex libidine et cupiditate (Verres 2.1.57.21). Virtus is also contrasted with pleasure or pleasures in Pro Caelio 39.3 and 41.4; but there, too, the words' positions diminish the potential for effective alliteration, and the syntax does not draw attention to their opposition. Despite the doubtful pairing of the two words, it is possible that Cicero means to insinuate that his target had Epicurean-like qualities. 34. Translation by Russell (2001: 53). 35. The contrast Lucretius draws between Epicurus and Heracles (DRN 5.22–54) may suggest an allusion to the idea that Heracles was a Stoic. Also possibly relevant sources are Aeneid 8.185–267 and Cicero's Tusculan Disputations 4. On Heracles as a clearly Stoic hero in Seneca, see King 1971: 215–22 and Auvray 1989. Sedley (2001: 150 n. 86) writes that in early Greek sources, Heracles was a Cynic hero, not a Stoic. This would support the idea that the Stoicizing of Heracles was a later, Roman phenomenon. 36. quid enim necesse est, tamquam meretricem in matronarum coetum, sic voluptatem in virtutum

concilium adducere? (Fin. 2.12). 37. For a recent treatment of Cicero's translation of Greek terms, see Jonathan Zarecki 2009. Also relevant are Adams 2003 and Baldwin 1992. 38. Venuti 1998: 4. Venuti describes ways that a translator might avoid inappropriate “ideological slanting” (3). 39. Kwame Anthony Appiah proposed the term thick translation, inspired by Clifford Geertz's coinage of the term thick description in describing an approach toward the translation of African proverbs in the Twi language. Also helpful in grasping Cicero's bearing is Spivak's suggestion that a translator must first grasp the “protocols” of the original author and leave “traces” of the complexities of the source language. Appiah (1993: 818) describes the focus on a need for a fixed, literal translation as part of a “refusal to attend to how various people really were or are.” 40. 277 His reference (Fin. 2.23 and 24) to Principal Doctrine 3. 41. Cicero conjoins his ridicule of this idea with his scorn for Epicurean theories about “catastematic” or (in Cicero's translation) “static” (status; e.g., Fin. 2.29), as opposed to “kinetic,” pleasure. Epicurean theory subordinates the kinetic pleasures (active enjoyable stimulation) to the static pleasure of being without pain or distress. There is no scholarly concensus on the value of Cicero's testimony for elucidating Epicurean theories of pleasure. As Michael Stokes has written, “unlike our other sources, who say too little on this topic, Cicero says too much for comfort” (Stokes 1995: 154). 42. For evidence from Philodemus, see Tsouna 2007: 15–16. Tsouna (16 n. 6) mentions, “Demetrius Laco insists that Epicurus considers the , pleasure, as the removal of pain (PHerc. 1012, I.1–8) and corrects Epicurean copies () which contain equivocal formulations of that thesis (XXXVIII.1–13).” Cicero's Epicurean spokesman Torquatus also says that later Epicureanism was not univocal on this issue in De finibus. It is difficult to determine how fictional a character Torquatus is. Tsouna (2001 and 2007: 14–15) suggests that Philodemus was Cicero's main source for Torquatus' explication of Epicurean doctrine. 43. Powell 1995b: 299. 44. in eo autem voluptas omnium Latine loquentium more ponitur, cum percipitur ea, quae sensum aliquem moveat, iucunditas. hanc quoque iucunditatem, si vis, transfer in animum (Fin. 2.14). 45. 46. (Dio Chrysostom 12.36). 47. Adfam. 16.3. 48. Cassius' omission of the word for “prudence” or “wise understanding” is due to his tailoring to the context of political action (cf. Griffin 1995: 344–45). 49. Cicero's Torquatus seems to use iucunde, “agreeably” (Fin. 1.42), instead of the adverb voluptarie, “pleasurably”; but the latter was rare in Latin and may have been a late coinage. 50. On Lucretius' use of suavis, dulcis, and iucundus (with attention paid to the usage of Cicero and Seneca), see Fowler 2002: 33–34, with bibliography. When Cicero uses the words suavis (fifty-five times, by Fowler's count) and dulcis (seventeen times), Epicureanism is rarely the context. One wonders whether Cicero was aware that suavis (and not voluptas) is cognate with (“sweet”) and . 51. Cohen 1991: 71. 52. Seneca refers to the Garden as a “factory of pleasure” (ipsa officina voluptatis) in Epistle 92.26. 53. Asmis (1989: 235) rightly places the beginning of this anti-Epicurean harangue slightly earlier (at 6.1), where an Epicurean is the implied subject of the sentence “'But even the mind,' he says, ‘has its own pleasures.'” 54. McDonnell (2006: 9) writes, “But analyzed as a purely ethical concept, virtus is inevitably a poor cousin to the more semantically wide-ranging and philosophically sophisticated Greek concept of arete.” 55. On Roman temples dedicated jointly to Honos et Virtus, erected in connection with military victories, see Richardson 1992: 190. McDonnell (2006: 213) writes, “Conceptually, the relationship between virtus and honos is straightforward enough. In Roman culture, demonstrations of prowess in battle—virtus—were rewarded by election to public office and by the prestige the office conferred, both of which were denoted by honos.” 56. I follow Cicero in referring to Atticus as an Epicurean (e.g., Fin. 5.3; Att. 4.6.1; Legibus 1.21, 54). 57. Williams 1999: 127. 58. Cicero attributes “wondrous” virtus to Tullia (Att. 11.17.1) and writes of her great virtus and

extraordinary humanity (Ad fam. 14.1.1).

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CHAPTER 5 The Material Epicurean He had three brothers who met horrible ends, struck down by countless diseases. As for Epicurus himself, even when he was still young, he could not get off his bed easily. Nearly blind by day, he shrank from the light of the sun, and he hated that most brilliant and manifest of the gods. And what is more, he even turned his gaze away from firelight, and blood dripped from his lower orifices, and so great was the wasting of his body, that he could not even bear the weight of his clothes.1 (Aelian, as quoted in the Suda) What does an Epicurean look like? This question received great attention in antiquity. For Epicurean women, ancient commentary is nearly nonexistent. We may have a representation of the feet of an Epicurean woman—either Leontion or Themista—and of the hem of her dress, but we do not have her face.2 Pliny's references to Leontion's portraits assure us only that her appearance interested the painters. If the painters who presented her as a female philosopher were indeed pornographoi (as a character in The Learned Banqueters suggests), perhaps we should assume that their Leontion was also erotically alluring. Otherwise, the sources are virtually silent about the appearance of the meditative Leontion or her attractive sisters. There is no mystery in Plutarch's mention of the perpetual youth and beauty of the women, who must be good-looking if they are to be emblems of Epicurean Page 140 →erotic desire.3 Images of Epicurean men, however, are abundant, and the traditions about their appearance are varied and complex. This chapter examines the primary sources—both sculpted and written—on the appearance of male Epicureans. Their representations are productive of an understanding of the ways Epicureans were envisioned and gendered over the course of several centuries. The insistence on the corporality of the Epicureans is itself instructive: the image of the lover of pleasure required that there be flesh.

Epicurus' Beard The many references (friendly or otherwise) to Epicurean banquets and the equation of Epicureans to Phaeacians (already discussed in this book) suggest that the word Epicurean conjured up for many an image of men reclining with food and wine in hand, surrounded by attendants and dim lamplight, and talking (about sex or poetry, depending on the sympathy of the source). But statues of Epicurus project a different image. To begin with the most obvious type of representation, I turn first to the Roman copies of the Epicureans' own statues of Epicurus and his original disciples. Portrait sculptures of Greek philosophers were common features of Roman villas and their gardens, where they were sometimes exhibited along with busts of Homer, Euripides, and other classical authors.4 Some display such recognizable patterns that they are readily identifiable even without an accompanying inscription. The Stoic Chrysippus must look the part by having an unkempt beard, a bald head, and a creased brow, while Epicurus requires a long, thin face, an overhanging brow, and a thick but not unruly beard. Appearances match doctrines: Chrysippus exhibits an “ostentatious disregard for outward appearance”5 while Epicurus—as interpreted by many modern scholars—projects tranquillity.6 But what is unusual about Page 141 →portraits of Epicureans is their collective uniformity. The attention drawn to Socrates' Silenus-like appearance counterpoints the case of Epicurus: Plato does not share it. The Stoics—Zeno with his comb-over, Cleanthes with his “full civic costume,”7 and Chrysippus with his projecting head—are recognizable as distinct individuals.8 In contrast, the appearances of Epicurus, Metrodorus, Hermarchus, and (possibly) Colotes echo each other. Surviving examples include five life-sized statues and six rings or gems representing Epicurus and dozens of securely identified busts of Epicurus and his fellow philosophers Hermarchus and Metrodorus. All of the statues are Roman copies of single Greek originals that seem to have been very roughly contemporary with Epicurus. Most authorities add to this list several life-size (or larger) statue portraits and some statuettes that apparently represent each of the philosophers.9 On both gems and sculptures, Epicurus is portrayed as a mature man with a thin, narrow face, projecting or bulging brow, sunken cheeks, a full beard, and copious, well-tended hair.10 Unless we

are misinterpreting the gesture, the contraction of the overhanging brow lends the face an unusual severity. Page 142 → All of the full-size sculptures portray Epicurus seated. Richter inventoried the details succinctly as follows: right leg advanced; left set back; right forearm raised, with hand holding a scroll; left arm inside mantle with only part of the forearm protruding and resting on lap; the mantle enveloping the whole figure, except the right arm and the right side of the chest, passing from the left shoulder along the right, with ends hanging down on the left side. The seat is a throne of Hellenistic type, with rounded back and terminating in front in an animal's head and leg.11 This description warrants extended quotation because salient details of this stance are replicated with scrupulous care in portraits now identified as Metrodorus and Hermarchus (and—where various elements have survived—in the composite statue that now represents Saint Hippolytus). As discussed in chapter 3, it may be tempting to accept Guarducci's identification of the lower portions of Hippolytus' portrait as the remains of a life-size portrait of a female Epicurean philosopher. This could place Leontion or Themista securely on Epicurus' throne, but that may require one or more leaps of faith, as described in chapter 3. Although the faces of Epicurus' followers (particularly that of Metrodorus) are generally fuller and their brows less contracted, the portrait busts of the three male philosophers have sometimes been confused. Of Epicurus, Metrodorus, and Hermarchus, Zanker writes, “all three Epicureans sit calmly and quietly,” maintaining “a kind of contrapposto between the rear leg actively thrust back and the forward leg relaxed, as well as a comparable chiastic positioning of the arms.”12 In addition to the very precise pose, all of the men display the peculiarly “Epicurean” beards, hair, narrow faces, and furrowed brows (with minor variations). Frischer, accepting a tentative identification of some Epicurus-like busts with Colotes, notes that it is unlikely that four men, “unrelated and of different backgrounds, should bear such an uncanny resemblance to each other.”13 Rather, the iconographic similarities must be due to an effort to represent these three particular students (or four if we include Colotes, five if we include Leontion or Themista) as Epicurus' legitimate continuators.14 Spiritual attributes Page 143 →coincided with the physical: “By looking like Epicurus, they give evidence of being like him.”15 That the adherents of Epicurus attached an unusual importance to his representation is apparent from several references dating to Rome's late republic and early empire. All of these refer to images of Epicurus only; there are no ancient references to statues of other Epicureans. In On Moral Ends, for example, Cicero presents a stroll with friends in Athens. For each member of his party, the monuments and locations they pass bring to mind the memory of a particular ancient philosopher or other great luminary of the distant Greek past. When they pass by the Garden, Cicero's Epicurean friend Atticus remarks, “Still, I could not forget Epicurus if I wanted to; my confreres have his image not only in paintings, but even on their drinking cups and rings” (nec tamen Epicuri licet oblivisci, si cupiam, cuius imaginem non modo in tabulis nostri familiares, sed etiam in poculis et in anulis habent, Fin. 5.3).16 In On the Nature of the Gods, in the midst of ridicule of the Epicurean belief in divine anthropomorphism, Cotta switches to worship of Epicurus: “I personally know Epicureans who venerate every little image” (sigilla, Cicero, Nat. D. 1.85). Similarly, Pliny writes that Epicureans display Epicurus' portrait in their bedrooms and carry them around with them (Epicuri voltus per cubicula gestant ac circumferunt secum, HN 35.56). Diogenes Laertius mentions bronze statues of Epicurus that were erected in Epicurus' hometown, Samos (10.9).17 In Cyprus, a late third-century BCE statue base inscribed “Epicurus” adds evidence to the thesis that statues of Epicurus were widespread only a generation (or two) after his death.18 In a disputed passage in Diogenes Laertius' Life of Epicurus, the philosopher is reported to have seen the erection of statues as behavior appropriate to a sage: “And [the wise] will put up statues.” If the next sentence continues that thought, Epicurus then adds, with modesty, “Whether he has one 19 Page 144 → In modern scholarship, the images of Epicurus have inspired analyses in which description and conclusion

intermingle, often according to the beholder's overall posture toward Epicureanism. Frischer's thesis that the original sculpture of Epicurus was erected during the philosopher's lifetime as “a ‘sculpted word' conveying crucial messages about Epicurus' character and mission to mankind” is the most freighted with interpretation.20 But Richter, for example, also takes the images as a reflection of the character of Epicurus and, by extension, of Epicureanism. She detected in them “the imposing appearance, the kindly disposition that enlisted the reverence and love of his followers, the courage in combating adverse fortunes.” Richter adds that the statue's “idealistic, serious expression” presents abundant proof that “material pleasure” was not the point of Epicureanism. The seated posture and simple clothing also reveal “[t]he noble simplicity of his character.” In her view, a less admirable trait is present as well, for the statue also displays “the self-satisfied temperament that did not try to reach out to fresh knowledge, but was content with the old atomic theories of Demokritos.”21 For Zanker, however, the artist's rendition of Epicurus' face was meant to express the “tremendous intellectual capacity” of a “great pioneering thinker.”22 Dillon, too, interprets the contraction of the brow muscles as a sign of “concentration and intellectual vigor.”23 For Frischer, Epicurus is “deep in thought and about to speak.”24 Zanker stresses the “curious contrast between the restless and powerfully muscled philosopher's brow and the otherwise placid expression of the face”; the eyebrows, “raised but hardly in motion,” are “a token of superiority, reflecting his absolute authority.”25 Zanker agrees that the images resemble each other closely, but he detects a strict hierarchy—from Epicurus' throne, to Metrodorus' chair, to Hermarchus' stone block.26 He sees the ladder of authority in the faces as well: Epicurus' face is meant to show great intellect; Metrodorus is serene, Page 145 →but his brow gives no hint of intellectual effort; and Hermarchus has the air of a loyal disciple.27 Zanker finds great meaning in Epicurus' throne, which he reads as a clear indication that “the Epicureans were not concerned with a search for truth through persuasive argumentation and passionate discussion…but rather with devotion to and perpetuation of a unique spiritual guide and teacher.”28 The positions of the philosophers' arms may also have differed in a significant way. In a discussion of his recent reconstruction, Frischer reiterates his earlier proposal that Epicurus' right arm was “stretched upward or forward in a gesture of greeting or teaching.”29 Epicurus' successor, Hermarchus, was also depicted that way. In contrast, Metrodorus' arm may have been angled toward his head in a thinking pose.30 This pose of contemplation is clearly visible in a mosaic in the House of the Greek Authors at Autun in France that may reasonably be dated to the late second century. As Frischer notes, it is reasonable to suppose that because Metrodorus died before his own teacher, Epicurus, the original Hellenistic sculptor did not depict Metrodorus as a teacher (with outstretched arm). Thus, in Frischer's view, Metrodorus would be “depicted as a student listening to his master.”31 Frischer notes in addition, however, that the Autun Metrodorus may have been bald (though the restoration of his head is uncertain) and that the position of his arm may have departed from earlier sculptures as much as his hair did.32 What can the portrait busts tell us about the Epicureans' posture toward the world outside the Garden? Interpretations of the facial expressions are necessarily subjective. Where one viewer senses a severe scowl in the face of Epicurus, another may see placidity. Where one sees kindness toward a follower, another may sense patriarchal control. Moving beyond the contours of the face and placing the sculptures in the broader framework of the conventions of Athenian portraiture may yield more objective results. Frischer has described the Garden as an alternative community. More than a subculture, the Garden was, in his reading, “a consciously constructed community that embodied a genuinely positive and legitimate alternative to the dominant culture of Page 146 →Greece.”33 But whether the portrait sculptures were erected during the life of Epicurus or after his death, it is difficult to find in them any allusion to Epicurean otherness. They share a particular, recognizable pose; the overall composition may have been designed as a physical manifestation of Epicurean ataraxia; and their resemblance to each other is remarkable. But these attributes do not imply a self-presentation that expresses a radical rejection of Athenian culture. Moreover—despite their distinctiveness—the statues of Epicurus and his disciples have significant features in common with images of Chrysippus, who shares with Epicurus the contracted brow.34 Both Stoic and Epicurean philosophers are represented with “seated pose, simple dress, aging body, aging physiognomy, expression of mental concentration, and a beard.”35 The beard—in an era when shaving had become the norm—denotes otherness, but philosophers in general expressed their difference through declining the razor. Zanker connects the practice with a philosophical (but not

specifically Epicurean) outlook that asserted that “[i]t is a law of nature that hair grows on a man's chin, and to shave it off is a denial of the natural order of things.”36 A clean-shaven face could also connote effeminacy, as the Stoic Chrysippus claims (according to Athenaeus), invoking Diogenes the Cynic.

[Diogenes, seeing someone with his chin like that, said, “Surely you cannot be prosecuting nature because she made you a man and not a woman?” And seeing someone similar, all perfumed and dressed to match, he said that he used to wonder what a “horsey prostitute” was, and now he had found out.]37 Page 147 → Thus the Epicurean beard (though carefully combed, in contrast to the Stoics' scraggly disarray) evokes the image of the manly philosopher but does not detach the Epicurean from Athenian culture or society in an extreme or specifically Epicurean way. Moreover, some aspects of the Epicurean portraits demonstrate a certain conservativeness in that the style of presentation conforms with older paradigms, particularly the formulaic depictions of Athenian citizens on late fifth- and fourth-century Attic funereal reliefs (or gravestones). As Sheila Dillon writes, the classical reliefs put on view “a basic set of figure types” who display “exemplary appearance and behavior considered appropriate to each: the modest wife, the athletic young man, the heroic soldier, the mature male citizen, the revered and wise old father.”38 Zanker finds the portrayal of “the intellectual as good citizen” particularly striking.39 He notes that the reliefs, some of which approach the scale of the later three-dimensional seated philosophers, depict the good citizen as bearded and wearing the same simple himation, with no underlying tunic.40 The Epicureans, moreover, echo the classical sculptures and vase paintings that display one of the arms bound up in the cloth of the himation.41 For Zanker, the close wrapping of the arm connotes an extreme conservatism. This unmistakable gesture of the Epicureans can be understood only as an explicit and self-conscious indication of a desire to hold to the old traditions, a token of virtue and modesty, at a time when these very values were being called into question by other members of Athenian society. Epicurus and his friends quite ostentatiously attach great importance to the proper behavior. Anyone who withdrew from the city, like “those from the Garden,” was well advised to insure that in spite of this he appeared to be an irreproachable citizen…The maintenance of the proper citizen etiquette was taken for granted in the Kepos.42 Page 148 → Also essential to a contextualized reading of the sculptures is an awareness of the ways the portraits resonate with the images of not only good citizens in general but also fathers in the funereal reliefs.43 As several scholars have demonstrated, some aspects of the representations of Epicurus strongly recall the iconography of the ideal father and husband.44 Citing as an example a carved fourth-century grave monument in the form of a lekythos, Frischer notes that the bearded and himation-wearing father is seated in a position that seems to prefigure facets of the Epicurean sculptures described in chapter 2 of this book: “[The] right leg juts forward, and his left leg is angled backward at the knee. The weight of the left leg falls on the toes of his foot, while the ankle is raised.”45 (The similar position of the feet in the reliefs does not disrupt the standard identification of the pose in statuary as peculiarly Epicurean, because the three-dimensional statues belong to a different genre.) Although some scholars connect a verse in Lucretius' De rerum natura more specifically with Roman culture, Frischer associates the fatherly appearance of Epicurus with the phrase Tu pater es, rerum inventor, tu patria nobis / suppeditas praecepta (“You are our father, the discoverer of things, you provide for us a father's precepts,” DRN 3.9-10).46 He cites in addition Philodemus' allusion to disagreements with the founding Epicureans as “almost parricide” (Philodemus, Rhetorica A, col. VII.18-28). Where does this leave us? The departures from other representations of Athenian males found in the Epicurean portraits are distinguishing characteristics but do not suggest a questioning of conventional behavior or the criteria

for manliness. In fact, the resemblance to father figures in the funereal reliefs implies a self-fashioning that drew on an earlier generation's outward projection of the values of male citizenship. This Epicurean persona as presented in stone signifies an allegiance to a traditional canon of male attributes that would contradict the later Roman paradigm in which the Epicureans reject virtus in favor of voluptas. While we cannot know to what extent actual Epicureans Page 149 →dressed according to the iconography, the later Epicurean habit of keeping his image close at hand leads me to believe that they imagined Epicurus and his early followers as looking precisely like the portraits. As for the marked dissimilarities between Epicurean portraits and those of Stoics and other philosophers, the difference that most stands out resides not in any individual sculpture but in the fact that the Epicurean portraits present a generally uniform appearance when viewed in concert. A well-disposed interpreter would take the similarities as a signifier of the coherence of first-generation Epicurean doctrine or the cohesiveness of the community, but an antagonistic observer might take the resemblance as a symptom of Epicurean fundamentalism. Epicureans were often ridiculed for adhering too closely to Epicurus' own words. Plutarch, for example, claims that Colotes followed Epicurus so slavishly that he could not comprehend his teaching in new contexts: seems to have suffered the same thing that children suffer when they first learn their letters: accustomed to reciting the characters on their tablets, they become perplexed and confused when they see them elsewhere,” Adv. Col. 1120f1121a). In the case of Cicero's portrayal of Piso (discussed later in this chapter), strict adherence to particular words of Epicurus is said to cause that student to “want to seal the tablets,” shutting out a teacher's explanation of the subtleties (tabellas obsignare velle, Pis. 69). The stereotype of the Epicurean who is incapable of independent thought also appears in Seneca and Cicero. In On Moral Ends, for example, Metrodorus is “almost another Epicurus” (paene alter Epicurus, Fin. 2.28.92). In a letter to Lucilius, Seneca contrasts the intellectual autonomy of the Stoics—“we are not controlled by a despot” (non sumus sub rege)—to the servility of the Epicureans. Their strict adherence to Epicurus' teachings leads them—ironically—to attribute the words of his immediate followers to the master himself: Apud istos quidquid Hermarchus dixit, quidquid Metrodorus, ad unum refertur; omnia quae quisquam in illo contubernio locutus est unius ductu et auspiciis dicta sunt (“Among those people, whatever Hermarchus said, whatever Metrodorus said, is ascribed to one person; everything anyone in that crew utters is spoken under the authority and control of one alone,” Epistles 33). There is, however, one characteristic of the portraits of Epicurus that is not Page 150 →reiterated by the statues of Metrodorus or Hermarchus. Metrodorus' body is rendered as robust and ample, and Hermarchus' is unremarkable.47 For Zanker, the healthiness depicted in Metrodorus' portrait makes him the “embodiment of a life of pleasure.”48 In contrast, Epicurus is unfit, and the exposed parts of the torso are “flabby and unarticulated in a manner unknown in any other statue type.”49 Historical accuracy may come into play here, as well as in two items recorded by Diogenes Laertius in the Life of Epicurus. The first is a reference to a stone of the bladder, as Hermarchus says in his letters, after being ill for fourteen days,” Diog. Laert. 10.15). The other is a short passage that includes a quotation from a letter by Epicurus: [Near his end, he writes the following letter to Idomeneus: “On this blissful and last day of my life, I have written this to you. Agonies associated with strangury and dysentery dog me to the greatest possible extent. But counterbalancing all of that is the joy in my spirit at the memory of the conversations we had. Take good care of the children of Metrodorus, as befits your devotion to me and to philosophy, which you have displayed since boyhood”'] Epicurus' illness mattered to his followers because his forbearance and professed happiness in adversity were instructive: bodily pain was less burdensome than pain of the spirit, and a sage can find joy regardless. Also according to Diogenes Laertius, Epicurus said that even torture cannot prevent the wise Page 151 →from being happy and that blindness was not cause for suicide.50 Although hagiography may have been predominant, Metrodorus probably focused on the philosophical (rather than merely biographical) issues in his work On the Illness of Epicurus (listed among Metrodorus' publications in Diog. Laert. 10.24).

Epicurean Contagion Outsiders read Epicurus' illness differently. For some, the illness of Epicurus represented moral failure or perhaps simple ineptitude. Timocrates' exposé Delightful People seems to have presented Epicurus' feebleness as ironically unpleasant: Epicurus' pursuit of pleasure led to his vomiting twice a day from self-indulgence ( Diog. Laert.10.6). The thrust of Timocrates' piece was the revelation of carefully guarded secrets, so the implication of his mention of the pitiful state of Epicurus' body is that our philosopher of pleasure has not achieved the pleasant life he claims to offer. Implying that Epicurus did not know how to govern himself, Timocrates adds to his assertion that Epicurus does not know much philosophy the charge that he is even more ignorant of ( spent many years on a litter, unable to rise (10.7). A reference in a letter from Cicero to his Epicurean friend Marcus Fadius Gallus reveals that the Stoics included Epicurus' ill health in their arsenal of anti-Epicurean discourse. For these Stoics, sexual impropriety (at best) was the cause. Cicero, who has suffered from severe gastric distress for ten days, comments on his ailment thus: ego autem cum omnis morbos reformido tum in quo Epicurum tuum Stoici male accipiunt, quia dicat ‘’sibi molesta esse; quorum alterum morbum edacitatis esse putant, alterum etiam turpioris intemperantiae. (Ad fam. 7.26.1) Page 152 → [Though I dread all diseases, I especially dread that for which the Stoics attack your friend Epicurus, since he said that he suffered from “agonies associated with strangury and dysentery”—the latter of which disease they attribute to gluttony, the former to a still more indecent lack of self-control.] When Cicero switches to Greek in this passage, he is quoting the letter to Idomeneus preserved in fragmentary form by Diogenes Laertius (10.22, previously quoted). Cicero's circumlocution “still more indecent lack of selfcontrol” (etium turpioris intemperantiae) would leave us wondering exactly what these anonymous Stoics meant to imply if the texts of Hippocrates and Galen had not survived. While Diogenes Laertius identifies renal calculus as the source of Epicurus' strangury (painful and difficult urination), Hippocrates apparently associated strangury with sexually transmitted diseases. After Cicero's era, the second-century CE medical writer Galen associates strangury with gonorrhea (a term he himself coined), but—as his coinage implies—he identifies it as an involuntary flow of semen.51 Thus, according to a Stoic interpretation, Epicurus' illness was a grotesque and shameful result of Epicurean sexual debauchery. The charge worsens if an interpretation similar to that of the medical writer Aretaeus was already current in Cicero's era. According to Aretaeus' On the Causes and Signs of Chronic Diseases (late second century CE), gonorrhea leads to feminization. The “womanish” symptoms he lists include characteristics he assigns also to eunuchs: a high voice, beardlessness, and physical weakness (4.5). Tangled up with this understanding of gonorrhea is an association made between sexual pleasure and a radical bodily weakening and enervation. In the second century CE, Galen reported that hedone can be so deleterious that excessive intercourse has led to death (De semine 1.16.32).52 Around a century after Cicero's bout of dysentery, Plutarch implies that Epicurus' illness disproves the validity of Epicurean optimism about the power Page 153 →of the intellect. A rudimentary Epicurean lesson taught that pleasure is attainable and that pain is bearable (as stated in the tetrapharmakos), but this is ludicrous to Plutarch, who writes that the body contains “sources of evil that no off” ( 1089e). If reasoning could divert those evils, thinking men would not suffer from renal calculus, dysentery, consumption, or dropsy, “some of which burdened Epicurus himself, some of which burdened Polyaenus, while others killed Neocles and Agathoboulos.”53 (Polyaenus was a mathematician who befriended Epicurus during the philosopher's early years in Lampsacus, and Neocles was Epicurus' brother. “Agathoboulos” may be Plutarch's slip for another brother named Aristoboulos.) Plutarch adds that he does not mean to reproach the Epicureans for their poor health, since other philosophers (Heraclitus and Phercydes) also had ailments, but this rhetorical concession scarcely detracts from his listing of “Epicurean” illnesses. Thus, with Plutarch, Epicurus' poor health has spread to his followers.54 As we have seen, Diogenes Laertius and

Timocrates attribute illness and infirmity to Epicurus, and the statues portray him with a thin, unfit body. But neither statues nor early texts attribute infirmity to other Epicureans. Metrodorus' sculpted body looks particularly healthy and comfortable. Later, the Epicurean-friendly Diogenes Laertius records that Metrodorus eventually died of paralysis, but he often identifies the cause of death of philosophers from other schools. By the late second century CE, however, Epicurus' infections have spread beyond Plutarch's testimony. In a passage recorded in excerpt in the Byzantine encyclopedia the Suda and quoted in part in the epitaph to this chapter, Aelian (165/170 CE-230/235 CE) adds a third brother of Epicurus to the list of sick Epicureans, whose symptoms have become horrific (fr. 39). The passage is offered simply as an entry under the headword “Epicurus”: Page 154 →55 [Epicurus: This man had no regard for the divine. He had three brothers who met horrible ends, struck down by countless diseases. As for Epicurus himself, even when he was still young, he could not get off his bed easily. Nearly blind by day, he shrank from the light of the sun, and he hated that most brilliant and manifest of the gods. And what is more, he even turned his gaze away from firelight, and blood dripped from his lower orifices, and so great was the wasting of his body, that he could not even bear the weight of his clothes.] The fundamental source of Aelian's claim that Epicurus was unable to climb out of bed may have been Timocrates' assertion that he could not rise from his litter (). But apart from the litter (sometimes a conveyance for women), which may have had worse connotations than a simple bed, Aelian's ghastly Epicureans far outdo Timocrates' feeble Epicurus. Why did Epicurean illness (real or imagined) interest the enemies of Epicurus, and when did the lurid fascination exemplified by the Suda entry arise? Timocrates' relatively mild account may have begun the tradition, but his exposé (or the rumor that there was an exposé) may be a fiction that took shape barely in time to appear half a millennium after Epicurus, in Diogenes Laertius' Lives and Opinions.56 No hints of negative assessments of Epicurus' infirmities appear in surviving sources that can be dated securely to Epicurus' lifetime or soon thereafter. The admittedly scarce verse fragments of Timon of Phlius contain no suggestion, and the surviving scenes from the New Comedy that paint Epicureans as cooks and gourmands do not reveal rumors of illness. Nor do they attest clearly to a hatred of Epicurus: in verse, the alleged excesses and the peculiar language of the Garden are comical but not despicable. The extreme abhorrence epitomized by Aelian may have crystallized before Aelian's lifetime in the late second or early third century CE, but Aelian's words reveal a particular impetus behind his loathing: “This man had no regard for the divine” Page 155 →(). The next line in this passage from the Suda contains yet more commentary on Epicurean disease and again draws a companions, died the most horrible deaths, and indeed they were recompensed in no slight way for their godlessness”). Here the significance of the source of the Suda article becomes plainer. Aelian was the author of On Providence and On Divine Manifestations. In the former, Aelian displays some knowledge of Epicurean science when he writes that the Principal Doctrines claim—irreverently—that the world is made up of atoms and that “everything vanishes into atoms” ( fr. 61.8-9 Hercher). Our passage about the deaths of Epicurus' associates is culled from On Divine Manifestations, whose theme was divine vengeance. In Aelian's estimation, retribution for lack of reverence toward the divine took the form of violent assaults on the human body. His is a radical attack that relies on the common (but erroneous) construction of the Epicureans as atheists. An outlook that associated Epicurean science with disrespect for the gods is also clear in a very different source, the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, where the stark alternatives are between “Providence or atoms” (4.3.2). Another fragment from Aelian's writings is preserved in the Suda under the entry for the word kakodaimon (“illstarred” or “possessed by an evil spirit”), where Epicureanism provided the exemplar:

. .57

[KAKODAIMON: One who is hateful to a god, and who has a soul controlled by passion. AELIAN [writes]: “[there was] a man [named] Euphronius, a kakodaimon man, and he rejoiced in the nonsense of Epicurus and from it he drew two evils: to be godless and to be licentious.”] Page 156 → Aelian's story of this hapless Epicurean can be traced throughout the Suda, in seven other entries on Greek culture or interesting words.58 When Euphronius is stricken with illness, radical renunciation of Epicurean teachings is the cure. He turns first to the doctors, but his disease is too severe for them. Shaking violently and near death, he is taken to “the sons of Asclepius,” where a priest an ing burned the books of Epicurus, he will soak up the ashes of the godless, profane, and effeminate blotches with wet wax and plaster them over his belly and whole chest and bind it with bandages”).59 An apparently related fragment refers to the rejoicing of Euphronius' relatives, thus suggesting that the cure was effective.60 The fragmentary nature of the text makes it difficult to ascertain whether Euphronius is meant to be an early Epicurean or Aelian's contemporary. Plutarch, however, clearly limits his scrutiny of the Epicurean body to Epicurus and his immediate followers and companions. As though in a vacuum, Plutarch's anti-Epicurean screeds generally present Plutarch and his anti-Epicurean interlocutors responding to ancient texts, rather than engaging the Epicureans among their contemporaries. Except for the introductory scenes that frame the discussions and diatribes, the view of Epicureanism presented in the Reply to Colotes, Is Live Unknown a Wise Precept?, and On the Fact That Epicurus Actually Makes a Pleasant Life Impossible largely ignores the passage of time, and Plutarch's tirades and denunciations of Epicureanism are self-contained. Plutarch's presentation of Epicureans in works set entirely in Plutarch's own lifetime is quite different. Those portraits even correct the stereotypes that play such prominent roles in Plutarch's Epicurean-hostile pieces. Or perhaps a less naive reading would interpret them as Plutarch's alternative stereotypes—his Epicurean friends in the Moralia are not necessarily based on historical persons. At any rate, several figures in Plutarch's Table Talk make relatively positive impressions. An Epicurean named Xenocles, for example, weighs in on the salubriousness of fruit, as opposed to elaborate dishes (635b-c). Alexander the Page 157 →Epicurean is “accomplished and fond of learning” (635e), whereas Plutarch, who is avoiding eggs because of a dream about them, drolly presents himself in that dialogue as superstitious. The mild Boethus, an Epicurean and mathematician who appears in Table Talk as well as in Why the Pythia No Longer Delivers Oracles in Verse, is never pilloried, though it is possible that we should regard him as the recipient of “incidental polemic.”61 Strikingly pertinent—in light of the morbid illnesses that other texts impute to Epicurus and his brothers and associates—is Plutarch's portrait of Zophyrus, a kind-spirited and apparently healthy doctor. Plutarch presents Zophyrus as his friend and identifies him as being “well conversant with the words of Epicurus” (). Zophyrus speaks in favor of Epicurus in response to some youngsters “with no long familiarity with the ancient texts” who had criticized Epicurus' discussion of sexual intercourse in his Symposium (653c). Further defense of Epicurus is also implied in the same scene when another, non-Epicurean character launches into locker-room talk at the table (whereas Zophyrus explains that Epicurus had presented his disquisition about sex as moral instruction during an after-dinner walk).62 Although Plutarch and others at the table sometimes refute these characters' Epicurean ideas, they give them a fair hearing. No information, however, is betrayed about any physical attributes of these characters.

The Epicurean Wardrobe I have already described an early Epicurean notional dress code that was austere, conventional, and thoroughly Greek. How did his detractors reconcile the apparently ubiquitous portraits with their own depiction of the Epicureans as unmanly breachers of decorum? It would be difficult to mesh the fatherly appearance of the seated portraits of Epicurus with his alleged effeminacy and lack of courage. Opponents may have simply ignored or discounted the statues, but it is conceivable that particular detractors parodied or decoded the statues by

exaggerating particular features. A critic might, for example, square a view Page 158 →that insisted on the insalubrity of Epicureanism with the frailty of Epicurus' body as it was depicted in stone. Perhaps relevant here is Seneca's figurative description of voluptas “lurking around the baths and sweating rooms and places that fear the magistrates; soft, languid, reeking of wine and perfume, pallid or else painted and made up like a corpse” (De vita beata 7.3). Although adding notional perfume to the image of the himation-wearing Epicurus would be farfetched, there is a logic to giving him a deathly pallor. Deliberately protecting the skin from the elements was the height of decadence for Roman men. Elsewhere Seneca asserts that the Epicureans are “an effeminate, shade-loving clan” (delicata et umbratica turba, Ben. 4.1.3). Having lamented the alleged current decline in Roman morality (“the favorite pastime of Roman moralizers of every generation”),63 Seneca cites the fad of weighing down one's mule with crystal, myrrhine, and engraved works made by the best artists and adds, “Everyone's slave-boys-in-training ride around with ointment-smeared faces so that neither sun nor cold hurts their tender skin; it is disgraceful that there are no boys in your retinue with healthy faces clear of cosmetics” (Epistle 123.7). Also, in On the Happy Life, Seneca describes why some people (not, apparently, just the Epicureans) hate virtus: “Your hatred of virtus and its practitioners is not surprising. For diseased eyes dread the sun, and the brilliant day is avoided by nocturnal animals, who are stunned by the first signs of dawn and everywhere seek their lairs and, afraid of the light, hide themselves in some hole” (De vita beata 20.6.6). Another approach to reconciling the depictions of Epicurus would be to construct an image that played on the stereotype of the self-indulgent, fish-eating Epicurean. A first-century BCE Roman candelabrum in New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art may be relevant here. It is capped with a statuette depicting a himation-wearing man with ample protruding belly and the full beard characteristic of all of the surviving portraits of Epicurus, Metrodorus, and Hermarchus. As would befit an Epicurean stereotype, this figure and the lamps that hung below him are likely to have overseen dinner parties or other nighttime gatherings. Perhaps this man with “the proudly displayed fat belly and the uninhibited self-satisfied demeanor” is meant to be Epicurus or a generic Epicurean as Zanker has suggested.64 His rotundity would be consistent with the Page 159 →stereotype of the banqueting Epicurean. Horace, when in Epicurean mode, presents himself as “fat, buffed, and well oiled—a pig from Epicurus' herd” (pinguem et nitidum bene curata cute…Epicuri de grege porcum, Epistles 1.4.15-16) and as a “fat Phaeacian” (pinguis…Phaeaxque reverti, Epistles 1.15.24). Both the Horace character and the candelabrum figure are comfortably plump. But apart from the beard and the himation (and the belly, if we accept the cliché), there is nothing particularly Epicurean about the statuette. He may represent any philosopher or elite Greek, Epicurean or not. In any case, it would be difficult to determine the statuette's location in the long tradition of Epicurean typecasting. Does the statue mock Epicurus? Or would his first viewers have seen the figure as charming, sympathetic, and congenial? One non-Epicurean literary depiction may be based on an unfriendly reading of the “plentiful hair with locks arranged according to a set pattern” as we see it in the statues.65 In Alciphron's Letters of Parasites, the philosopher guests at a birthday feast exhibit the typecast appearances appropriate to each school. The Stoic is grubby, with scraggly beard and unkempt hair. But the Epicurean (a man named Zenocrates), who relies on his full beard to affect a solemn air, is “not neglectful of his locks.”66 This well-coifed Epicurean stares at the harp girl with a melting, lascivious look through half-closed eyes and publicly takes her into his arms. His garb, however, receives no mention. Other non-Epicurean texts assign to the Epicurean men transgressive attire that would disrupt the impact of the sculptures. The fact that their garments are metaphorical makes them all the more interesting. In Athenaeus' The Learned Banqueters, for example, there is our allegiance-switching Dionysius of Herakleia, who “hops over” from the Stoa to the Garden. Timon portrays this new Epicurean as old and inappropriately amorous, and either Timon or Athenaeus (as commentator on Timon's verses) describes the conversion as a changing of mention Dionysius of Herakleia, who, having openly taken off his chiton of virtue, exchanged it for a flowery one?” Ath. 7.281e). The word here translated “flowery” () is elsewhere used of flowered or bright-colored women's Page 160 →dresses.67 The femininity and frivolousness of a flowery garment must be the point here, although “flowery” has the connotation elsewhere of mottled or variegated. There is no implication of effeminacy when Diogenes Laertius records the following about the philosopher Bion, who also changed schools several times: “Because he mixed up every type of speech, they say that Eratosthenes said that he was the first to dress philosophy in ‘flowery' clothing”

(4.52).68 Seneca dresses the Epicurean in a surfeit of fabric that projects an effeminate, non-Greek impression. To round out the general effect of the metaphor, Seneca and other sources add tympana, incense, and other accoutrements of Eastern religions. Having prefaced his description with a typical disclaimer, Seneca clothes the hypothetical Epicurean in a woman's dress: Itaque non dicam quod plerique nostrorum, sectam Epicuri flagitiorum magistram esse, sed illud dico: male audit, infamis est. ‘At inmerito.' Hoc scire qui potest nisi interius admissus? frons eius ipsa dat locum fabulae et ad malam spem inritat. Hoc tale est quale uir fortis stolam indutus: constat tibi pudicitia, uirilitas salua est, nulli corpus tuum turpi patientiae uacat, sed in manu tympanum est. (De vita beata 13) [I shall not say what most of our own [Stoics] say, that the sect of Epicurus is the instructress of indecencies. But I do say this: it has a bad reputation; it is notorious. “But that is unfair,” someone might protest. But how would an outsider know? Its very facade provides opportunity for gossip and inspires wicked expectation. It is like a man in a dress: your chastity remains, your virility is unimpaired, your body has not submitted sexually, but in your hand is a tympanum.] The tympanum, a shallow handheld drum with a rim that might include embedded bells, had been imported to Rome from Greece and Asia Minor. Its signification is clear. A frequent attribute of the goddess Cybele, the tympanum was also associated with the Galli, her castrated priests, who were “[p]erhaps the ultimate scare-figure of Roman masculinity.”69 According to an anecdote preserved by Diogenes Laertius, Epicureans had been compared to eunuchs Page 161 →hundreds of years earlier. When asked why, though students from the other philosophical schools sometimes go over to the Garden, Epicureans never leave to join the other schools, Epicurus' contemporary Arcesilaus replies, “Because men can become eunuchs, but eunuchs never become men” (Diog. Laert. 4.43). As I mentioned in chapter 1, Arcesilaus' attribution of effeminacy to the Epicureans may have been a joke that brings up gender only coincidentally. But the charge becomes full-blown with Seneca. Lucretius' and Philodemus' negative assessment of the worship of Cybele may be evidence that the motif of Epicurean as eunuch existed during the era of the Roman Republic. In this case, these first-century CE Epicureans would be defending Epicurus. Lucretius depicts the Galli, who are “thought to be unworthy” of bringing children into the world, as uncontrolled celebrants who process through the streets wielding tympana, cymbals, and other instruments and weapons (DRN 2.614-23; cf. Catullus, Carmina 63).70 It strikes me as significant that a contemporary Epicurean also mentions worshippers of the goddess Cybele. Philodemus' commentary on her followers occurs in his On Music, where he lists tympana and cymbals as instruments used in her rites.71 Ostensibly, Seneca is contrasting appearance with reality: outsiders expect a decadence that is not to be found inside Garden walls. Yet the man in a woman's gown (albeit a metaphorical gown) is suspect nonetheless. The stola is always a woman's garment except when worn by a man in a religious context. In an earlier piece of invective, Cicero had ridiculed Marc Antony for behaving as though another man (Curio) had given him a stola and married him (Phil. 2.44). According to some sources, Galli also dress as women. While Seneca associates the Galli (or worshipers of Cybele in general) with the Epicureans, both Philodemus and Lucretius attribute to her worshipers an inappropriate fear of the gods that is antithetical to the teachings of the Garden. For Lucretius, the goddess is a metaphor for the fecundity of the earth, and to worship her is to misconceive the gods. For Philodemus, “women and womanish men” are especially prone to being seduced by these rites. Although Seneca's association of the Galli with Epicureans comes from a later generation, I suspect that Lucretius Page 162 →and Philodemus are tacitly challenging a similar stereotype current in their own era. The parallel to such a response would be Lucretius' tacit rejection of the Phaeacian/Epicurean equation. In addition to wearing the stola, Seneca's Epicurean wears metaphorical sleeves. The sleeves—along with commentary that spells out their meaning—occur in a letter to Lucilius where Seneca defends his use of the words of Epicurus. Rather than being peculiarly Epicurean, “they are public property and belong especially to us [the Stoics]” (publicae sunt et maxime nostrae). Seneca continues, sed in illo magis adnotantur quia rarae interim interveniunt, quia inexspectatae, quia mirum est fortiter aliquid dici ab homine mollitiam professo (“But they are

more noteworthy in him [Epicurus] because they appear sporadically, when you do not expect them, and because it is startling that something courageous is spoken by a man who makes a practice of being effeminate,” Epistles 33.2). At this point, Seneca once again qualifies his statement with a disclaimer: Ita enim plerique iudicant: apud me Epicurus est et fortis, licet manuleatus sit; fortitudo et industria et ad bellum prompta mens tam in Persas quam in alte cinctos cadit (“Such is the judgment of many: my own opinion is that Epicurus is strong and brave, sleeved though he be; bravery, diligence, and a spirit ready for battle are found among Persians as much as among men who gird themselves up high,” Epistles 33.2). Brave Roman soldiers, here presented as “real men,” bare their legs; and the normal attire of Roman men (whether tunic or toga) exposed one or both arms. The link between Asiatics and overabundant clothing is a commonplace. In the Aeneid, for example the quasi-female and perfumed Trojans wear sleeves (9.614-20, 12.97). Persians committed the unthinkable (in the eyes of both Greeks and Romans) by wearing pants to match their sleeves, but the manly Roman soldier went beyond the eschewing of long, leg-covering robes by wearing a tight belt that allowed him to hike up his tunic. The connotations of the Epicurean gown and sleeves conjured up by Seneca are as unmistakable as the significance of the pallor he attributes to them in his vivid depiction of the virtus/voluptas figure (De vita beata 7.3, quoted in the preceding chapter).

To Walk Like an Epicurean, in Rome Seneca's metaphoric garb adorns Epicurus or anonymous, symbolic Epicureans who are disconnected from time. Their clothing represents the Epicurean character, Page 163 →but Seneca offers no commentary on the actual appearance of any particular Epicurean. With the possible exception of Aelian's Euphronius, none of the Epicureans whose physical appearances I have examined in this chapter are presented as actual Epicurean contemporaries of their authors. For that, we must turn back to Cicero. The most vivid physical description of a man identified by his enemy as a contemporary Epicurean appears in the orations of Cicero that attack the character of L. Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus, consul of 58 BCE and one of Cicero's most energetic denouncers after the illegal execution of the Cataline conspirators. Cicero's Against Piso (55 BCE), a “masterpiece of misrepresentation”72 offers the most sustained and memorable caricature of Piso, but the travesty had already asserted itself in orations from the previous year, the Post Reditum in Senatu and the Pro Sestio. In these three speeches, Piso is repeatedly singled out as a decadent and even disgusting Epicurean. Under the sway of Graeculi (“Greeklings”), he has joined “those who argue that no hour should be devoid of pleasure” (qui disputant horam nullam vacuam voluptate esse debere, Red. sen. 14). Like the Epicurean he is, he considers pain an evil: fearing physical violence alone, he discounts bad reputation, disgrace, infamy, and degradation (Pis. 65). Nothing is more self-indulgent and licentious than Piso (Pis. 66). Also in accord with his Epicureanism, he would teach others that the gods are neither kind nor wrathful toward anyone—a laughable claim, Cicero adds, since the gods are enraged at Piso (Pis. 59). Worse yet, Piso is not even a good Epicurean. Each of the three speeches contains a disclaimer calculated to appease any listener whose knowledge of Epicureanism goes beyond the stereotype. To forestall any objection that his characterization of the philosophers of the Garden might be unjust, Cicero concedes that Piso, as an Epicurean, comes “from the pigsty, not the school” (ex hara producte, non ex schola, Pis. 37). He could not even say the names of the Epicurean philosophers (Sest. 23).73 He had listened to his “pleasure-seeking Greeks” (voluptarii Graeci) not at the loftier level where they ought to be heard but “in the brothels, in debauchery, in eating and drinking” (audis in praesepibus, Page 164 →audis in stupris, audis in cibo et vino, Pis. 42).74 He had not devoted serious study to Epicureanism but had simply jumped on board, “taken in by the single word pleasure” (non penitus illi disciplinae quaecumque est deditus, sed captus uno verbo voluptatis, Red. sen. 14). Without investigating the nature of Epicurean pleasure, he had simply devoured the word voluptas itself with all his soul and body (verbum ipsum omnibus animi et corporis devorarat, Sest. 23). His enthusiasm for particular words of Epicurus made him want to close the schoolbook (literally, “seal the tablets”), shutting out his teacher's explanation of the subtleties (Pis. 69).75 (Yet Cicero adds as an aside that Epicurus does indeed say that he “cannot conceive any good apart from physical pleasure.”)76 Even Piso's pursuit of pleasure was a ludicrous failure: he served his guests on cheap dinnerware; instead of fish, he offered slabs of tainted meat; the bread was store-bought, and the wine came from the local bar; the slaves who tended the guests were dirty, and some were

even decrepit old men. Instead of lavish comforts, his parties featured “five Greeks—sometimes more—crammed together per couch,” with the uncouth Piso providing a full couch only to himself (Pis. 67).77 Focusing his attack on Piso's interest in Epicureanism was essential to Cicero's strategy, because Piso's political record supplied too few facts that Cicero could exploit without losing credibility with his audience. As Robert Kaster has put it, “the career of Piso…offers nothing to support and not a little to contradict Cicero's portrait.”78 Moreover, the face, body, and general comportment of this adversary conformed to Roman notions of moral probity and virtus. According to all three orations, Piso projected an image of extreme masculinity on the outside: dark, unadorned, severe in expression, with shaggy eyebrows and Page 165 →beard and an impressive, manly gait.79 Cicero's audience was well aware of these visual attributes, which presented Cicero with a seemingly intractable problem. In the public discourse of the Roman Republic, where “great representational meaning” resided in physical appearance, Piso's exterior had positive connotations.80 Tony Corbeill (1996a: 170) has described Cicero's predicament thus: “If one were to use the ethical criteria of Roman invective, Piso would appear unassailable.” So instead of ignoring the physical reality, Cicero accused Piso of visual fraud: “It was your eyes, eyebrows, forehead, and in fact your entire countenance—which is a sort of silent language that reveals the mind—this is what pulled people in, this is what deceived, betrayed, and conned those who did not know you” (Pis. 1). A man's morality should be reflected in his appearance, but Cicero presents the case of Piso as one of those “rare instances in which seeming is not being.”81 Thus Cicero's constant focus on Piso's appearance exploits the conventions of Roman invective by using Piso as an example in reverse. Cicero intertwines that broader rhetorical strategy with the commonplaces of anti-Epicurean discourse to produce a seamless whole. Cicero denounces Piso by exposing his (supposedly secret) connections with the (obviously vile) Garden, but the force of his tirade against Piso's Epicureanism lies in Cicero's relentless focus on appearance and demeanor. His paradoxical claim is that Piso's near criminality is compounded by the fact that Piso, as an Epicurean, projects a counterfeit image that is precisely what an Epicurean does not look like. An Epicurean, after all, should look like a man devoid of virtus and devoted to voluptas. As Corbeill explains, imputing deficient masculinity to an opponent was standard: “[R]hetoric offered a public site for contesting the definition of maleness, with the political opponent being consistently stigmatized as effeminate, a charge that implicates him in a host of vices associated lack of control over the body.” But effeminacy was not “a charge available at the whim of any accuser.”82 In Against Vatinius, for example, Cicero reviles Vatinius aggressively Page 166 →but never says that he is unmanly, and no opponent seems to have flung the charge at Cicero himself. The ways in which the vilification of Piso qua Epicurean are tightly wound up with the charge of inner effeminacy demonstrate that the insults are not, in this case, generic or gendered gratuitously. Once Cicero had chosen Epicureanism as Piso's vice, well-camouflaged effeminacy became a requisite attribute. The assertion that the presentation of a sham appearance is a typically Epicurean trait would arise later in Cicero's philosophical works: “[T]he more sober-seeming an adherent of the sect was, the more easily could he be painted a hypocrite.”83 In fact, Cicero elsewhere recommended this strategy to any aspiring orator as a general approach, not only in the case of the Garden (cf. De inventione 2.34). In On Ends, Cicero has it both ways. First, in the context of the dispute over the definition of pleasure (which I examined in the previous chapter), Cicero implies that it is out of duplicity that Epicureans claim repeatedly that outsiders do not understand what Epicurus meant by pleasure. The subterfuge is simply meant to cover up the disreputable nature of voluptas. Thus Cicero asks his Epicurean interlocutor Torquatus, “Would you change your opinions like clothes—one set at home and another in public? Outside all pretense, with the truth under wraps?” (aut etiam, ut vestitum, sic sententiam habeas aliam domesticam, aliam forensem, ut in fronte ostentatio sit, intus veritas occultetur? Fin. 2.77). But several hundred words later, when he refers to Epicurean friendship, Cicero claims that actual Epicureans have higher standards than their doctrines imply. Lamenting that some people's lives contradict their professed beliefs, Cicero notes that while others do not live up the standards set by their words, “these people's [the Epicureans'] actions seem to me to be better than their words” (2.81). Piso's walk was particularly problematic.84 In his defense speech for Publius Sestius, who was on trial for vis (“public violence”), Cicero speaks of Sestius' enemy Piso thus: “How foul, how fierce, how formidable he is in appearance as he marches along. You would have guessed he was one of our bearded forefathers, a model of the

power of old, the image of antiquity, a pillar of the state” (quam taeter incedebat, quam truculentus, quam terribilis aspectu! unum aliquem te ex barbatis illis, exemplum imperi veteris, imaginem antiquitatis, columen Page 167 →reipublicae diceres intueri, Sest. 19).85 But appearance does not mesh with reality, and Piso is in fact a threat to the republic.86 He had “crept into office by human error”; the people had voted for a Piso, not for this imposter by the same name (Pis. 1). Even his name is a fraud, as Cicero claims repeatedly, calling him “Caesoninus Calventius,” a name that links him to his maternal grandfather in Gaul. At one point, he dubs him sardonically as “Caesoninus Semiplacentinus [“half-Gaul”] Calventius.” Cicero's hearers may not believe that there was in fact a change of name, so he asserts that he is privy to the real story through his own family connection to Piso by marriage. Like his body, even Piso's house has a false exterior: “His soul was concealed by his face, his scabrous acts by the walls of his house” (etenim animus eius vultu, flagitia parietibus tegebantur, Sest. 22). His clandestine pleasures avoid the front door and enter at a secret entrance (pseudothyro, Red. sen. 14). Cicero attaches special significance to Piso's eyebrows, the forbidding appearance of which he sometimes exaggerates into comic ugliness.87 At one point, he marks the significance by thrice repeating the word for “eyebrow” in quick succession in one short passage: What could Cicero say about Piso's eyebrows? His eyebrows seemed to be “the basis for the whole year of his consulship”; his eyebrows seemed to be “a pledge for the Republic” (supercilio…supercilium…supercilio, Sest. 19). Again, we have the misleading and “all-concealing” brow that fooled the people by obscuring actual villainy (insignem nequitiam frontis involutam integumentis, Pis. 12). Elsewhere in Roman invective, an orator isolates a particular physical defect in his opponent and exaggerates it into a highly comic or appalling visual monstrosity that in turn reveals true character. But the case of Piso requires a reversal of this strategy. Cicero cannot call him effeminate, so he asserts obliquely that Piso looks hypermasculine, a claim that intensifies his assertion that Piso's virile exterior is a ruse. The disguise is overdone. His hair is wildly unkempt (capillo ita horrido, Page 168 →Sest. 19).88 He is too stern, and the stateliness of his gait is so exaggerated as to be comical.89 Too hairy, Piso slips up by overdoing the Roman “hairier than thou” competition.90 While he knows how to play the stern patriarch with heavy brow, he is at times so immoveable and coarsely inarticulate that it is hard to know whether one is talking to a human being or to a post in the forum (Red. sen. 14). Here Cicero makes two attacks at once: Piso's feigned virility—in its coarseness—befits the Cappadocian he really is; and Piso's rugged complexion surpasses manliness, becoming the darkness of a Gaul (Pis. 1). All along, the implication is that this counterfeit masculinity covers an effeminate and profligate interior—the interior of the essential Epicurean. But it is not merely a matter of reversing Cicero's descriptions so that the real Epicurean looks as delicate as Piso is rugged, as pale as Piso is dark, as simpering as Piso is gruff, or as insubstantial as Piso looks serious. Cicero spares the audience the task of compiling a table of opposites: it is not Piso but his co-consul, the openly despicable Gabinius, who looks like the Epicurean. The fact that Gabinius has no connection with the Garden is irrelevant: his status as the visual polar opposite of Piso in the oration Against Piso is enough. Cicero repeatedly presents the consuls of the year 58 as an inseparable pair of villains who acted in unison for the entire year of their consulship.91 As Kaster points out in his recent commentary on the Pro Sestio, the paths of the two consuls were not as parallel as Cicero asserts, and even midway through their consulships, their political affiliations had diverged.92 But for Cicero, the political muscle of these two “traffickers of provinces” and “hawkers of the senate's dignity” is a single force, and their vices worked in concert (mercatores provinciarum ac venditores vestar dignitatis, Red. sen. 10). According to this highly artificial scheme, the horrors of each complemented those of the other: as much as Piso looked venerable, Gabinius looked like a “recognizable criminal.”93 Any observer could see Page 169 →that Gabinius was sexually and fiscally corrupt, while Piso hid his similarly hedonistic habits behind a misleadingly respectable exterior. Cicero supplies abundant cues to encourage his hearers to envision Piso and Gabinius as a duo by listing their attributes in parallel sentences and by referring to Gabinius as Piso's par, a term that can mean “match” or “equal” but can also have the connotation of “partner” or “mate,” as when Piso enters the Circus of Flaminius “with that partner of yours” (cum tuo illo pare, Red. sen. 17). We are also to imagine them as dining or drinking together—during the day no less.94 When Cicero describes Piso being hauled out of a dark tavern to the senate, he is described as though he had Gabinius on his arm (Pis. 18). Most tellingly, Cicero enjoins his audience to study both men's faces and walks together:

quorum, per deos immortalis, si nondum scelera vulneraque inusta rei publicae vultis recordari, vultum atque incessum animis intuemini: facilius eorum facta occurrent mentibus vestris, si ora ipsa oculis proposueritis. (Sest. 17) [By the immortal gods, if you do not yet wish to recall the wounding crimes with which they branded the commonwealth, picture in your minds the expressions on their faces and how they strode about: what they did will more readily come to mind if you imagine the way they looked.]95 The difference is that Gabinius looks the part. What did Gabinius look like, according to Cicero? Piso may look venerable, but Gabinius' appearance—especially his mouth—makes it obvious that Gabinius has prostituted himself and subjected his body to “impure lust” (Red. sen. 11 and 13).96 He is a “dancer” (Red. sen. 13)—and a naked dancer at that (Pis. 22)—and even a “depilated dancing girl” (Pis. 18.8), whose hair and skin present the reverse of Piso's shagginess. Cicero's vocabulary for Gabinius' excessive grooming is as rich as his vocabulary for Piso's rough hairiness. In the Pro Sestio, Cicero lines up their physical attributes, as in parallel columns: “First, this one…And dear gods, now the other” (Alter…Alter, o di boni! Sest. 18 and 19). His hair curled, Gabinius drips Page 170 →with perfume (unguentis affluens, calamistrata coma, Sest. 18), while Piso is coarsely clad, his hair unkempt (vestitus aspere…capillo ita horrido, Sest. 19). The foreheads were opposed as well: where Piso has the furrowed brow, Gabinius has the burn marks from a curling iron (Red. sen. 16). Gabinius' effeminate saunter is also the polar opposite of Piso's hypermasculine stride, the two presenting a comic contrast.97 While Piso's house looks respectable from the outside, Gabinius' is obviously a brothel (Red. sen. 11). The dissimilarity is stressed again when Cicero says that he fled neither Piso's brow nor Gabinius' castanets (Pis. 20). Calling Gabinius a dancing girl apparently came easily and must have meshed with the impression his physical appearance made on Cicero's audience. (The story of his indecent dancing at a party may have been true.) In comparison, an image of Piso dancing was impossible. But in tune with his implicit claim that these apparent opposites are in fact exactly the same underneath, Cicero supplies Piso with clandestine dancers in a passage in the same oration. When Cicero describes rhetorically how Piso left his province Macedonia via Samothrace and Thasos, he places in Piso's retinue some “effeminate dancers and those pretty brothers [teneris saltatoribus formosis fratribus] Autobulus, Athamante, and Timocles” (Pis. 89) The dancers are nameless, and the boys' names are obscure to us and presumably to Cicero's audience as well. This is a scene that the audience has of course not witnessed, but Cicero lists the names as though to document his intimate knowledge of the dancers and lovely boys in Piso's retinue.98 Also central to Cicero's conceit of the diametrically opposed consuls are Piso's ubiquitous eyebrows. When asked what he thought of Cicero's consulship, Piso answers gravely that he “disapproves of brutality,” and the grim eyebrows play their role: “one pushed up to the forehead, the other falling down to the chin” (respondes altero ad frontem sublato, altero ad mentum depresso supercilio crudelitatem tibi non placere, Pis. 14). Gabinius' appearance is described just as colorfully when he expresses his own displeasure. But Gabinius' exterior is the reverse of Piso's: “full of wine, languor, and sexual incontinence, with oiled hair and braided locks, heavy eyes, dripping mouth, with his voice low and slurred, that grave actor announced his intense displeasure at the punishment Page 171 →of untried citizens” (Red. sen. 13). Gabinius' morality was in full view, and Cicero reveals that only a disguise prevents Piso from looking exactly like him.

Poetry War There is another opposition in Against Piso that plays a subtler role in Cicero's exposure of the “real” Piso lurking behind the facade. This is the relationship between Piso and the poet, scholar, and Epicurean philosopher Philodemus, which is especially complex because Philodemus' stature as a poet is such that Cicero cannot paint him as an out-and-out villain. Anticipating protest from his audience that his portrait of Piso stresses transgressions and indulgences that contradict what should be deduced from his imposing physical appearance, Cicero occupies their position by asking, “How do I know this?” This time it is not Cicero's family connection that makes him privy to inside information. Instead, he answers, “There is a certain Greek who lives with him…” (Pis. 68). The Greek—unnamed but clearly Philodemus—shares none of Piso's ugliness or miserliness and is described by Cicero at first as a gentleman (homo…humanus, Pis. 68). According to Cicero, Philodemus, too, is deceived by

Piso's brow. As Piso's elder, Philodemus presents Epicureanism to him in a form that is not entirely vile, but Piso distorts it. Here we meet again the virtus/voluptas trope I explored in the previous chapter. When Piso hears the word voluptas, he mistakes Philodemus for a master of vices (libidines) rather than a teacher of philosophical virtus (Pis. 68). Philodemus' role in Against Piso undergoes quiet shifts: at times, he represents the more positive attributes of true Epicureanism that Piso's crude mind cannot grasp. But sometimes—as a frivolous and immoral poet who gives voice to Piso's covert pursuit of pleasures—Philodemus serves as a different sort of foil. Unlike hideous Piso, Cicero describes Philodemus as charming or “lovely” (venustus, Pis. 70), an adjective that is “a dubious compliment when applied to a man.”99 The historical relationship between Piso and Philodemus is not entirely clear. As we saw in chapter 1, both an epigram by Philodemus and his essay On the Good King according to Homer address someone named Piso. A reasonable (and perhaps unassailable) scholarly consensus identifies him as our Piso. It is also tempting to accept a scholarly consensus that identifies our Piso or his family as the owner of the library and villa in Herculaneum that contained Page 172 →Philodemus' nonliterary writings (saved for us in a fragmentary and charred state by the eruption of Vesuvius). Because Philodemus' arcane writings (in his own hand?) are found there, the assumption is that Philodemus himself was a family guest. To Gigante, the villa was a summer retreat that Piso turned over as a school and gathering place to his less wealthy and younger Epicurean friends, over whom Philodemus presided.100 As attractive as the idea that Philodemus was Piso's guest near the Bay of Naples is, the connection has miragelike qualities. James Porter has recently articulated a minority position thus: “Piso's Epicurean leanings and Philodemus's confirmed Epicureanism aside, the notion that the villa was a haven of Epicurean teaching, a college or retreat where acolytes could meet and discuss Epicurean philosophy and even live out Epicureanism in an idyllic setting…, while not strictly impossible or even improbable, nevertheless is based on nothing more than a desire to see things in this way.”101 Still, despite our lack of access to the precise historical details, and whether or not the villa of the papyri was a retreat that Piso sometimes turned over to Philodemus, it seems clear that Cicero puts Philodemus in Piso's entourage. But alluding to a general connection between Philodemus and Piso is not enough: Cicero can point to a particular document that the audience knows or ought to know. That document is a body of poetry, an entire genre “that practically all the rest of the Epicureans are said to neglect” (quae fere ceteros neglegere dicunt, Pis. 79). As though to assuage a protest from his hearers who admire Philodemus' poetry, Cicero at first describes it as witty, graceful, elegant, and surpassingly clever (ita festivum, ita concinnum, ita elegans, nihil ut fieri posit argutius, Pis. 79). The poems are the product not of an unmanly scoundrel but simply of “a mere Greekling, a parasite, a poet.”102 But then his presentation of Philodemus devolves into the assertion that Philodemus has written extremely “delicate” (delicatissimis) poems that expose and catalog at length all of Piso's “lusts, all his sexual transgressions, all types of banquets and drinking parties, and all his adulteries.”103 While Piso presents an austere exterior, his friend's poems Page 173 →reveal his true self “as in a mirror” (tamquam in speculo, Pis. 29). Cicero asserts that he would recite the poems (well known as they are) were they not inappropriate to this oratorical context and were he not averse to impugning the character of the poet Philodemus. Following Cicero on this path of forensic investigation, we find that a survey of the thirty-eight surviving epigrams of Philodemus does indeed reveal a string of poems that feature Eros, wine, and song. Some present topoi too well worn to be taken as self-disclosure: the choice between a hetaera and a virgin (Epigram 11), an itemized and appreciative list of a woman's body parts (Epigram 12), sex for hire (Epigram 20), and sex by the light of the moon (Epigram 14). Epigram 26 focuses on adultery, but the poem's form draws on the conventions of the paraclausithyron (a poem in the voice of a lover waiting hopelessly at a locked door). This was a wellestablished genre, though Philodemus's poem departs from tradition by describing not the usual man but a woman, who—drenched with rain—has arrived at her lover's door only to find that he wants to sit and talk. One poem in particular offers a pseudo-etymology for Philodemus' name: the pentameters assert that he fell in love with a woman named Demo from Paphos, then one named Demo from Samos, another Demo from Hysiai, and another from Argos. This propensity makes him a Demo-lover and gives him the name Philo-Demus (Epigram 10). Not a likely candidate for an autobiographical reading. From Cicero's treatment, one would not guess that several of Philodemus' poems present marriage in a favorable

light or focus on a turn to “loftier thoughts” at the time of marriage and maturity (Epigrams 4-7). One poem in particular might hold up as a document for a biographer because, unlike the paraclausithyron and the other poems described above, it does not conform to literary convention but is written in the voice of a married or soon-to-be married poet “whose white hair announces the age of intelligence” (Epigram 5). Further strengthening the possibility that these poems might reflect on Philodemus' own life is the name of the wife in some of the poems. She is Xanthippe, the namesake of Socrates' wife and thus the archetype of the philosopher's wife.104 Among the thirty-eight poems (admittedly a small sampling of Philodemus' original oeuvre), the only one that mentions Piso is the invitation poem discussed in chapter 1 of this book. The modest gathering Piso is summoned Page 174 →to there is the opposite of the parties attributed to Epicureans by hostile outsiders. At this point in Against Piso—after Cicero has exposed Piso's connection with Philodemus in sections 68-72—Nisbet sees an abrupt transition to “a new line of thought,” in which Cicero responds to Piso's critique of Cicero's consulship. But I would qualify Nisbet's reading: poetry and its biographical potential are still at issue, and here a poetry contest breaks out in earnest. The next poem we hear of is Cicero's own “On His Consulship,” and Cicero asserts tacitly that we this time have poetry worthy of being quoted in this austere and formal context.105 Cicero's poem is openly autobiographical, and he makes clear that Piso had just quoted it in the oration to which Cicero responds. Piso had said, according to Cicero's quotation, “It was not antipathy that hurt you, but your poetry” (non illa tibi…invidia nocuit, sed versus tui, Pis. 72). One could read this simply as a reference to the possibility that a line in Cicero's poem had offended Pompey. Cicero's verse cedant arma togae (“let arms yield to the toga”), by representing Pompey as “arma” and himself as “toga” would imply not that war should yield to peace but that Cicero's accomplishments are greater than those of the general. But Piso has raised a parallel issue: the line itself is an example of bad poetry. As John Dugan has recently put it, the line is “of particular political and textual vulnerability” (my emphasis).106 Cicero retorts that exiling a free man for being a bad poet is ludicrous, and he in turn ridicules Piso for being a clumsy literary critic. Unlike the great Homeric scholar Aristarchus, Piso launches a savage attack on the poet instead of excising a bad line (non notam apponas ad malum versum, sedpoetam armis persequare, Pis. 73). His understanding of poetics is deficient: Cicero's cedant arma togae is a metaphor “in the manner of poets” (poetarum more, Pis. 73), so Piso needs to return to Philodemus for a poetry lesson: “Ask that comrade of yours the Greek poet; he will approve of and recognize the genre, and he will not be shocked at your ignorance.”107 Even Piso's hairiness takes part in the poetry battle. Sexual metaphor that contrasts the strong and “manly” with the weak and “effeminate” permeates the Page 175 →vocabulary of Greek and Latin literary criticism.108 Distinct visual clues—whether in the reader's imagined view of the poet or in material reality—run along the same lines and thus further determine whether the poet represents manliness or its lack. When Propertius distinguishes Latin love elegy from the more manly genre of epic, he writes, “[L]et Ennius surround his words with a hairy crown” (Ennius hirsuta cingat sua dicta corona, 4.1.61).109 The hirsute Piso ought to represent manly poetics, but here, too, Piso's fraudulent exterior masks a rotten reality. Just as the appearance of the effeminate Gabinius is more like Piso's true self as consul, Philodemus' frivolous and unchaste poetry matches Piso's aesthetic tastes and ignominious way of life. In addition to Cicero's use of Gabinius as the inverted “proof” of Piso's essence and to his assertion that Philodemus' poetry documents Piso's actual life, Cicero executes a third strategy to expose Piso. The third body of evidence is provided by Cicero's eyewitness accounts, some of which achieve heightened credibility through being thrown back rhetorically into Piso's face. Like the testimony of Philodemus' poetry, Cicero's first-person report divulges what his audience cannot see: Meministine, caenum, cum ad te quinta fere hora cum C. Pisone venissem, nescio quo e gurgustio te prodire involuto capite soleatum, et, cum isto ore foetido taeterrimam nobispopinam inhalasses, excusatione te uti valetudinis, quod diceres vinulentis te quibusdam medicaminibus solere curari? Quam nos causam cum accepissemus—quid enim facere poteramus?—paulisper stetimus in illo ganearum tuarum nidore atque fumo; unde tu nos cum improbissime respondendo, tum turpissime ructando eiecisti. (Pis. 13)

[Do you remember, you scum, when I came to you at almost the fifth hour [late morning] with C. Piso, that you were coming out of some sort of dive, head covered, in your slippers? And when you breathed that repulsive bar over us with Page 176 →that fetid mouth of yours, that you used the excuse of your health, saying that you usually looked after it with certain winelike remedies? And do you remember that when we accepted your explanation—what else could we do—we stood for a while in the stink and fumes of that joint of yours, until your impudent replies and nauseating discharges drove us away.]110 Once again, Cicero claims that he has personally caught Piso drinking during the daytime (an intensely dissolute habit) and at a particularly dreadful locale. When Cicero elsewhere implicates Piso with other feasts and wild drinking parties, he turns his audience's lack of familiarity with this side of Piso to his advantage: “Who in those days ever saw you sober?…In short, who saw you in public at all?”111 Cicero's eyes have followed Piso to Macedonia, where his investigation was thorough: nos non vestigiis odorantes ingressus tuos, sed totis volutationibus corporis et cubilibus persecuti sumus (“Not only have I followed your arrivals by the scent of your footsteps, but I have tracked down all the wallowings of your body and your every bed,” Pis. 83).112 Later, Cicero will describe Piso escaping his province in the dead of night, shod in Greek sandals and dressed like a slave (nocte intempesta crepidatus veste servili, Pis. 93). Greek sandals were unseemly, particularly for a proconsul. Cicero's implied source is the local inhabitants, who disclosed that the “Greek-shoed Imperator” (crepidatum imperatorem) had decamped by night. But as Nisbet remarks, the slave costume was “part of the stock-in-trade of escape stories.”113 What does an Epicurean look like? And how does he walk?114 Cicero offers two versions of the physical manifestation of Epicurean proclivities: one that reflects Piso's inner unmanly self that belies his venerable appearance and one that Piso's outward form takes in reality while few are watching. If we follow Cicero's lead and take Piso as the Epicurean who hides his Epicurean self under a rough and appropriately male exterior, we discover an Epicurean whose metaphorical gait matches that of the dancing and well-adorned Gabinius. If Page 177 →appearances matched reality, Piso would look like Philodemus, the “lovely” author of “delicate” or “effeminate” poetry. But there is another sort of Epicurean walk that Cicero creates for Piso. This is his secret manner of walking: shuffling in slippers, with face hidden under his cloak; or creeping away by night in another type of unacceptable footwear; or returning to Rome by stealth (occultus adventus, furtivum iter per Italiam, Pis. 97). Thus Cicero heaps up his evidence for the contrast between seeming and reality. Logically, they should cancel each other out, but Cicero's masterful exposition effectively presents the two poles as cumulative evidence. In addition to the stereotypically Epicurean appearance that Piso ought to have, there is the actual appearance that only Cicero and his unnamed informants have witnessed. The former is a dancing girl, and the latter is an escaping criminal. Both images are a far cry from the Epicurean self-presentation apparent in the seated portraits that I discussed at the outset of this chapter. But here, too, Cicero might logically argue for coherence. His polemic against Piso hinges on the claim that Epicureans have a habit of displaying an outward appearance that contradicts not just their innate effeminacy but their inner thoughts. As Cicero asks Torquatus, “Would you make up words and say things you do not think? Or would you change your opinions like clothes—one set at home and another in public? Outside all pretense, with the truth under wraps?”115 If the full text of Damoxenus' The Foster Brothers and other works of New Comedy had survived, we might find an Epicurus in garments that lampooned or contested the plain cloak represented in the portrait statues. But instead we must be content with late accretions of the symptoms of Epicurus' illness and a historical Epicurean who looked frustratingly strong and austere. 1. 2. On representations of Leontion, see chapter 3. 3. On the portraits of Leontion (and the hypothesis that there was once a full-size seated portrait of her), see chapter 3. In the Non posse (1097d), Plutarch calls Leontion, Boidion, Hedeia, and Nikidion “young and beautiful.”

4. The literary sources include Juvenal’s Satires (2.4.7) and Pliny’s Naturalis historia (35.4.7). Archaeological sources are cataloged by Neudecker (1988), who records eighteen villas that included philosophers’ portraits. As Dillon (2006: 135 n. 38) points out, a catalog of the abundant surviving statues that have no recorded provenance would expand Neudecker’s list considerably. 5. Dillon 2006: 114. 6. In Frischer’s reconstruction of the seated portraits of Epicurus, the philosopher takes the pose of an energetic teacher. 7. Dillon 2006: 116. 8. Zanker 1995: 34.39, 97.102; Dillon 2006: 113.16. 9. For a survey of busts and full-size statues, see Richter 1984, “Epicurus,” “Hermarchus,” “Metrodorus.” Von den Hoff (1994) catalogs the sculptures, adding some not included by Richter, who counts “about 30” busts and five seated statues of Epicurus (117.18), seventeen busts and three possible statues of Metrodorus (164), and “about a dozen” busts and two possible seated figures of Hermarchus (131). Frischer (1982: 123) accepts Schefold’s (1943: 116) tentative identification of another group of Epicurus-like busts with Colotes. The gems are numbers 438.41 in Richter 1971, a list that may be supplemented by other possible examples listed by Frischer (1982: 87 n. 1). The seated portraits have no identifying inscriptions, but attribution seems secure because the surviving heads have features in common with the inscribed busts. It has recently been discovered that the extensive mosaic floor in the House of the Greek Authors in Autun (ancient Augustodunum) includes portraits of Epicurus and Metrodorus (Blanchard-Lemée and Blanchard 1993; Frischer 2006: paragraphs 10.20). 10. Richter (1984: 118.19) notes significant traits that indicate that the sculptures do not simply conform to a pattern but are based on a single Greek original: “the long, narrow shape of the head; the deeply lined, high, but narrow forehead; the deep-set, rather small eyes with drooping upper lids, pockets beneath the lower lids, crow’s feet at the outer corners, and overhanging brows that curve down to the bridge of the nose; the prominent nose with a marked protuberance below the bridge; the finely curving, full-lipped mouth, with the upper lip all but hidden by a thick, but rather small moustache (only a triangle of the upper lip is visible); the longish curling beard, divided into two parts along the middle; and the plentiful hair with locks arranged according to a set pattern.” 11. Richter 1984: 200. 12. Zanker 1995: 114. 13. Frischer 2006: paragraph 232. 14. Frischer 2006: paragraph 234. 15. Frischer 2006: paragraph 235. 16. An exact translation of nostri familiares is difficult. Woolf (2001: 118) offers the translation “[t]he members of our Epicurean family.” The paintings (tabellae) may have been small tablets that Epicureans carried with them, as Miriam Griffin suggests (2001: 9), or they may have been conventional portraits to be hung on walls. 17. Frischer takes this as a reference to the statues in Athens. 18. Mitford 1961: 7. 19. This is the interpretation of Bailey (1926: 419). 20. Frischer 1982: xvi. The scholarly consensus is that the sculptures commemorated the philosophers after their deaths. Von den Hoff (1994) has argued that stylistic analysis indicates dates after the death of Epicurus, but dating is tricky, especially because we are dealing with Roman copies of Greek originals. 21. Richter 1984, 200. 22. Zanker 1995: 119, 122. 23. Dillon 2006: 114. 24. Frischer 2006: paragraph 51. 25. Zanker 1995: 119. 26. On Metrodorus’ klismos, see R. von den Hoff 1994: 80. As Frischer n tes (2006: paragraph 18), the klismos appears also in the newly restored Autun mosaic. 27. Zanker 1995: 118–19. 28. Zanker 1995: 118. 29. Frischer 2006: paragraph 5.

30. Frischer 2006: paragraph 19. 31. Frischer 2006: paragraph 30. 32. Frischer 2006: paragraph 14. 33. Frischer 2006: paragraph 137. 34. Dillon 2006: 115. A good example is the bust of Chrysippus at the Museo Nazionale in Naples (Zanker 1995: 100, figure 55). 35. Dillon 2006: 115. 36. Zanker 1995: 108. 37. “Horsiness” designates hugeness, so (“horsey prostitute”) might properly mean “great big prostitute.” 38. Dillon 2006: 66. 39. “The Intellectual as Good Citizen” is the title of the second chap er of Zanker 1995. 40. Dillon (2006: 115) stresses the similarities between citizens’ and philosophers’ heads, rather than the clothing. Zanker stresses similarit es in the clothing and in the elegance of the hair and beard. 41. Zanker (1995: 114) calls attention to the left arms of the Epicureans and the citizens in the relief sculptures. Compare also the closely wrapped right arms of the statues of Sophocles and Aeschines (Zanker’s figs. 25 and 26). 42. Zanker 1995: 115.16. types: philosopher, father, culture-hero, savior, megalopsychos, and god.” 43. Frischer (2006: paragraph 34) calls the portrait of Epicurus “an integration of six simple types: philosopher, father, culture-hero, savior, megalopsychos, and god.” 44. Schmaltz 1985: 45 and 50; Stewart 1990: 199; von den Hoff 1994: 66; Dillon 2006: 66; Frischer 2006: paragraph 34. 45. Frischer 2006: paragraph 348. This monument is shown in Frischer’s figure 27. 46. Frischer 2006: paragraph 349. Connecting it with Roman references to the gods (e.g., Neptunus pater) and with the Roman patria potestas, Bailey (1947: 988) describes the use of pater here as “an essentially Roman idea.” 47. For a photograph and description, see Zanker 1995: 123–24 and figure 63 (p. 116). 48. Zanker 1995: 123. 49. Zanker 1995: 122. 50. 51. Galenus Med., De usu partium 4.187.18. Graver (1998: 267 n. 58) suggests another interpretation: “another worse form of intemperance (i.e. sexual passivity).” 52. are less moderate sexually turn out to be weaker, since the whole body loses the purest part of both substances, and since there is an accession of pleasure, which is by itself enough to dissolve the vital tone, so that before now some persons have actually died from xcess of pleasure”). The text and translation are from De Lacy 1992: 140.41. 53. 54. A related phenomenon, the banishment of Epicureans during times of plague (as though Epicureans had caused the illness), is attested much earlier. On the report that Philodemus was banished by the citizens of Himera after plague and famine hit the city, see Sider 1997: 9. 55. Suda, epsilon 2405, lines 1–8 Adler; Aelian, fr. 39 Hercher. 56. See chapter 1 in the present book. 57. Suda, kappa 156 Adler = Aelian, fr. 89.1–2 Hercher. 58. The texts are discussed by FitzGibbon (2003). 59. Suda, alpha 1851 Adler = Aelian, fr. 89.17.21 Hercher. FitzGibbon (2 03) translates stigmata (“markings”) as “scribblings,” which may make the sense clearer. 60. This is the interpretation of FitzGibbon (2003). 61. FitzGibbon 2008: 445. FitzGibbon (448) points out that Boethus’ name (“Helper”) parallels Epicurus’ (also “Helper”), thus suggesting that he is a fictional character. 62. The discussion of sex by Olympichos (who bears another suspiciously appropriate name) is characterized by another guest as unseemly “athletes’ talk…reeking of their cottabus-play-ing and eating of meat” 63. Williams 2010: 147. 64. Zanker (1995: 125), calling it a “genre figure,” identifies it as an Epicurean. For a photograph, see

Zanker's figure 70 (p. 126). 65. Richter 1984: 118–19. 66. 67. For example, Plutarch 2.340d and Phylarchus, fr. 45. 68. Because Satyrs also wore flowery dresses, the issue may be more complex here. See LSJ, s.v. 69. Williams 2010: 140. 70. Philodemus does not name Cybele in the fragment, but Summers' (1996) identification of “the great mother of the gods” and “the mother of the wild beasts” (DRN 2.598) as Cybele is surely correct. Summers argues that Lucretius' description is based not on a Greek source but on his own witnessing of a Roman version of rites in honor of Cybele “as he saw it firsthand on the streets of Rome” (338). 71. Delattre 2007. 72. Nisbet 1960: xvi. DeLacy (1941: 49) shows how Cicero constructs a portrait of Piso that conforms to “the anti-Epicurean polemic current in the popular philosophical literature of Cicero's time.” 73. Nomina poterat dicere (Sest. 23) may mean that he did not know their names or that he did not know how to say them. See Kaster 2006: 168. 74. The connection between Epicureans and animals is implicit here again: here praesepe connotes a drinking establishment or brothel, but the primary meaning is “stable.” 75. Here Cicero quotes a Roman proverb that describes an incompetent: “A cripple is hogging the ball.” 76. Etenim dicit, ut opinor, se nullum bonum intellegere posse demptis corporis voluptatibus (Pis. 69). 77. Paraphrased, the rhetorical strategy here is “Piso indulges in immoral pleasures, but he can’t even do it well.” This sketch resonated with the stereotype of the miser in Roman literature and eliminated the poss bility that any frugality in Piso’s household could be due to Epicurean sensibilities. Gowers (1993: 10) notes “a confusion of moral systems.” Traditional morality condemned lavish banquets, but recent increases in wealth had made them common among the elite (well represented in Cicero’s audience). 78. Kaster 2006: 12. 79. On the likelihood that Cicero's physical descriptions of enemies and allies were accurate (though likely to be exaggerated), see Corbeill 2004: 110–11. 80. Corbeill 1996: 169. 81. Corbeill 2004: 119. Elsewhere Corbeill (1996: 169) describes how Piso breaks the most common rule of Roman invective, that “visual scrutiny” will yield the key to true moral character. Langlands (2006: 287) writes that pudicitia must be “displayed in the bod, yet the body was always open to reinterpretation.” 82. Corbeill 1997: 99–128. 83. Kaster 2006a: 167. 84. Corbeill 1996: 153. 85. I follow Kaster 2006: 161 in employing “foul,” “fierce,” and “formidable” to convey Cicero’s alliterative taeter…truculentus…terribilis. Corbeill (2004: 119) calls attention to the fact that truculentus (used by Cicero elsewhere only to skewer Rullus) suggests inhuman and unnatural behavior. As Corbeill (2004: 119) puts it, Piso’s appearance of virility goes “over the top.” 86. For Piso as a threat to the state, see Corbeill 1996: 169. 87. The description of such a forehead might conjure up the senex iratus of Roman comedy, as suggested by Hughes (1992) and Klodt (2003: 49), or. in the other extreme. Epicurus (Griffin 2001: 98). 88. Compare Williams 1999: 131: “excessive masculinity is embodied in unkempt hair, skin, and beard, as well as bristly legs and chest.” 89. See Corbeill 2004: 118–19 on Cicero's language for the unnatural qualities of Piso's walk. 90. On hairiness as a masculine attribute, see Gleason 1995: 74. As for Piso's own self-fashioning, the hairiness that Cicero presented as a fiendish disguise may in fact represent Piso's own homage to the statues of Epicurus. Unfortunately, we do not know whether Cicero called him a bearded Epicurean or a barbaric Epicurean. As Griffin (2001: 99) writes, “All we can say is that if Piso had a beard it would surely have been the carefully tended beard of the Epicurean statues.” 91. Kaster 2006: 12–13. 92. Kaster 2006: 13. 93. Langlands 2006: 288. 94. The tavern was dark (tenebricosa popina, Pis. 18), but the senate is in session, so the scene must be

presented as taking place during the day. 95. Translation by Kaster (2006: 49). 96. Red. sen. 13: fluentibus buccis. See Corbeill 1996: 101.26 on the motif of the impure mouth elsewhere in Cicero’s invective. 97. Klodt (2003: 49–50) describes how Cicero's caricatures belong to the comic stage, with Gabinius as diva and Piso as the pater durus. 98. On the list of boys' names as “proof” of an insider's knowledge, see Nisbet 1961: 160. 99. Nisbet 1961: 138. 100. Gigante 1995: 1–13. Stylistic evidence may suggest that the villa was built a few years later than the time of Cicero's oration in 55 BCE (Wojcik 1986: 35), and it is even possible that the library was established generations later. 101. Porter 2007: 99–100. Porter cites also De Lacy 1993. 102. Non ut impurum, non ut improbum, non ut audacem, sed ut Graeculum, ut adsentatorem, ut poetam (Pis. 28). 103. Omnis hominis libidines, omnia stupra, omnia cenarum conviviorumque genera, adulteria (Pis. 29). 104. On the possibility that his friends called Philodemus “Socrates,” see Sider 1997: 37. 105. It seems that Pliny, who includes Cicero among those who write “severe” poetry (versiculi parum severi, Ep. 5.3.5), would concur. 106. Dugan 2005: 62. 107. Quare ex familiari tuo, Graeco illo poeta: probabit genus ipsum et agnoscet neque te nihil sapere mirabitur (Pis. 74). 108. See, for example, Gold 1993. Fowler (2002: 147) sums up the situation aptly: “As has often been observed, the vocabulary of Greek and Latin literary criticism, because moral and aesthetic evaluation is constantly linked, is permeated by sexual metaphor which contrasts the strong and ‘manly’ with the weak and ‘effeminate.’” For bibliography, see Wyke 1994 and Greene 2000 and 2006. 109. Although hirsutus is often used metaphorically as a term for shagginess or lack of elegance, its primary meaning (“hairy”) is latent in Propertius’ hirsuta corona. 110. The first two sentences of this translation are based on Potter 2006: 373 (modified). 111. Quis te illis diebus sobrium…quis denique in publico vidit? (Pis. 22). 112. This line may describe the movements of an animal, and the word translated “beds” may denote “lairs.” 113. Nisbet 1961: 164. 114. For essential reading on “Roman invective against the gait”, see Corbeill 2004: 111. 115. Verba tu fingas, et ea dicas quae non sentias? Aut etiam, ut vestitum, sic sententiam habeas aliam domesticam, aliam forensem, ut in fronte ostentatio sit, intus veritas occultetur? (Fin. 2.77).

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Conclusion: The Size of the Sun and the Gender of the Philosopher 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. (Epictetus)1 According to Epicurean theory, the sun is “as large as it looks,” or roughly a foot wide.2 This miscalculation attracted a great deal of ridicule in antiquity, but the second-century CE Stoic Cleomedes departed from the routine derision by attributing the error to a compromised masculinity. Having explained how astronomers have determined that the earth is spherical and that the sun is larger than the earth (which Cleomedes identifies as the center of the cosmos), Cleomedes writes of Epicurus, He is the same in his treatment of the first beginnings of all matter, his theory of the telos, and the whole of his ethics, as he is in astronomy, in the topic of sense perception, and in every investigation in general: far blinder than blind mole rats. And no wonder: the discovery of scientific truth is not possible for pleasure-loving people [], but only for men whose natural inclination is toward virtue [] and who value nothing before virtue. (Caelestia 58) Page 179 → Later in the same work, Cleomedes reiterates his contention that good science requires manliness, even a particularly Stoic construction of manliness (as embodied in the Stoic hero Heracles). Addressing Epicurus, whom Philosophy expels, and chasing him back to his carousing with “Leontion, Philainis, and the other hetaerae,” Cleomedes asks, “Don't you know that Philosophy beckons Heracles and Heraclean men [] and not, by Zeus, effeminates and Pleasure []?” (?68). At first hearing, Cleomedes' gendering of Epicurus may sound gratuitous. A newcomer to anti-Epicurean rhetoric might reasonably assume that Cleomedes is merely tapping into broader Greek and Roman discourses in which the imputation of any kind of effeminacy was a generic insult. In this reading, Cleomedes would be resorting to conventional name-calling simply to add color to his presentation of Epicureanism as shoddy science when he regaled his astronomy students. But the anti-Epicurean tradition—whether it uses Homeric allusion or censures the Epicureans for a failed masculinity—does not choose its metaphors at random. While an insult may seem arbitrary or superficial at first, further scrutiny reveals a more substantive critique and the significance of the pattern. I hope that my examinations of the Phaeacian tradition, the association of the Garden with women, the virtus/voluptas polarity, and the discourses about the appearance and metaphorical clothing of the Epicurean have demonstrated this clearly. Another example of anti-Epicurean discourse that focuses on gender occurs in Diogenes Laertius' lengthy catalog of unfair abuse hurled at Epicurus. According to Diogenes, the Stoic philosopher Epictetus (mid-first to second century CE) dubbed Epicurus a kinaidologos (, 10.7). Divorced from its irrecoverable context, the insult is at first not entirely transparent. The root of the term (kinaido-) appears in the preceding quotation of Cleomedes, where I translated it as “effeminate.” Technically, a kinaidologos is a poet or performer of sexual and scatological verses, accompanied by appropriate gestures (Strabo 14.1.41), so Epictetus seems to be equating Epicurus' teachings with an obscene and unmanly dance that Roman sources associate with the East. Or perhaps the Stoic's readers would have understood the insult as a sardonic re-coining of the term kinaidologos with another literal sense: “a professor of deviance” or a “cinaedus-expert” (cinaedus being a Latin version of kinaidos that is more detached from the sense of “dancer”). Both connotations may be operative at once. As Craig Williams (2010: 197) has written of the word cinaedus in Roman discourse, “In a transferred sense it denotes a man who is not a dancer Page 180 →but who displays the salient characteristics of a[n Asiatic] cinaedus-dancer; he is a gender-deviant, a ‘non-man' who has broken the rules of masculine comportment.” The only other use of the term kinaidologos as a term of abuse with no literal connections to poetry or dancing is ascribed to other Stoics who leveled the charge

against Arcesilaus, another philosopher who was associated with pleasure. According to these Stoic followers of Ariston of Chios, Arcesilaus was a “corrupter of youth and a kinaidologos” ( ), Diog. Laert. 4.40). In the same passage, Diogenes lists Arcesilaus' male and female lovers and refers to him as “another Aristippus,” Aristippus being the legendary founder of the hedonist Cyreniac school of philosophy. If we consider the single word kinaidologos in isolation, Epictetus' name-calling may sound like a conventional way to accuse Epicurus merely of being devoted to sexual pleasures. But when we turn to the extant texts of Epictetus, the point of his engagement with the traditional feminizing of the Epicureans becomes clear. In the Discourses, Epictetus compares Epicurus to Cybele's eunuch priests, the Galli, and uses castration as a metaphor for the Epicurean outlook. The context is Epictetus' critique of Epicurus' denial that there is a “natural community between people” ( ), where Epictetus argues that human concern for others exists among Epicureans despite Epicurus' teachings (Discourses 2.20.6). For Epictetus, the very fact that Epicurus wrote late into the night so that others might read his philosophy represents a contradiction. Epictetus writes, 3

[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—though he chopped off everything that has to do with Page 181 →being a man, everything to do with being the master of a household, with being a citizen, with being a friend—did not chop off human affections.] What does gendered discourse about the Epicureans have to do with Epicurean philosophy? Epictetus could not have put it more plainly. Having offered some caricatures of Epicurean thought, he adds, sarcastically, “Well done, philosopher! Go on, convince the youth, so we have many more who think and talk like you. By such doctrines as these, our well-governed states have flourished!” (Discourses 2.2.26). Then follow some historical examples of events that could not have happened if Epicurus had been in control: there would have been no Sparta, no Athens. No one would have sacrificed his life at Thermopylae, and no one would have had the courage to strategize as the Persians approached. As I demonstrated in chapter 4, the word voluptas (“pleasure”) alone was enough to feminize an Epicurean in Roman culture. But there was more to the critique than censure of Epicurean food and sex. Rather, for the harsh critics of the Garden, the Epicurean advocacy of the pleasant life belonged to a nexus of traits that diminished the Epicurean's masculinity. Allusions to Epicurean un-manliness often appear in frequent proximity to censure of Epicurean withdrawal from politics. In some sources, hostile discourse about Epicurean pleasure is intermingled with a critique of an Epicurean renunciation of political engagement. We meet the seamless whole in the Pro Sestio, when Cicero enlarges on the virtus/voluptas jingle I described in chapter 4. There Cicero paints a radical divide between people with Epicurean leanings and people worthy of admiration: “My entire oration is on the side of virtus, not indolence; on the side of dignity, not voluptas; on the side of those who believe they were born for their country, for their compatriots, for esteem, for glory; not for sleep, for feasts, and for gratification” (Sest. 66.138). The accusation of unmanliness is also the underlying theme of Plutarch's polemic in ‘Is Live Unknown a Wise Precept?” a screed that uses the image of the darkened Garden to trounce any Epicurean claim on virtue. Although it is best known from Plutarch's reply rather than from any Epicurean texts, the injunction to “Live unknown” is likely to have been an authentic Epicurean adage (though not necessarily traceable to Epicurus himself).4 But instead of taking “Live unknown” as the philosopher's renunciation of worldly glory, wealth, and power, Plutarch equates fame with light and equates the lack of concern for Page 182 →fame with a desire to practice vice in the darkness: “But how could the very idea not be evil: Live unknown as though you were a tomb-robber?” (De lat. 1128c). Although he ridicules Epicurus for having nonetheless sought fame while his words repudiated it, Plutarch depicts Epicurus' teachings as a call to live in disgraceful darkness, and he equates the removal of public recognition from life to the removal of light from a banquet—a darkening that encourages the secret pursuit of every pleasure (1129a-b). Here as elsewhere, ersatz conversation, intermingled with hostile quotation of apparent texts of Epicurus (now lost), is Plutarch's trademark. Thus Epicurus responds to Plutarch's assertions about the exhortation to “Live unknown,” (“Certainly, if I mean to live with the hetaera Hedeia and cohabitate with

Leontion and ‘spit' on the good and place the noble in ‘flesh and titillations,' these rites require darkness, these require night; for these things you need concealment and oblivion,” De lat. 1129b). At times, Plutarch brings the emasculating potential of the Garden more clearly to the fore, as in the macaronic “quotation” of Epicurus I discussed in chapter 2: “'Brave boxers we are not,' nor orators, nor leaders of the people, nor magistrates, ‘but always dear to us is the banquet' and ‘every pleasing stirring of the flesh that is sent up to give some pleasure and delight to the mind.'”5 In a similar vein, in ‘Is Live Unknown a Wise Precept?” Plutarch portrays Epicureanism as the enemy of great men: its teaching would have discouraged Epameinondas the general, Lycurgus the lawmaker, and Thrasybulus the tyrant slayer (1128f). Lack of action () causes mold to grow over a man's character ( , 1129d). For Plutarch, or at least for the “Plutarch” persona of this essay, the Epicurean life of withdrawal is comparable to shaded pools of water. In another cultural context, such an image might connote a serene garden and the contemplative life, but the shady pools are here sites of putrefaction and decay: (1129d) Page 183 → [Mute quietude and a sedentary life buried away in leisure weaken not only the body but also the spirit. And just as unknown pools of water, being shaded and stagnant, putrefy when they are stopped up, so it is, it seems, with unknown, inactive lives. If they have anything good, being stopped up and not drunk from, their innate strengths decay and grow old.] Another indication that Plutarch's Garden is insalubriously dark appears in his description of intellectual and spiritual joys: such joys provide a bright light that shines on everyone except the cloistered Epicureans (Non posse 1098c). Indeed, for Plutarch, life itself is light, while the Epicurean death is darkness (De lat. 1130a). On the Fact That Epicurus Actually Makes a Pleasant Life Impossible ends with censure of the Epicurean belief that life ends with death, followed by a lyrical description of the immortal soul that “blazes with the sun and the moon into sentient fire” (Non posse 1107b). Thus, in On the Fact That Epicurus Actually Makes a Pleasant Life Impossible, as a recent critic puts it, “we rise from swine to eschatological light.”6 The best manipulators of anti-Epicurean discourses occasionally express a self-conscious awareness that they are making use of distorted stereotypes. In anti-Epicurean screeds as well as in the less scathing critiques, a frequent ploy is to impugn an Epicurean's character or unleash a flood of abuse while simultaneously implying that the attack is based on a cliché the writer is above accepting. The nod to fairness is then undermined by an obligatory acknowledgment that the bad reputation is understandable or even well deserved. Thus Cicero, in the midst of his excoriation of L. Calpurnius Piso, exploits the former consul's allegedly shady Epicurean connections and sarcastically calls him “our Epicurus” but then corrects himself by adding the qualification “from the pigsty, not the school.” Plutarch's Theon indulges in a similar tactic when he follows his extended catalog of Epicurean vices with a concession to historical accuracy: . (Non posse 1100c-d) Page 184 → [If renown is pleasant, disgrace is painful; and nothing is more disgraceful than lack of friends, idleness, irreligion, hedonism, or being regarded with contempt. All people except the Epicureans themselves consider these attributes to belong to their sect. “Unfairly,” someone might say. But we are considering reputation, not truth.] The reader is left with the image of the reputation. It is essential to recognize here that Plutarch's anticipation of an objection is a traditional oratorical device. Both Cicero and Plutarch are putting to good use the rhetorical figure of ante occupatio or procatalepsis, by which a speaker identifies and responds to a counterpoint before the opponent has the chance to make it. The concession that the stereotype may be overdrawn establishes Plutarch's credibility and thus results in a stronger case. Seneca makes a similar move in the passage quoted as the epigraph

to the introduction of this book: “I shall not say what most of our own [Stoics] say, that the sect of Epicurus is the instructress of indecencies. But I do say this: it has a bad reputation; it is notorious. ‘But that is unfair,' someone might protest. But how would an outsider know? Its very facade provides opportunity for gossip and inspires wicked expectation. It is like a man in a dress…” (De vita beata 13). In my view, such acknowledgments should not be taken as a straightforward defense of the Garden. Some of the most virulent anti-Epicurean discourse may ostensibly be disowned by its purveyors, but it is purveyed nonetheless.7 Having conceded that the defamation of the Epicureans may be unjust, Theon resumes his assessment with another inventory, which he prefaces with the familiar rhetorical figure of speech known as paralipsis (), or praeteritio, by which one raises an issue—usually a negative one—while pretending not to: . (Non Posse 1086d) Page 185 → [Let us not mention the books or the brutal decrees of cities that have been written against them (that would be quarrelsome of us). But if oracles, and divination, and the gods' providence, and the love and affection of parent for child, and citizenship, and leadership, and holding office are honorable and estimable, it follows that those who say that it is “not necessary to save the Greeks, but to eat and drink harmlessly and gratifyingly to the belly” will be infamous and will be regarded as bad people; and being so regarded, it follows that they will be tormented and will live a disagreeable life, if they actually do consider the good and good reputation to be pleasant.] To return to Cleomedes' harnessing of anti-Epicurean discourse, although most of his text is a patient exposition of Stoic astronomy, Cleomedes also heaps ridicule on Epicurus' use of Greek. I will not argue for an unbroken trajectory in which a joke about Epicurean speech in New Comedy grows—several centuries later—into obscene censure in Cleomedes. Yet it is clear that outsider scrutiny of peculiar ways of speaking had gained momentum before Cleomedes savaged Epicurean language. Cleomedes did not simply take up where Damoxenus' “Epicurean” cook left off. Cicero and Plutarch complain that Epicurus' language is unclear and idiosyncratic, but they seldom protest directly against Epicurean neologisms or circumlocutions. To skewer Epicurean language, Plutarch follows the method of Damoxenus: he simply quotes it. To outsiders, there was something obviously funny about a “consolidation” of pleasures (Damoxenus) and about circumlocutions like “every pleasing stirring of the flesh” (, Plutarch, Non posse 1087b). Aelius Theon, a first-century CE teacher of grammar and rhetoric, identified the problem as an unseemly use of lyrical meters that resembled the florid style of “the so-called Asiatic orators.” In his advice to other teachers on how to teach composition, he writes, One should show concern for the arrangement of the words, teaching all the ways students will avoid composing badly, especially [how to avoid] metrical Page 186 →and rhythmical style, like most of the writings of the orator Hegesias and the other so-called Asian orators, and some of the writings of Epicurus—the sort of thing he writes somewhere [] to Idomeneus: “Oh, you who have since youth thought all my impressions sweet” []—and those that circulate as supposedly his (though to this day I do not find them anywhere in his collected works): “Tell me, Polyaeus, how may I rejoice, how may I be delighted, how may there be great joy for me?” [, ;].8 Some circumlocutions and exuberant language attributed to Epicurus may be parodies, as Theon apparently suspects. He is not sure where he read the line to Idomeneus, and he has never found a source for the letter to Polyaeus. But even an Epicurean-friendly reader (who understands that Epicurus wants a precise description of the nature of the divine) will see why Epicurus' writing “the blessed and immortal” instead of “god” could be construed as a comically odd use of language. The text of the examples quoted by Theon is apparently corrupt, so no particular lyric meter can be identified, but the extravagance of the language attributed to Epicurus is clear.9 What Theon does not mention, however, is that the “so-called Asian orators” were labeled “effeminate” by writers

who strove for a style, often identified as “Attic,” that was leaner and reputedly purer (linguistically speaking). Like Theon, Dionysius of Halicarnassus singles out Hegesias' style as particularly offensive. But Dionysius makes plain that Hegesias crosses a gender line. Contrasting Homer's description of Achilles' mistreatment of Hector's body (Iliad 22.395-411) with Hegesias' undignified description of a horrific incident in Alexander's massacre of the inhabitants of Gaza, Dionysius asserts that Homer approaches his subject as sensible and intelligent men would, whereas Hegesias tells it “the way it would be told by women and effeminates [“broken people”]—and even they would be talking that way in jest” ( , On Literary Composition 18). Page 187 → Cicero himself aspired to an Attic style that surpassed what he regarded as the pseudo-Atticism of his oratorical rivals, including his frequent adversary Calvus. Nevertheless, Cicero's opponents sometimes branded him as an “Asianist” (a label that no orator claimed for himself, apparently). Cicero defended his own style as more virile, healthy, and robust than that of Calvus, but his great admirer Quintilian reports that even his own contemporaries dared to attack him for being, among other things, bombastic, Asiatic, sensuous, extravagant “and (an outrageous accusation!) almost effeminate [soft]” (ac paene, quod procul absit, viro molliorem, Quintilian 12.10.12).10 If the orator Sisenna was an Epicurean, as some have supposed, a hint of Epicurean involvement in the Asianist/Atticist discourse may survive in Cicero's labeling of Sisenna as Asianist.11 Philodemus, however, writes against Asianism (Rhetoric 4.1). The earlier commentaries on Epicurean language ill prepare us for Cleomedes' attack, in which Epicurus is uglier than the paradigmatically ugly Thersites: [That is why I would believe it to be quite wrong for someone to say to him: “Babbling Thersites, clear orator though you are, hold off!” For I would not also call this Thersites “clear,” as Odysseus does the Homeric one, when on top of everything else his mode of expression is also elaborately corrupt. He speaks of Page 188 →“tranquil conditions of flesh” and “the confident expectations regarding it” and describes a tear as a “glistening of the eyes,” and speaks of “sacred ululations” and “titillations of the body” and “debaucheries” and other such dreadful horrors. Some of these expressions might be said to have brothels as their source, others to resemble the language of women celebrating the rites of Demeter at the Thesmorphoria, still others to come from the synagogue and its suppliants—debased Jew talk, far lower than the reptiles!]12 Thus Cleomedes integrates some familiar, gendered ways of talking about Epicurus with a hostile commentary on his use of language. This integration is similar to Cleomedes' attribution of the Epicureans' allegedly poor grasp of science to their lack of manliness. I have presented many stereotyptes of Epicureans, from the Epicurean cook in Damoxenus' comedy to the Epicurean as the castrated priest of Cybele. Can a real Epicurean be discovered among these texts? The spoof of Epicurean language in Damoxenus' The Foster Brothers clearly reflects Epicurean usage, and his reference to Epicurean communal dinners is also amply confirmed by Diogenes Laertius and many other sources. But what about Epicurean discourse that passes judgment on the gender and sex of Epicureans? When I examined the sometimes clear, sometimes miragelike vision of women in the Garden (in chapter 3), I chose not to read ancient references to Epicurean hetaerae as unequivocal proof that many women studied philosophy in the Garden. I could go further and interpret the story of Leontion as a metaphorical use of woman as a sign for the Epicurean male character. Seneca explains why a man in a dress is a misleading emblem for the Garden, and perhaps he would have understood Leontion herself as an equally appalling and equally misrepresentative image. In my reading, Themista, Leontion, and the others often serve as metaphors for the unmanly male philosopher, but historical reality mingles with the stereotypes. My sense is that the outside world seized on the stories of Epicurean women largely because it suspected that there was something fundamentally womanish—and therefore unmanly—about the Garden itself. This would explain why the scattered references to

other philosophizing Page 189 →women in antiquity do not appear in contexts where the schools to which they adhered appear in a negative light.13 Male Epicureans were notorious for withdrawing to the Garden in the company of women, and for their supposed subversion of conventional notions of what it means to be a Greek (or a Roman) and a man. Lucretius certainly condemns political ambition: for him, the true Sisyphus is a grasping politician who has created his own hell on earth (DRN 3.995-97). The theme surfaces twice elsewhere in the De rerum natura. Avarice and “blind craving for office” are lifetime wounds (vulnera vitae, DRN 3.63) that result from the fear of death.14 Following Epicurus, Lucretius writes that political power causes pain and brings no security (DRN 5.1120-35; Epicurus, Kyriae Doxai 7). A result of the nature of most of the ancient sources (which take notice of Epicureans who were visible in public spheres) is that they tell us more about the actions of Epicureans who engaged in politics and government than they do about Epicureans who abstained. Putting the scarcity of information on the ways early Epicureans conducted their lives in the worst possible light, Cicero claims that it is impossible to remember any man who lived for pleasure: such men simply sink into oblivion (Fin. 2.63, 67). But in Cicero's own era, quietism was not the only way an Epicurean might respond to social and political upheaval or disaster. In a renowned article of 1941, Momigliano connected Epicurean values with Cassius' decision to join the conspiracy to assassinate Julius Caesar (and thus free Rome from tyranny); but in 53 BCE, Cicero had portrayed Caesar's camp as “a hotbed of Epicureanism.”15 It would be enlightening to have more information about Atticus, whose case is unclear.16 Cornelius Nepos' Life of Atticus would be attractive as a testimony to the specifically Epicurean demeanor and way of life of Cicero's apparently irenic friend, but it is hard to see if Nepos meant to imply a connection, as he never mentions Epicureanism in his Life of Atticus. Cicero connects Atticus' quietism with an Epicurean outlook but refrains from commenting on any lack of virtus he might discern in his friend. Page 190 → Ironically, one of the best candidates for an Epicurean who integrated his commitment to serious Epicurean values with his political actions and comportment is the man Cicero portrays as a gross example of the Epicurean who comes “from the pigsty, not the school.” According to Cicero's report, Piso spurned the idea that he should have a triumph, perhaps the quintessential display of manly success (negavit se triumphi cupidum umquam fuisse, Pis. 56).17 Cicero's explanation is that had Piso made a request, the senate would not have granted a triumph to so greedy and detested a governor. But a trace of an ethical position taken by Piso may be present in Cicero's claim that Piso had labeled men who desired triumphs as “amateurs,” or idiotae, a word that may have the sense of “philosophically ignorant” (Pis. 60).18 As Cicero says, with derision, “You have heard, Conscript Fathers, the voice of a philosopher” (at audistis, patres conscriptis, philosophi vocem, Pis. 56). Although Cicero treats them as specious excuses, Cicero himself hypothesizes (mockingly) that Piso would give philosophical reasons for not wanting a triumph. The conjectured “philosophical” positions that Cicero sketches are not as fallacious as Cicero means them to be, and as Miriam Griffin has written, “it is not implausible that Piso himself would have said that he placed a higher value on quies than gloria (Lucr. II.37ff.) or political power (Lucr. V.1127).”19 In fact, Griffin finds traces of Epicurean ethics—such as a belief in clemency, commitment to friends, and avoidance of strife—throughout the portraits of Piso offered by both Cicero and the historian Cassius Dio.20 We might also take Piso's revulsion at the execution of the Cataline conspirators as a sign of his Epicurean outlook. Cicero, in fact, stresses that Piso objected to the execution on moral grounds: Piso had said “that he has always been inclined toward mercy” (se semper misericordem fuisse, Red. sen. 17). In contrast, Cicero presents Gabinius' opinion as a constitutional point: Gabinius was “displeased” by “the punishment of untried citizens” (Red. sen. 13). Perhaps Piso took an Epicurean approach to political action that was shaped in part by Philodemus, who dedicated to Piso his essay On the Good Page 191 →King according to Homer. If the essay dates to Piso's youth as Elizabeth Asmis has suggested, Philodemus may have expected it to be formative.21 According to the interpretation of Philodemus, Homer presented the Phaeacian king Alcinous as an ideal ruler: just, wise, and desirous of peace. The king's mildness is an attribute that Diogenes Laertius saw in Epicurus, whom he praised for his (“gentleness”).22 At some point in the history of biographical reports on Epicurus, some people seem to have

considered the gentleness of Epicurus to belong not to historical reality but to a habit of idealization. As we read in Sententiae Vaticinae 36, ‘O; (“The life of Epicurus, when compared to the lives of others, might—because of its gentleness and self-sufficiency—be thought to be a fiction”). It is difficult to ascertain whether Epicurean self-fashioning encompassed a deliberate renunciation of conduct or values that both Epicureans and others saw as manly. Cicero and Plutarch presented Epicurean quietism as a womanish trait. Less obliquely, Epictetus described it as metaphorical castration. Would an Epicurean man respond in the way Philodemus did to the Phaeacian/Epicurean tradition, turning the insult into a validation of the way he chose to differ from other points of view? Cassius' reclaiming of virtus for the Epicureans (or at least for himself and Pansa) suggests that his view was that a good Epicurean man was also a good Roman man according to the dominant construction of masculinity, but perhaps he meant to stretch the concept of manliness.23 As a reader who is well disposed toward the Garden, I would like to find firm evidence for an unequivocal Epicurean response to anti-Epicurean discourse that acknowledges that Epicureanism questioned the value of the more dominant constructions of masculinity. Instead, I find evidence of a response that leaves its intentions unclear. As Philodemus' references to women in On Frank Speech reveal, Epicurean teachers (whom the text seems to present as male) were expected to learn how to deal adroitly with female students. But if Leontion, Themista, and Batis (or even Nikidion, Hedeia, and the others) played important roles in the early Garden, they may have been excised from its Page 192 →histories by Philodemus (whose specialty as a researcher seems to have been in Epicurean biography and historiography).24 Perhaps the women's contributions had been occluded over time, well before Philodemus began his studies. But there is one indication that Philodemus or his teachers dealt the final blow or were at least uneasy with the presence of women in the early Garden.25 Philodemus frequently appeals to Epicurean authority, but for him, the canonical texts include not just those of Epicurus himself but those of a group he calls (“the men”): Epicurus, Metrodorus, Hermarchus, and Polyaenus.26 These three companions to Epicurus are well known from the pages of Cicero, Diogenes Laertius, Plutarch, and others, but it was only the discovery of the papyri of Philodemus that revealed a habit of referring to four founding fathers as “the men.” It is possible that the convention began earlier, but my suspicion is that Philodemus' references to the founders as “the men” and his choice of a canonical four are a case of an invention of tradition. To me, it seems likely that Philodemus elevated Polyaenus' status, moving him up the ranks to join the well-established Metrodorus and Hermarchus.27 Polyaenus and his son are mentioned, along with Hermarchus and Metrodorus and his children, in Diogenes Laertius' will of Epicurus, which stipulates that the Epicureans should continue Epicurus' tradition of celebrating a day for his brothers in the month of Poseideon and a day for Polyaenus in Metageitnion. But Polyaenus receives little attention elsewhere in Diogenes Laertius' Life of Epicurus. Nor is there evidence that a seat was reserved for Polyaenus among the statues of Epicurus, Hermarchus, and Metrodorus. Most telling, in my judgment, is Diogenes Laertius' treatment of Polyaenus in his survey of early Epicureans and their writings. There we have several lines about Metrodorus' life and character (the Page 193 →goodness of which is supported by three citations of works by Epicurus), followed by a list of twelve works of Metrodorus. We also have a few sentences about Hermarchus, along with a list of four works. Between Metrodorus and Hermarchus, Diogenes inserts the single sentence “And then there was Polyaenus, son of Athenodorus of Lampsacus, a just and kindly man, as the circle of Philodemus says” , Diog. Laert. 10.24). The brevity of this notice in particular and the specific reference to Philodemus lead me to suspect that the canonization of four founders as “the men” is Philodemus' own contribution or perhaps that of his teacher. Even if Polyaenus was indeed considered early on to be one of four original teachers, Philodemus' reference to “the men” (rather than, say, “the four” or “the leaders”) seems pointed.28 While outsiders were carping about women in the Garden or pitting voluptas against virtus, this new tradition of , or “the founding fathers,” asserted its manliness. Now that references to “the men” have appeared in the Herculaneum papyri, they stand out in Plutarch's treatments of Epicureanism.29 The interlocutors in On the Fact That Epicurus Actually Makes a Pleasant Life Impossible refer archly to “the point made at the start of the discussion against the men” (, 1087a). They add, “Let us avenge the philosophers by punishing the men” (, 1087b); “You seem to hop on the mens'belly” (, 1087b); “You are depriving the men of life itself if you are not going to leave them a pleasant life” (, 1087b); “Don't you think that the men do well to begin with the body?” (, 1088d). Later, Plutarch exclaims, “Oh, the great pleasure and blessedness of the men, which they enjoy while rejoicing in suffering no hardship, suffering, or pain” (,

1091b). The Loeb translators Einarson and DeLacy recognized the usage as distinctive and captured Plutarch's sardonic tone by translating as “these gentlemen.”30Page 194 → It is difficult to parse Plutarch precisely. He is clearly making fun of Epicurean language. I suspect that the lack of manliness on the part of these “men” is part of the joke. There are many ways to invent the Epicurean: the gourmand, the glutton, the sensualist, the criminal, the invalid, the thinking hetaera, the contagious sufferer of horrific maladies, or the man with the comically idiosyncratic or offensively effeminate vocabulary. From a more affirmative point of view, there is the philosopher with “unsurpassed goodwill toward all people,” whose friends “outnumbered the populations of whole cities” (Diog. Laert. 10.9). Epicurean texts demonstrate a persistent concern with correcting the common misrepresentations, with affirming some aspects, and with projecting an idealized image. The tradition of imitating and updating Epicurus' catalog of non-Epicurean pleasures in the Letter to Menoeceus bears this out, as does Lucretius' rejection of the stereotype that turned Epicurus into a Phaeacian. Similarly, Lucretius' and Philodemus' criticisms of the rites in honor of the Asiatic Cybele suggest a tacit refutation of a cliché that associated the Epicureans with eunuchs and foreigners. Cassius' rejection of the word voluptas and his reclaiming for the Garden of the word virtus belong to this effort as well. I would also place here Philodemus' references to “the men.” Among the many ways to assign a gender to the Epicureans, there is the evidence of an original, first-generation, self-fashioning as we find it in the fatherly, bearded, and austere portraits of Epicurus, Hermarchus, and Metrodorus. Even if the presentation of Epicurus as patriarch is not as carefully calculated as some scholars suggest, the sculptures surely project the conventional values of the ideal Athenian male citizen. But if the Epicureans portrayed a woman Epicurean leader in the same pose, they included both sexes in their understanding of what an Epicurean philosopher should be. Although the theory that there was once a portrait sculpture of Leontion or Themista that reiterated the iconography of the founding fathers must remain a mere suggestion, the evidence of the philosophical activity of these two women is strong (though I cannot argue the same for Hedeia, Nikidion, Erotion, or Mammarion). While the Epicureans included women in their philosophical fellowship, outsiders were determined to read the sex of those associates as a mere sign of an Epicurean pursuit of bodily pleasures. Roman feminizing of the Epicurean male presented radically black-and-white paradigms, as in the recurrent figure that Page 195 →constructed pleasure as the opposite of manliness. There was also a more laborious way to construct an Epicurean ogre, as when Cicero turns Piso inside out, revealing the Gabinius that lurks within. But I would like to close with another stereotype of the Epicurean. While this one has comic aspects that scarcely suit the Epicurean ideal of tranquility, I find it strikingly affirmative nonetheless.31 This is the zealous Epicurean as constructed by Lucian in his minor masterpiece Alexander the False Prophet. This text is especially significant to a history of Epicurean discourse because its explicit goal is to combat the prevailing stereotypes: its purpose is to please an Epicurean friend and, as the friend “will find even more pleasing [],” to “avenge Epicurus, a man truly saintly and prophetic in his nature, who alone truly discerned what the good things are, and handed them down, and who was the liberator of his friends” (Alex, 61). Lucian's account of Alexander is a satire of religious charlatanry that exposes the egregious case of Alexander of Abonuteichos, a historical figure and contemporary of Lucian who had engineered the discovery of a snake god that was meant to be the reincarnation of Asclepius. Revealing himself as the prophet of this new god, Alexander set up a lucrative business selling oracular responses that were sometimes offered directly from the snake's mouth. Lucian presents Alexander as his personal enemy and styles himself as the Epicurean who is determined to expose the fraud. Lucian describes the hoax in detail: Alexander dressed as a god, a large snake draped around him, a linen head made to look as though it belonged to the snake, a darkened room, visitors escorted out before they can get a good look. Ignorant adherents, thinking they were seeing a real snake opening and closing its mouth, were entirely convinced, . (Alex. 17) Page 196 →

[so that the scam needed a Democritus, or even Epicurus himself, or Metrodorus, or someone else with a mind steeled against such things, so as not to fall for it, and who would guess the truth, and—if he could not discover how it worked—would be convinced that, though he had not figured out how the trick was engineered, the whole thing was a lie and could not possibly happen.] Lucian goes on to explain Alexander's various tricks: the carefully planted rumors; the crane's windpipes that were used as pipes to deliver the oracles through the mask; the assistants who were in on the hoax; Alexander's flattery of other, better established oracles. Marshaling the skills of Epicurean method (as though he were imitating Lucretius' alternate explanations of lightning), Lucian details several different furtive methods that Alexander might use to unseal and reseal the secret inquiries brought to the oracle, adding that he could continue his list of possible explanations were he so inclined. Alexander's responses to Lucian's efforts to expose him include a public burning of the Principal Doctrines, a book that engenders “peace, tranquility, and freedom” in its readers. As an exaggerated Epicurean manifesto, the Alexander is a tour de force. In it, Lucian harmonizes his voice with Lucretius' claim that Epicurus was a god, with Diogenes of Oenoanda's confidence in the salvific power of Epicurean teachings, and with Diogenes Laertius' sweeping acclamations and blanket dismissal of the enemies of Epicurus: “these people are out of their minds.”32 Misperceptions about the divine are clear and present, as the burgeoning second-century industry in oracles makes clear, and Alexander was a particularly ruthless practitioner.33 At the risk of sounding too trusting in the efficacies of Epicurean wisdom and in the virtus of the Epicurean, I give Lucian the last word. Lucian ends the Alexander with praise for its Epicurean recipient, a friend he reveres for his “wisdom, love of the truth, gentle manner, fairness, peaceful life, and kindness.”34 Outsiders rarely conceded that these were the traits of the Epicurean, but for many admirers of the Garden, these traits—sufficiently manly or not—were the most Epicurean of virtues. 1. …(Discourses 2.20.20). The full sentence from which I have taken this quotation is quoted later in this conclusion. 2. Letter to Pythocles 91; DRN 5.564–73. For a contextualization of the Epicurean theory, see Algra 2000. 3. Epictetus, Discourses 2.20.20. Epictetus' verb for “chop off” is used elsewhere in reference to eunuchs and self-castration (Philo 1.89, LXX De.23.1; Lucian, Eunuch 8; Epistle to the Galacians 5.12). Epictetus' version of Stoicism was heavily indebted to the early Greek Stoic Chrysippus, and he may have taken inspiration from a comparison of Epicureans with eunuchs made by Chrysippus. But if so, the source is lost. 4. See Roskam 2007a and 2007b. 5. 6. Brenk 2000: 48. 7. This is one of the few points on which I disagree with the perceptive readings of Cicero's In Pisonem by Miriam Griffin (1989 and 2001), who writes that Cicero “shows Epicureanism in a good light” (2001: 96). Maslowski (1974) interprets In Pisonem as very favorably inclined toward the Garden. 8. Translation based on Kennedy 2003: 13–14. Kennedy translates a text of the Progymnasmata that has been reconstructed from an Armenian version and that improves on the Greek but may stillbe corrupt. See Kennedy 2003: 14 n. 60. 9. Kennedy 2003: 14 n. 60. Theon may mean simply that Epicurus was sometimes too melodic, rather than that his letters were metrical. That Asiatic oratory was generally melodious is implied by Cicero (Brutus 325). 10. Other emasculating adjectives used of Cicero were enervis, fractus, and elumbis (Tacitus, Dial. or. 18.4-5). 11. Rawson 1979: 384. 12. Translation by Bowen and Todd (2004: 125), quoted by permission. Cleomedes quotes Iliad 2.246–47. On Cleomedes' horrific anti-Semitism, see Johnson 2004 and Gruen 1998. 13. On attitudes toward women philosophers in other schools, see Le Doeff 1989: 102. 14. “[B]lind craving for office” is Bailey's translation of honorum caeca cupido (Bailey 1947: 305). 15. Cicero Fam. 15.16, characterized thus by Griffin (1989: 31). On the political activities of Epicureans in

the late republic, see also Asmis 2002 and Benferhat 2005. 16. For a pessimistic view of Atticus' Epicureanism, see Perlwitz 1992: 90–97, where Atticus is portrayed as immoderately committed to moneymaking. 17. The display of manly courage and achievement was a constitutive aspect of the Roman triumph, but its pageantry could border dangerously on the luxurious. See Beard 2007, but note that Beard argues also that the scholarly consensus that the trappings of the triumph included a phallus hung below the triumphal chariot (based on Pliny, HN 28.39) is incorrect. 18. Griffin 2001: 91. 19. Griffin 1989: 36. 20. Griffin 2001: 88–91. 21. Asmis (1991: 24) points out that the recommendation to be “like Telemachus” would fit well with a date during Pisos youth. 22. Diog. Laert. 10.10. 23. I examine Cassius' defense of Epicureanism in chapter 4. On Cassius' allegiance to Epicurus, see Cicero, Ad fam. 15.19, as well as commentary by Momigliano (1941), FitzGibbon (2008), and Sedley (1997). 24. Citing several sources in addition to the reference to a work of Philodemus by Diogenes Laertius (10.3), Sedley (1989: 105) proposes that Philodemus' original scholarship had this focus. 25. But for the possibility that Philodemus' love poetry affirms that women can be Epicurean philosophers, see Sider 1987: 311–23, especially 319. 26. In an article that also lists fragments where Philodemus refers to “the leaders” or “the teachers,” Longo Auricchio (1978) catalogs seventeen papyrus fragments in which Epicurean authorities are referred to as “the men.” See also Sedley 1989: 105–6 and Sedley's references to “the Great Men” (1989: 106) and “the infallible four” (1998: 67). 27. Seneca may be alluding to this tradition when he writes that Polyaenus, Hermarchus, and Metrodorus became magnos viros through their association with Epicurus (Epistles 6.6). 28. For Lucretius, of course, there was only one discoverer of the truth, Epicurus himself. For the tradition that there were four founders, Longo Aurrichio also cites Alciphron's naming of all four philosophers in the letter from “Leontion to Lamia” (17.9) and cites Virgil's Ciris (14–15): si me iam summa Sapientia pangeret arce / quattuor antiquis heredibus edita consors. 29. Seneca also seems to mimic Epicurean usage when he repeatedly refers to them as boni viri. 30. Einarson and DeLacy 1967: 19. 31. The Epicurean tone is disrupted, for example, when our earnest Epicurean bites his opponent. My subsequent reading of Lucian's Alexander owes much to Jones 1986 and Branham 1989. 32. DRN 5.8; Diogenes of Oenoanda, fr. 1 Smith; Diog. Laert. 10.9. 33. Elm von der Osten (2006) contextualizes the piece by connecting it with a widespread second-century critique of oracles. 34.

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Index Locorum Aelian Fragments quoted in the Suda 39 Hercher: 108n85, 139n1 87.17–21 Hercher: 156 89.1–2 Hercher: 155 Aeschines In Timarchum 1.131: 73 Alciphron Letters of Courtesans 4.17.2: 81 4.17.3: 80–81, 81n30, 85 Letters of Parasites 2.4: 28n28 3.19.8: 28 4.18: 28n28 19.3: 159 Aretaeus On the Causes and Symptoms of Acute and Chronic Diseases 4.5: 152 Aristophanes Lysistrata 232: 106n80 Aristotle Ethica Nicomachea 1149a: 22n16 Política

1338a 27: 49n23 1338a 27–30: 45 Athenaeus 1.4e: 36n48 1.16d: 49n21 1.16e: 48 3.101f: 36, 46 3.102a–b = Damoxenus fr. 2.1–16 Kock: 25 3.102f: 24 3.103b = Damoxenus, fr. 2.62–64 Kock: 27 3.104b: 36, 41, 46 5.177b: 45 5.179d–e; Semonides, fr. 7.56 West: 91 5.182a: 46 5.187b: 45 7.278f: 20–21 7.279a–b: 21 7.279c–d: 22 7.279d: 23 7.279f Supplementum Hellenisticum 781: 18 7.280a: 16n5 7.281e: 19 7.290a–b: 23 7.291e–f: 23–24 7.298d: 30 7.298d–e: 32, 72, 90 8.336e–f = Alexis, fr. 25: 33–34 Page 214 → 12.513a–e: 41, 45

12.513e: 39n4 12.531a–b: 38n 13.567b: 103 13.588b: 18n10, 84, 89 13.593b–d: 102 13.601c–d: 19 Aulus Gellius Noctes Atticae 6.12.2: 73n5 9.9: 60, 62n55 Aurelius, Marcus Meditations 4.3.2: 155 Catullus 13: 54 Cicero Epistulae ad Atticum 11.17.1: 137–38 Epistulae ad familiares 15.16: 189n15 15.17.3: 130 15.19: 191n23 15.19.1: 130 15.19.2: 130 15.19.3: 131–32 16.3: 129 De republica 1.1: 58 De finibus 2.8: 127

2.12: 123, 125, 126, 127 2.14: 128 2.23: 125, 127 2.24: 127 2.28: 2, 126, 149 2.67–68: 75 2.77: 166, 177 2.81: 166 In Pisonem 1: 165, 167, 168, 169 13: 175–76 14: 170 18: 169 20: 170 22: 169 37: 163 42: 164 56: 190 59: 163 60: 190 66: 163 68: 171 68–72: 174 69: 149, 164 70: 171 72: 174 73: 174 74: 174n107 79: 172

83: 176 89: 170 De Natura Deorum 1.93: 76, 88 Post Reditum in Senatu 10: 168 11: 169 13: 169, 171, 190 14: 163, 164, 167, 168 17: 169, 190 Pro Sestio 17: 169 18: 169, 170 19: 166–68, 170 22: 167 23: 125, 163, 164 66: 181 Tusculanae Disputationes 2.15: 111 2.22.53: 116 2.43: 115 2.44: 115 2.45: 111n7 3.50: 113 5.118: 70–71 Page 215 → Clement of Alexandria Stromata 1.1.1: 78n23

4.19: 106 4.19.121: 78 Cleomedes Caelestia 58: 178 165–66: 187–88 168: 179 Dio Chrysostom Orationes 12.36: 129n46 Diogenes Laertius 2.10: 30, 80 3.22: 80 4.40: 180 7.187: 35 10.3: 12, 17, 18, 83, 99, 192 10.5: 79n27, 83, 84, 88 10.6–7: 15 10.7: 179 10.9: 1, 15, 19 10.11: 70, 84, 97, 151 10.17: 35n47 10.25: 79 10.28: 79 10.119: 70, 97 10.127: 82 10.138: 15 Diogenes of Oenoanda fr. 1 Smith: 196n32

fr. 2, col. III Smith: 7 fr. 3. cols. IV-VI Smith: 4n9 fr. 10, col. 4 Smith: 49n23 fr. 29, cols. II-III Smith: 7n19 fr. 122 Smith: 107n84 fr. 126, cols. 1–3 Smith: 86 New Fragment 136 Smith: 8n20 New Fragment 146 Smith: 8n21 Dionysius of Halicarnasus On Literary Composition 18: 186 Epictetus Dissertationes 2.20.6: 180–81 2.20.20: 178, 180–81 Epicurus Epistola ad Herodotum 77: 28 78: 64 Epistola ad Menoeceum 122: 3n7, 70 126–27: 70 127: 3n7 131: 6, 8, 27, 32, 43, 47, 90, 127, 134 132: 6, 8, 27, 31, 32, 42, 47, 57n45, 60, 116, 120, 127, 134 135: 5, 59 Gnomologium Vaticanum 17.2–3: 58 27: 5n12, 64

36: 191 41: 5 47: 70 52: 59 56–57: 59 78: 5, 59 79: 28n27 81: 3n7 Letter to Pythoclem 89: 29 92: 28 101: 28 105: 28 110: 29 Ratae Sententiae 3: 125n40 5: 31 7: 189 8: 6n16 9: 26–27 12: 62 Page 216 → 19: 70 27: 59 Galen De semine 1.16.32: 152 De usu partium 4.187.18: 152n51

Heraclitus Homeric Problems 79.2: 41 79.4: 41 79.10: 41 Homer Iliad 2.246–47: 188n12 22.395–411: 186 Odyssey 5.305–6: 61 5.388–89: 58 6.3–6: 67n71 6.102–9: 61 6.149–52: 61 6.200–207: 47–48 6.274: 63 6.321–22: 51 7.14–77: 61 7.32–33: 63 7.32–37: 63 7.81–99: 52 7.100–102: 62 7.311–24: 62 8.246–49: 44 8.249: 40 9.5–11: 38n3 9.6: 49 9.28: 41n10

Horace Epistulae 1.1.4: 55 1.2.29: 56, 62 1.4.15–16: 56 1.15.24: 56 Lactantius Divinae Institutiones 3.25:15: 98 Lucian Alexander 17: 195–96 61: 195, 196n34 Parasite 10: 42 10–11: 50n26 11: 42 Lucretius 1.54–61: 63n61 1.70: 118 1.140–42: 117 1.629: 26 1.170: 118 1.908–14: 117n24 1.924: 65n66 1.935: 4n9 1.940: 65n66 2.1: 110n4 2.1–4: 58

2.3: 110n4 2.4: 110n4 2.5: 110n4 2.7: 110n4 2.19: 61 2.20: 6–7 2.20–33: 51 2.23–28: 62 2.24–28: 52 2.27–29: 52 2.28: 66n70 2.31: 56, 62 2.29–33: 52n30 2.34–36: 52n27 2.37ff.: 190 2.62–66: 64n63 2.598: 161n70 Page 217 → 2.614–23: 161 2.967–68: 110 2.1117: 26 3.9–10: 148 3.27–29: 5 3.31–40: 64n63 3.63: 189 3.128–29: 67 3.214–15: 67 3.251–55: 110 3.400–401: 67

3.455–56: 67 3.931–77: 70 3.934: 70n77 3.937: 70n77 3.938: 70 3.995–97: 189 4.11–25: 65 4.1030–1287: 43 4.1049: 66 4.1061–62: 66 4.1070: 66 4.1120: 66, 189 5.8: 196n32 5.10–13: 58 5.22–54: 122n35 5.564–73: 178n2 5.1091–1104: 26 5.1120–35: 189 5.1127: 190 5.1241–80: 26 5.1361–78: 26 5.1362: 26 5.1392–96: 52n30 5.1397: 52n30 6.33–34: 58 Papyri Herculanenses (see also Philodemus) 176: 77 Petronius 112: 104–5

Philodemus Epigrams 4–7: 173 10: 173 11: 173 12: 173 14: 173 20: 173 26: 173 Plato Respublica 3.390a–b: 38 Pliny Historia Naturalis 28.39: 190n17 35.144: 103 Plutarch Adversus Coloten 1120f–1121a: 149 1122b: 28 1126f: 94, 95 De latenter vivendo 1128c: 182 1128f: 182 1129a: 94, 95, 182 1129d: 182, 183 Non posse 1086c–d: 128 1087b: 38, 43, 93, 128, 182, 185, 193

1089c: 90 1089d:126, 183 1089e: 153 1092e: 49n23 1094c: 90 1094d: 94 1097d: 91, 92, 140 1097d–e: 92 1097f: 49n23 1098c: 16, 183 1100c: 129 1100c–d: 1, 183–84 Page 218 → 1107b:183 Quaestiones convivales 635b–c: 156 635e: 157 Quomodo adulator ab amico internoscatur 55c: 32 Vita Homeri 150: 41 Quintilian Institutio oratoria 12.10.12: 187 Seneca De beneficiis 3.4.1: 70 4.2.1: 136 5.17.5: 69, 70

De vita beata 7.1: 133 7.3: 132, 135, 158, 162 8.9: 123 13: 1, 160, 184 15.4: 111 19: 70 Epistulae 6.6: 192n27 12.9: 69, 71 33: 149, 162 88.5: 50, 57 98.9: 77 99.25: 77 Strabo 14.1.41: 179 Tacitus Dialogus de oratoribus 18.4–5: 187n10 Theon Progymnasmata 71: 28, 88 Virgil Aeneid 1.94–96: 61 1.227–29: 61 1.315: 61 1.338–41: 61 1.415–16: 61

1.560–66: 61 1.561–63: 63 1.562: 61 1.661: 63 1.686: 63 1.736–37: 63 1.737: 65 1.745–46: 65 1.749: 65 4.34: 105 4.38: 105 4.67: 66 4.83–84: 66 4.173: 121 4.379–80: 65 4.653: 68, 69, 70 4.704–5: 67–88 9.614–20: 162 12:97: 162 Catalepton 58