Women Cynics and Dinner Conversation

Crates & Hipparchia

It was a feature of ancient Cynicism that women were welcome as equals into the movement (along with slaves and others not given equal status in Greek society). The same cannot be said for any other philosophical movement nor, come to that, political or religious group — not only in ancient times but in most cases up to the present day, and in almost any culture. It is regretable then that Hipparchia is the only woman Cynic of whom we have a written account. Wife of the Cynic Crates (Diogenes’ favourite pupil) and sister of Metrocles (Crates’ pupil), it was with the abject but happy figure of Crates that the young, beautiful, and well born Hipparchia fell in love. They married in spite of her parent’s objections, and regardless of Crates’ warnings to her that they would live like dogs in the street. Both Crates and Hipparchia are remembered for their compassion to the poor and sick, living long and happy lives in the streets of Athens and Piraeus.

The Symposium

Table conversation has been identified as dialogic genre all of its own: the original definition of symposium describing a Greek banquet dialogue conducted by men. In the convivial and sometimes carnivalesque atmosphere stimulated by food and drink, the discourse of the symposium assumed special privileges of ease, familiarity, frankness, and eccentricity. The significance here being that, in antiquity, to discourse freely with men at supper was a privilege granted only to philosophical equals. In the case of Hipparchia, we are told how she accompanied Crates to a banquet where she challenged the atheist Theodorus to a duel. Any action Theodorus made that could not be considered wrong, would likewise not be considered wrong if undertaken by Hipparchia. When Theodorus strikes himself, Hipparchia strikes Theodorus, and so the game continues culminating with Theodorus trying to strip Hipparchia of her cloak. Here Hipparchia publicly demonstrates not only her willingness to challenge men at their own game, but also the practical side of Cynic philosophy such as parrhesia (freedom and boldness of speech), anaideia (shamelessness) and apatheia (disregard for feelings). And here we have a key to other probable women cynics in antiquity. 

Consistent with my view that myth is an instructor of philosophic wisdom equal to that provided by history, for the purposes of the discussion here I will consider women from the canonical and non-canonical gospels. Claims, for instance, that Mary Magdalene might have shared such a gospel meal with Jesus at the Last Supper, might be part of modern myth making prompted by those who seek to rescue Magdalene from her misrepresentation as a penitent whore by misogynistic redactors of the Bible. But it is entirely reasonable that Jesus (whom I charactarise as a Cynic philosopher in another post) would wish to include women among his close companions. It is clear that he responds positively to women who do not hesitate before him. As in the example of the Gospel of Mary, Jesus praises Mary’s composure in not flinching at his immortal appearance following his resurrection: "Blessed are you, that you did not waver at the sight of me." But, staying with the theme of food and drink, from the Gospel of Thomas we have Salome admonishing Jesus for eating at her table: “Who are you, man, that you . . . have come up on my couch and eaten from my table?” And from the Gospel of John, when Jesus requests that the Samaritan woman draws him water to drink, she responds: "How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?"

But the ultimate challenge to Jesus involving eating or drinking comes from the Syrophoenician woman in the gospels of Mark and Matthew. Having heard of Jesus’ reputation for healing the sick, the woman came to seek a cure for her daughter who, we are variously told, was possessed by an unclean spirit and tormented by a demon. In Matthew’s version the woman addresses Jesus first but was ignored by him, whereupon Jesus’ companions, irritated by her persistence, pleaded with their master to get rid of the troublesome woman, saying, "Send her away, for she is crying after us." According to Matthew, after first ignoring the woman, Jesus then says, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." A backhanded compliment to his disciples that, albeit sheep, their needs were of more importance than the needs of this woman who had come to beg Jesus to cure her dying daughter. But it is the following verses from Mark that provide evidence of the woman's Cynic credentials:

'And he [Jesus] said to her, “Let the children first be fed, for it is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs.” 

But she answered him, “Yes, Lord; yet even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs.” '

Having tried to dismiss the woman a second time, referring to the disciples as children and the woman as the dog* she is—being a gentile in a house of Jews—Jesus then finds himself out-maneuvered at his own game. Her response is that, a dog she might be but as such also a member of the household and deserving of whatever crumbs might fall her way. Mark uses the diminutive form of dog, kynaria (puppy) in place of kynos (dog) but being referred to as a ‘little bitch’ is no less an insult for that. The term Cynic itself is derived from the Greek kynicos, an adjectival form of the noun for dog. When challenged that she is a dog, the Syrophoenician woman embraces the term and the actions of a dog as a rhetorical device. She is not indignant in the face of insult but employs the aphoristic style of the chreia to deflect the insult back onto its originator.  

*A derogatory term applied to Gentiles by Jews of the day because their consumption of meat was not prepared according to Jewish law. A term also applied specifically to Greek Cynics because of their doggish behaviour.


So impressed was Jesus at the woman’s boldness in his presence (parrhesia) that he said to her, “For this saying you may go your way; the demon has left your daughter." The woman employs cynical irony by accepting the appellative ‘dog’ and even the ‘dog’s act’ of licking up the crumbs that fall to the floor, to turn the table on her tormentor whom she continues to refer to as ‘Lord’ and ‘master’, all the while maintaining just the safe side of ridicule. The Syrophoenician woman has no concern at entering a house of men; that she is a gentile and they Jews; that she addresses them first; and then, when rebuffed, ignores insults and pleas to leave them in peace to assert her own authority. 
For a full analysis of this minor gospel parable see my essay A Tale of Two Cynics: The Philosophic Dual Between Jesus and the Woman from Syrophoenicia.  



Having identified some cursory aspects of Cynicism (in it's positive sense) employed by women, many other examples, both ancient and modern will no doubt come to mind. Of course, such a mindset is only appreciated by male Cynics and therefore, demonstrations of parrhesia by women (as with the recent jailing of members of the Russian band Pussy Riot for ranting against President Putin and Christian iconography) predictably put them at great personal risk. In this sense Cynicism can only ever be a strategy for maintaining one's personal integrity in the face of tyrannical forces, not a means of changing society — there is, in any case, little evidence that human nature in general, and patriarchy in particular, has ever changed as a result of individual protests or even large scale revolution. 

Bron and Hitch: parrhesiasts par excellence

The premature death last month of Christopher Hitchens at the age of 62, reminded me of the death 11 years ago, aged 61, of Auberon Waugh (son of British writer Evelyn Waugh, to whom Hitchens has also been compared), which similarly surfaced its own share of obituaries from journalistic colleagues. What both these writers shared in common was that they defied efforts by their critics and admirers alike to place them either on the right or left of the political spectrum. They were modern representatives of the community of Cynics, not belonging to any tribe, parrhesiasts and troublemakers par excellence, they spoke their own truths no matter how outrageous; sticking it to liberal whimps and right wing bigots in equal measure. Not that I personally agreed with many of their views, but that is not the point. It is the style and delivery of the message that marked these two maverick journalists out from the mediocrity of many others in their profession. There is nothing much I can usefully add to the miles of column written on Hitchens over the past month, others who new him well have probably said all there is to say. So by way of tribute to Hitchens, I will devote the rest of this post to reviewing the 11 year old obituaries to Waugh. I’ve no idea if Hitchens would have identified with any of these, he might even have been a critic of Waugh, in his own more liberal past, but my instinct is that he would be touched by and smile at the tribute.

     Hailing him as a hero or castigating him as a villain, Waugh made many friends as well as enemies during his controversial career. A career that included working on such diverse publications as The Spectator, Private Eye, the New Statesman, the Sunday and Daily Telegraph, the Daily Mirror, and the Literary Review of which he was the editor. Often characterized as right wing, Waugh was in fact allied to no political interest group, he was fiercely independent and chose his friends from across the political divide. It was a tribute to Waugh’s contribution to journalism that his death triggered the bloody battle of words it did between journalists themselves: the Waughite tendency supporting the right to say it how it is, no matter how offensive, and the politically correct, idealist tendency who still believe that politicians are fundamentally trying to make the world a better place for us to live in, and how cheap it is of hacks like Waugh to prop up the bar at El Vino’s and pour scorn on their efforts.

     Waugh’s trade mark was to say it like it is, and one of the things Waugh did say, according to Charles Moore, editor of the Daily Telegraph, included being the only person outside of the IRA to publicly voice the opinion that he wished Margaret Thatcher had died in the Brighton bombing. Hardly the sentiments of a right wing bigot, unless the remark was read as misogynistic of which Waugh was also accused. The simple formula that made Waugh’s journalism so uniquely authentic, was that he had the guts and integrity to publish just the kind of heart felt rant that we shoot off to our pals every night in the pub—uncensored. The following comments (from editors and journalistic colleagues) characterise Waugh as a figure in the mould of American columnist H.L. Mencken: someone who always spoke their own mind and was political hostage to no-one:

He greatly disliked morality wherever it came from.  Charles Moore

A writer with a talent for vituperation and a taste for vendettas . . . In his idiosyncratic way, he was part of an authentic mood of revulsion against the bossy authoritarianism from both left and right.   Geoffrey Wheatcroft

The irony is that he was more liberal in his attitudes than many self-proclaimed liberals. He simply couldn’t stand the bossiness of modern society—one group of self-appointed nannies deciding what the rest of us can and can't do.  Henry Porter

One of the reasons I think he was so good was that he never fell into the error of thinking that he was influential. In common with all the best journalists, he knew that what he wrote was here today and gone tomorrow and that its impact was minimal. Richard Ingrams 

By contrast, in Polly Toynbee’s obituary to Waugh published in the Guardian newspaper on January 19, 2001 under the heading ‘Ghastly Man’, we encounter the kind of scorn that Waugh produced in yet other journalists. Toynbee’s characterization of Waugh, once again, opens up the debate about who and what is a cynic. Toynbee casting Waugh as a cynic in the negative use of the term:

The world of Auberon Waugh is a coterie of reactionary fogies . . . Effete, drunken, snobbish, sneering, racist and sexist, they spit poison at anyone vulgar enough to want to improve anything at all. Liberalism is the archenemy . . . While do-nothing conservatism is their mode, they enjoy extremism of any complexion and excoriate the dreary toil of incremental improvement . . .  ‘Political correctness’ is the tired, lazy little label attached to all change for the better. . . . Knee-jerk abuse of any politician was Waugh's stock in trade when he was a political commentator. It was not, as he pretended, a badge of some kind of honesty but quite the contrary, an idle unwillingness to engage with any politician's attempt to make life better for anyone else. Polly Toynbee

That Waugh was a cynic there can be no doubt. However, when one contrasts Toynbee’s posthumous attack on Waugh with the responses her own commentary invited, it becomes clear that the kind of cynic he was, depends as much on the character of the witness as it does on the character of the accused. You either embrace cynicism or are repelled by it depending on your appetite for derision. Examine the case for the defence:

He stood for all the things that attracted me to journalism in the first place, all the things Polly Toynbee most disapproves of—long lunches and gossip and laughter and a mischievous (yes!), and above all irreverent (oh please!) response to pomposity and received opinion.  Lynn Barber

The writer's sense of the absurd would have been equally tickled by Polly Toynbee's reaction to his demise, last week. Writing in just the kind of ‘no laughs please, we're left-wing’ manner he despised, Toynbee bludgeoned the dead man from her high horse for-—sin of all sins—poking fun at the ways of the world. . . . He thrashed bores and left them lying comatosed in a pool of ridicule.  Cristina Odone

There are many left wing people who take things at face value and many liberals who congratulate themselves on their moral superiority when all they are doing is restating the bleeding obvious. The earnestness of each of these groups is a signal that they don't really grasp what's going on. People who live on this level and never travel anywhere else are unlikely to make jokes about plane crashes . . . Their humourlessness is a symptom of their lack of judgment. . . . ‘They’—he enemy—are people whose souls are cold and whose bullet-point priorities close the window on imagination and genuine freedom of thought while increasing their own claims to ethical superiority.  Charlotte Raven

Auberon Waugh (despite a certain hedonistic streak) was a journalist of the Diogenes school: fearless, abusive, and witty. Moreover, the brouhaha following Waugh’s death provides a unique opportunity to study a modern cynic of the Diogenes mould. Not a cynic of Diogenes stature perhaps, maybe in the vast scheme of things a fairly jaded cynic. But a closer examination of Waugh’s public performance underscores, once again, many of the classical features that punctuate Cynic philosophy. Take the easy labelling of Waugh as a right wing bigot. Such a response to Waugh’s cynicism exposes its own form of bigotry, a bigotry symbolic of the kind of superficial objections used against better known cynics such as Diogenes, Nietzsche or Mencken. Such flippant characterization is frequently to be encountered among those made uncomfortable or even fearful of the cynic’s ridicule. In fact, like his cynic ancestors, Waugh’s politics—if he had any—did not shake out along narrow party lines, being entirely unpredictable. True cynics find their meaning outside of the narrow preoccupations of partisan politicking. If they stand for anything at all it is the right to say whatever they want, in whatever way they want, and to hell with people’s sensibilities. In terms of cynical irony, Waugh’s disinhibited remarks are just the kind of strategy used by the Dadaist, Richard Huelsenbeck, when he announced that he was in favour of war because ‘things have to collide’. This is certainly how Charles Moore sees Waugh when he comments that ‘as always with him it was done in a comical way but it was something nobody else would have dared say.’

       In terms of the discussion here, whether Waugh was a good bloke or a sneering snob is entirely irrelevant. It is simply a matter of taste and personal opinion best left to those who knew the man well. Toynbee may be correct that Waugh’s humour was probably pub humour, but that does not diminish its credibility and authority, if anything it enhances it. Toynbee in her denunciation of Waugh and defence of liberalism, attaches herself to the Icarian pose of sincere politics that cynics cannot resist but cast down. Whatever one may feel personally for a cynic—and Waugh may well have presented to some as obnoxious—cannot, and does not, deny the essential role of those who disturb the propaganda of political ideologues from both the left and the right.  In fact, among the comments discussing Waugh’s personal attributes we are provided with a clue concerning what appears to be a common trait among certain cynics: 

I often wondered about this part of Bron’s character. It seemed so odd that a man who hated bullies and vindictiveness was capable of being both. Perhaps it was because he had so little self-pity and assumed that people were as robust as he was. . . . But surprisingly these [his obvious failings] did not actually include snobbery, racism and sexism.  Henry Porter  

There is certainly a robustness among cynics, a disregard for the way others perceive them, which makes them appear brutal and uncaring even when the opposite is actually the case. The mistake that most critics of cynicism make, is to focus on what the cynic says rather than what they show when they say it.

     Focussing on the person rather than on the performance is not the only trap that critics of cynicism fall into. By thinking purely in terms of the politics of left and right, commentators like Toynbee show a complete misunderstanding of what drives their cynical cousins: a basic distrust of all politicians. Whatever else Waugh may have been, he was a relentless cynical thorn in the side of liberal timidity and authoritarian morality. As such, he also bore one of the primary hallmarks of the ancient Cynics. What made his journalistic endeavours particularly unusual in today’s age of media control, was that he was his own person, he spoke on behalf of no one but himself. Contrary, then, to Toynbee’s assessment, the cynicism, as opposed to cynicism, of journalism today does not emanate from dissident’s like Waugh, but rather from those who serve powerful interests, not least their alignment to political interests. It is the Toynbees of this world, not the Waughs or Hitchens, who are the journalists most likely to have a corrupting influence on public opinion. They achieve this by reinforcing the rhetoric: the illusions, oversimplifications and empty slogans of whichever political party currently claims their editorial bias. 
     The negative use of the term cynicism, frequently applied to those hacks who hound celebrities in the hope of snatching a picture of exposed flesh or a story of impropriety, serves to highlight the more common usage of the term today. There are also journalists who display cynicism of another kind: our positive, modern cynic, those who seek to expose the public lies—rather than the private lives—of the rich and powerful. As the cynical journalist intrudes into the lives of the famous simply to titillate a voyeuristic public, so their cynical cousin seeks to expose the great lies with which powerful individuals and organisations hide dirty deals behind a smoke-screen of honest respectability. That is not to say, however, that in the final analysis, one type of journalist has a moral lead on the other. The distinction between cynical and cynical journalism is becoming increasingly hard to distinguish, not least those aspects of the profession typified by the foreign or war correspondent—both types clearly seek a sensational story, that is the business of journalism. As the philosopher Jean Baudrillard puts it, our own insatiable appetite for sucking out the destiny of others; our need to exploit the misery of other people in order to provide media nourishment for our daily lives, is proving a serious challenge for the objectivity and integrity of journalists of all persuasions. 

Was Jesus a Cynic Philosopher (and a feminist)?

Jesus and the Woman from Syrophoenicia

Before I take a two week break from the blog, I wanted to pen something with a seasonal theme. In my essay, A Tale of Two Cynics (The Philosophical Forum, Dec 2010) I explore the possibility of Jesus as a Cynic through a 22 page deconstruction of the minor gospel parable of the woman from Syrophoenicia. I should point out straight away that when I talk of Jesus, I am not referring here to the messianic Christ character created by Paul in his letters and further elaborated by Matthew and Mark in their gospels—written at the earliest 30 years after Jesus was allegedly crucified. I am more concerned here with the semi-mythological Jesus, glimpses and clues of whom can be found in the gospels (both canonical and non-canonical) and from contemporary historians of the time such as Flavius Josephus. This historical Jesus (man or myth is not the issue here) represents everything that modern Christianity does not—images of fat bishops in their cathedral palaces clad in purple robes and gold chains, just does not sit comfortably with Jesus the ascetic sage entreating his followers to abandon money, possessions and a roof over their head for a life of hardship and prayer. In some respects the asceticism of Jesus went even further than that of the ancient Cynics, who at least were permitted to beg for food, wear sandals and enjoy the comfort and security of a street corner or tub.

     But I do not want to focus here on Jesus’ asceticism, nor do I want to dwell too much on the societal and historical influences that the Cynics must have had on Jesus. The main trade route between the Mediterranean coastal town of Ptolemais and Gadara (birthplace of Cynics Menippus, Meleager and Oenomaus) near the south-eastern end of the Sea of Galilee, passed just 8 miles north of Nazareth, and the Hellenized city of Sepphoris was only five miles away; so it is unlikely that Jesus would not have come into contact and been influenced in some way by Cynics. Indeed, the second century anti-Christian writer Celsus even made disparaging comparisons about Christians’ Cynic-like behaviour of preaching to the rabble in the market place. And first century historian Josephus (a contemporary of Jesus, whose personal agenda did not include promoting either Cynics or Christians) told in unflattering terms of a ‘Fourth Philosophy’ among the Jews founded by one, ‘Judas of Galilee’, notable for what can only be described as typical features of Cynicism: advocating hardship (ponos), the freedom to express one’s views without fear of human censorship (parrhesia) and world citizenship under ‘God’ (cosmopolitanism).

     But it is Jesus’ use of cynical irony and the Syrophonician woman’s parrhesia (see post dated 3 Dec 2011 under 'Freedom of Speech') that I want to draw attention too here, and specifically the use of a particular literary genre credited to the Cynics and known as the chreia. Regardless of the actual message: be it the glory of God or the stupidity of people who worship gods, the style and delivery of both early Christian and Cynic public speaking was based on the same modes of discourse. The Cynic diatribe was the prototype for the Christian sermon and the aphoristic sayings credited to pre-Biblical Christian texts—but reproduced and dotted throughout sections of the gospels—are indistinguishable from the Cynic chreia. The chreia (literal meaning of which is ‘something useful’) accounts for most of the Diogenes stories. It is a brief statement of an incident or situation followed by a pungent remark. When asked if he believed in the gods, Diogenes replied, “How can I help believing in them when I see a god-forsaken wretch like you?” On being reproached for eating in the market place (convention at the time forbade eating in public) Diogenes responds, “Well, it was in the market-place that I felt hungry”. And in a chreia credited to Antisthenes on it being confirmed to him by a priest that initiates into the Orphic Mysteries enjoyed certain advantages in Hades, Antisthenes replied, “Why then, don’t you die!”

     One of the best examples of Jesus’ use of the chreia comes from Matthew 15.1-11. When Jesus was challenged by the Pharisees and scribes for breaking with Jewish purification laws by eating without washing their hands, Jesus retorted, “Hypocrites, it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a man but what comes out.” And in a typical example of the chreia in the non-canonical gospel of Thomas, we have the following response from Jesus when asked by his disciples if circumcision was beneficial or not: “If it were beneficial, their father would beget them already circumcised from their mother.” But in the case of the parable of the Syrophonician woman (Mark 7.27-28), having gone to the house in which Jesus and his disciples were holidaying in Lebanon to seek a cure for her dying daughter, it is she that uses the chreia in response to a taunt from Jesus:

 

And he [Jesus] said to her, “Let the children first be fed, for it is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs.”

But she answered him, “Yes, Lord; yet even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs.”

 

Having tried to dismiss the woman a second time, referring to the disciples as children and the woman as the dog she is—being a gentile in a house of Jews—Jesus then finds himself out-maneuvered at his own game. Her response is that, a dog she might be but as such also a member of the household and deserving of whatever crumbs might fall her way. So impressed was Jesus at the woman’s parrhesia that he said to her, “For this saying you may go your way; the demon has left your daughter.” No matter who the author, or whatever their underlying motive for recounting this story, all ultimately arrive at the same conclusion: whether or not Jesus was aware of the woman’s skills at parrhesia before he engaged her in a duel of words, the clear outcome of the contest is that the woman wins the argument. Even Saint John Chrysostom, Archbishop of Constantinople (347-407 CE)—not known as an advocate of women's’ rights!—has to acknowledge just in what way she wins the argument. He refers to it as ‘wisdom’ and ‘humility’ (feigned or otherwise). The woman employs cynical irony by accepting the appellative ‘dog’ and even the ‘dog’s act’ of licking up the crumbs that fall to the floor, to turn the table on her tormentor whom she continues to refer to as ‘Lord’ and ‘master’, all the while maintaining just the safe side of ridicule—safe, that is, from ridiculing Jesus in front of the disciples. Jesus would have accepted the woman’s ridicule for what it was, a coded fraternalism that bound the two of them into a mutually understood intercourse while the disciples could only wonder at the woman’s audacity (it is only with the Cynics that women are acknowledged as philosophical equals and that we find examples of women philosophising in public). And for her trouble, we are told by F. Gerald Downing (priest, and writer on Cynic origins of Christianity), the Syrophoenician woman wins from Jesus her ‘crown’.

     Only small clues can be drawn from his encounter with the woman from Syrophoenicia that Jesus may have been some kind of Cynic sage. Like the Cynics' mentor, Socrates, Jesus wrote nothing down, and so in the same way his own philosophy has been left open to interpretation and abuse from followers in the same way that Socrates’ was. But there are certain clues among all the Christian rhetoric and dogma—in the story of the Syrophoenician woman alone—that provide a key to Jesus’ much overlooked philosophy. First are the dog references. The term Cynic itself is derived from the Greek kynicos, an adjectival form of the noun for dog. When challenged that she is a dog, the Syrophoenician woman embraces the term and the actions of a dog as a rhetorical device. As with Cynics, the Syrophoenician woman is not indignant in the face of insult but employs the aphoristic style of the chreia to deflect the insult back onto its originator. Interestingly, Mark  (7:27) uses the diminutive form of dog, kynaria (puppy) in place of kynos (dog) but being referred to as a ‘little bitch’ is no less an insult for that. Then we have references to the woman’s shamelessness (anaideia). As with another Cynic slogan, apatheia, meaning disregard for feelings, the Syrophoenician woman has no concern at entering a house of men, that she is a gentile and they Jews, that she addresses them first, and then when rebuffed ignores insults and pleas to leave them in peace to assert her own authority. "What is this, O woman?" Jesus remarks, "Hast thou then greater confidence than the apostles? More abundant strength?" The woman’s boldness and disregard for the attitudes of others demonstrates all the hallmarks of the parrhesiast. Significantly, the content of the woman’s discourse with Jesus is deeply philosophical. Unlike the disciples, she does not have to ask Jesus to explain his meaning, she understands perfectly the allegory of his words and is able to engage with him on his own terms—she gives as well as receives. As with certain other celebrities, although constantly surrounded by admirers, Jesus strikes me as a lonely individual. In his encounter with the Syrophonician woman, each recognised in a fleeting moment the cynical spirit of the other but then sadly went their separate ways, their integrity intact but without the consolation of each other's company.

Jeremy Clarkson: ironic, or just Neanderthal?

If you have the privilege of being able to share your vacuous and bigoted opinions with the TV viewing public on a weekly basis, then at least have the guts to own them. Following his two latest rants: that public sector strikers should be shot in front of their families and that people who kill themselves by jumping under trains are selfish, apologists for British TV presenter Jeremy Clarkson were quick to point out that Clarkson was only joking, or, that he was being ironic. Irony is far too subtle a concept for Clarkson to fathom—if you have to explain that you were only joking then its not irony. But more unforgivably, Clarkson just isn't funny.

In the tradition of great stand-ups such as Lenny Bruce and Bill Hicks (those who have mastered the art of irony and laughter), comedian Stewart Lee addressed Clarkson's loutishness when two years earlier he performed a routine about Top Gear (watch video). In a diatribe about Clarkson's diminutive sidekick Richard "The Hampster" Hammond, he referred to the co-presenter's narrow escape from a filmed high speed car crash by saying, "I wish he had been decapitated and that his head had rolled off in front of his wife". Now the similarity between Lee's remark about Hammond and Clarkson's remark about the strikers will not be lost, indeed Lee's remark is perhaps more vitriolic, as he shared with his audience his dislike for Hammond when they attended the same school in Solihull. The brilliance of Lee's comedy is his multi-layered irony and delayed punch lines. Lee throws back on his audience the Top Gear presenters' own overused apology for their offensiveness. When he said that he wished Hammond had been decapitated, he added “like when they do their jokes on Top Gear, it was only a joke”; parodying their oafish behaviour the better to highlight it. But then adds, after a suitable pause, "coincidentally, as well as it being a joke, it's also what I wish had happened." 
Freedom of Speech
Those leaping to Clarkson's defence are right to point out that context is important; citing among other things the principal of free speech, even bestowing on Clarkson the compliment polemicist. But with the role of the polemicist and right to free speech also comes the risks which that responsibility bestows. Eating your own words at the first sign that things might get uncomfortable is not polemicism; it's, as Stewart Lee reminds us, "cowardice". 

The Greek term parrhesia, referring to freedom or boldness of speech, represents everything that Clarkson is not. As Michel Foucault said in his final series of lectures, to qualify as parrhesia, the parrhesiast “is always less powerful than the one with whom he speaks.”  The best known anecdote of a parrhesiastic exchange involves Alexander (the Great) and Diogenes the Cynic. When Alexander came upon Diogenes sunning himself in a public park in Corinth, he asked the Cynic what wish he could grant him, and Diogenes replied, 'Stand out of my light'. It is having the courage to say something that endangers the speaker that defines the parrhesiast. The speaker's truth is spoken out of compulsion. No matter how unpalatable, it is regarded as the parrhesiast's duty to speak out in this way. An example of a modern parrhesiast is the stand up comedian Lenny Bruce who was imprisoned and died for his right to speak out. His long battle against censorship was a personal crusade for his right to speak the truth during a very repressive period in American history, ultimately winning the right for his parrhesiastic legatees—Joan Rivers, Richard Pryor, Bill Hicks and Stewart Lee —to push the boundaries of public taste even further. Like them or loathe them, what defines these particular comedians is that they completely own their invective diatribes against everything that sucks about humanity; even when threatened with impoverishment—and in the case of Bruce, imprisonment. They have all also uniquely developed the use of laughter and self-ridicule as a personal strategy for survival. One has to consider just in what way does Clarkson put himself at any risk when excercising his right to free speech. As Stewart Lee reminds us, it is we, the hapless TV license payers, who are not only responsible for endorsing his stupidity, but also paying for his millions and his big boy's cars.