Libanius Declamatio 27 (The Morose Man and his Son): Misanthropy and the Polemics of Laughter

Libanius’ Declamations 26 and 27 delve into the traditional figure of the misanthrope, the man who harbours a deep-seated, ideologised hatred for mankind. This figure, whose archetype is the legendary Timon of Athens, was present in dramatic and other literature since the fifth century BC and would continue to fascinate the literary imagination long after Libanius. [1] Libanius’ misanthrope belongs to a particular subgroup, the δύσκολοι, cantankerous or morose men, whose paradigm is Knemon from Menander’s play Dyskolos. [2]

Such δύσκολοι are distinct from the extreme model of Timon in several vital respects that render them more suitable for comedic treatment. Fully-fledged misanthropes like Timon live in complete separation from society and despise all social conventions, particularly the imperative of marriage and procreation, which perpetuates the disease that is humanity. In contrast, the δύσκολοι, while criminally disagreeable and constantly critical of everything and everyone around them, live in organised communities—albeit in the ἐσχατιαί, where they remain as far removed from others as possible. Most importantly, δύσκολοι get married (even if they constantly bump heads with their wives) and father children, towards whom they even display smidgins of human affection.

This study explores the intertextual pedigree and the polemic discourses woven around the δύσκολος in Libanius’ Declamation 27. This fine piece of late-antique rhetoric tells the story of a cantankerous man who has a fall and disowns his son for laughing at him. Declamations are imaginary speeches that mainly serve as exercises for advanced students of rhetoric. [3] Composing a declamation, a trainee orator combines the various speech components he had practised as distinct “preliminary exercises” (προγυμνάσματα), such as ἠθοποιία, thesis, locus communis, and comparison, [4] into a more ambitious and polished whole. However, despite being primarily intended for classroom use, declamations also serve as a way for great masters like Libanius to display their skills and entertain the public. [5] The entertainment objective is prioritised in Libanius’ declamations, whose humour is inspired by Greek comedy, especially Menander, as evidenced by the “dyskolic” Declamations 26 and 27. [6] The public, deliberative aspect of declamation is often disregarded; nonetheless, as I will demonstrate, it may be crucial to consider for a full understanding of Declamation 27. I shall also speculate that Declamation 27 may have a polemical character, bolstered by the fact that public/deliberative declamations circulated as written texts intended to survive as literature.

Declamation 26 puts the δύσκολος at loggerheads with his wife. In Declamation 27, he antagonises his son. Both scenarios develop in a pseudo-forensic context, ridiculous enough to expose the misanthrope as a ludicrous eccentric. In Declamation 26, the δύσκολος seeks permission from the Boule, which acts as a court of law, to end his life in order to escape his wife’s incessant garrulity. In Declamation 27, he needs the councilmen’s approval for denouncing his son (ἀποκήρυξις) as punishment for the unforgivable outrage of laughing at his expense—or laughing in general.

Declamation 27 follows a variation of the regular four-part structure of the genre. It comprises a Prooemium (§1–2), a narration of the case’s facts (§3–8), and the Proof (§9–27). It lacks a formal epilogue, although §27 could idiosyncratically stand as one. In more detail, the speech runs as follows:

1. Prooemium (§1–2): The δύσκολος addresses the jurors, expressing frustration with the law that denies him autonomy in managing his household and causes him the unnecessary trouble of having to appear before them.
2. The events (§3–8): The δύσκολος had an accident that caused him to break his mattock. This meant he had to travel from his rural home in the ἐσχατιαί to the city for repairs. The journey was already bothersome to him as he had no love lost for the city and its ways. To make matters worse, his son sneaked in to join him and behaved childishly on the way. While at the marketplace, the δύσκολος slipped in a pothole and had a nasty fall. His son’s reaction was highly insulting as he broke into boisterous laughter at his father’s predicament.
3. The Proof (§9–27): In the Proof, the speaker attempts to persuade the judges that laughter is a legitimate reason for ἀποκήρυξις. The speaker asserts that a person who laughs at their father should not be entitled to inherit their fortune (§9). The δύσκολος also anticipates potential counterarguments from his son or the jurors, whom he imagines siding with the youth, and addresses them accordingly (§10–13). Paragraphs 14–18 are a ψόγος γέλωτος καὶ γελώντων. The δύσκολος fulminates against laughter, which he believes is unnatural for human beings whose life is the stuff of pain and suffering (§14–15). The speaker is confused about how his son developed the nasty habit of laughing (laughing in general, not only in specific situations): the δύσκολος himself never laughed and went to great lengths to prevent the youth’s exposure to the theatre, which he believed was the main corrupting factor. In §19–21, ψόγος is pointed at the son who never emulated or valued his father’s (antigelastic) virtues; for that, he must now pay the price. In §22–23, the cantankerous man criticises the jurors, who he believes are pushing for leniency. The speaker expressed pride in his love for a solitary lifestyle and self-sufficiency. The concluding §27 is an ἔπαινος ἐρημίας: he praises living a life of absolute isolation, which the jurors brandish as a threat but he views as a blessing. The δύσκολος is resolute in his reluctance to compromise: he would only associate with like-minded individuals; If he cannot find such people, he would happily live all alone.

As mentioned, the δύσκολοι, notwithstanding their distinctive misanthropic characteristics, vary from the recluses of the Timonian stripe in that they do not live in complete social seclusion and adhere to the basic societal norms, even grudgingly and inconsistently. Libanius’ Declamation 27 features a δύσκολος who embodies this tradition. Although his exact story does not stem from any known classical text, he is a palimpsestic character built with material drawn from Menander’s Knemon. Libanius’ protagonist retains the essential traits of Knemon, often mimicking his language. He even adopts the cantankerous behaviours of other characters in Dyskolos. The similarities between Libanius and Menander are conspicuous, and, by and large, they have not gone unnoticed. [7] Scholars, however, have overlooked the following cardinal point: Libanius does not simply replicate Menander; his ethopoeic strategy is ironic. The palpable similarities with Knemon magnify the novel misanthrope’s essential differences from the prototype.

The following sections explore, first, the convergences and divergences between Menander’s and Libanius’ δύσκολοι. The two are compared in terms of (a) their violent fixation with solitude; (b) their concomitant self-condemnation to a life of needlessly hard labour; and (c) their shared fallacy of autarky (αὐτάρκεια). The comparison reveals how Libanius’ protagonist is stripped of the underlying seriousness of Menander’s old man. Pivotal Menandrian motifs such as ἀπανθρωπία and the misanthrope’s accident (his fall) are used by Libanius in a comically slanted form, deflating the δύσκολος.

Subsequently, I explore how the technical elements of the misanthrope’s speech, specifically its structure and handling of the “issue” or στάσις, align with Libanius’ ἠθοποιία. This reinforces the impression the Knemon intertext produces, namely, that the speaker is an outrageous buffoon. While the speaker shows sufficient technical knowledge of the stasis requirements, his argumentation content is so peculiar that it invalidates his methodological expertise. Additionally, the speaker follows the rules for constructing a declamation, but his use of a rigid contrarian structure ultimately undermines his intended goal.

An enlightening lesson learned from this informs the concluding section of this paper: Knemon retains a certain gravitas despite his disagreeable attitude; Libanius’ morose man is a risible oddity, a self-damning travesty of Knemon. Nevertheless, another weightier deviation exists between Libanius’ and Menander’s characters. The new δύσκολος is not the conventional agelast (the obstacle to comic fulfilment) but rather an antigelast, an adamant ideological opponent of laughter, mirth, and merriment tout court. It has escaped scholars’ attention that by introducing this newfangled trait to his character, Libanius revolutionised the dyskolic tradition. Turning the new misanthrope into a farcical reflection of Knemon is Libanius’ way of throwing his ridiculous antigelasticism, the main thrust of his ethos, into stronger relief. No misanthrope before Libanius—not even Timon—had launched such a thoroughgoing attack on laughter, which he presents as the sum of all evils, the quintessence of human depravity. Accounting for the origins of this extreme attitude could reveal the motives behind Libanius’ innovation. They may lie in the intellectual climate of contemporary (fourth century CE) Antioch.

Libanius lays bare the caricaturistic elements of his speaker with two rhetorical strategies: (a) designing the new δύσκολος as a (deceivingly) spitting image of Menander’s Knemon and (b) having him mishandle the two central technical features of declamation, the stasis and the structure of the speech, in a way that defeats his purpose to convince the jurors that his son should be denounced. The impression produced by the misanthrope’s rhetorical failures, analysed in the following section, bolsters that of intertextuality. This section focuses on the latter, detailing how Libanius conjures up Knemon every step of his new misanthrope’s way only to accentuate the essential dissimilarities between the two.

The characters of Menander and Libanius share a goal of living as far away from society (especially the city) as possible, which they achieve by residing in the ἐσχατιαί. Such places, the farthest locations in an inhabited area, constitute the symbolic limits of human civilisation—but they are decidedly within it. Misanthropes like Timon seek absolute isolation. [8] Δύσκολοι, on the contrary, in spatial terms, too, do not detach themselves from civilisation completely—they do not occupy the inhuman (ἀπάνθρωπος) heterotopias where monsters or gods dwell. Knemon lives in Phyle, a rocky and remote Attic deme close to the Boeotian border. [9] He has a house close to other people’s domiciles on the way to Pan’s famous shrine but spends most of his time in the least reachable part of his ἀγρός. [10] In Libanius, the δύσκολος lives in a nameless place, which, like Phyle, is close to the ἄστυ. Dyskolos characters can travel from Phyle to Cholargos and vice versa in less than a day. Similarly, Libanius’ misanthrope needs what appears to be only a few hours to journey from his ἀγρός to the nearest town.

Even in ἐσχατιαί, the two recluses struggle with being around other people, which causes constant conflict with their family and anyone they encounter. Knemon’s wife could not handle their constant bickering, so she left him. Knemon has been estranged from her and her young son for years. [11] Libanius’ protagonist surpasses Knemon in this respect. Knemon’s inclusion of his wife in his διαθήκη can be interpreted as a sign of care. [12] If that is open to interpretation, the old man has an undeniable soft spot for his daughter: she is the only person whose presence he can bear. [13] Libanius’ δύσκολος, on the contrary, hates his wife [14] (although, unlike Knemon’s, she puts up with his abuse) and cannot stand his own shadow following him around, let alone his son. [15]

Knemon and Libanius share a similar attitude towards strangers. Knemon refuses to socialise with the idlers that swarm to Phyle and does not hesitate to violate the sacred covenant of hospitality and human solidarity, even when the requests are negligible. [16] Libanius’ δύσκολος abhors that he needs to deal with the χαλκοτύπος [17] and face the jury, whom he insults constantly. [18] Walking around the agora makes him sick, and he tries to avert his eyes from anything that goes on there, which leads to his accident. [19]

The two recluses inherit from Timon their shared love of ἐρημία. Libanius’ δύσκολος scoffs at the jury for seeing solitude as a threat. [20] Knemon may have lamented his isolation in a moment of weakness. [21] Still, once he recovers even slightly from his fall, he insists on being allowed “to live as he wishes,” which is all alone. [22] The two misanthropes mirror each other’s fantasies of a society where everyone shares their worldview and moral code—which would hardly be a “society” at all. They emphatically state that they would only socialise with like-minded individuals—who are, of course, in extremely short supply. [23]

As ἐρημία is impossible to secure, the two δύσκολοι attempt to mitigate their plight. They both avoid public roads [24] and violently chase away anybody who dares trespass on their land, screaming and throwing clods of earth at them. [25] To enhance the motif of violence, Libanius transfers to his δύσκολος a different Menandrian character’s misanthropic idea. Hearing that Knemon lies flat in the well, the cook Sikon exhorts Knemon’s slave Simiche to finish him off by throwing rocks or other heavy objects on top of him. [26] In Libanius, it is the δύσκολος himself who imagines something similar. If his son had committed one of the outrages the law recognises as reasons for ἀποκήρυξις, he would not simply denounce him but cast him into a pit and cover him with stones. [27]

The ἐσχατιαί are not only the farthest but also the least habitable places one can occupy: the Greeks usually imagine them as mountainous, rocky, and hardly cultivable. By choosing to live there, δύσκολοι subject themselves to a life of hard labour, where even basic tasks like repairing household tools become a challenge. Knemon and the Phylasians “cultivate the rocks,” [28] but their efforts produce only suffering. [29] Back-breaking, thankless work, described in almost identical terms, is also the fate of Libanius’ δύσκολος, [30] who goes as far as to consider the rocks, more than any human being, as his true companion and soulmate. [31]

The δύσκολοι make their lives unnecessarily harder by refusing to accept even the minimum of assistance. They insist on doing everything themselves, even when they have the means to hire help. Libanius’ speaker sends away the slave Manes “so that he is not the second farmer” in his fields (Declamation 27.25). This somewhat challenging expression must be interpreted in light of Menander’s Dyskolos. Although, in the preceding sentence, the speaker seems to praise Manes’ farming prowess (μὴ σὺ κρείττων εἶ τοῦ Μανοῦ γεωργός;), what he means is that he is loath to have another man, any other man, working his fields alongside him. Libanius’ δύσκολος imitates Knemon, who rejects helpers, although he can afford them. [32] In both cases, the motive is misanthropy, not miserliness. Julian, Libanius’ favourite emperor, saw Knemon as the paradigm of self-inflicted toil. [33] The misanthropes’ obsessive avoidance of human contact degenerates into self-abuse.

Direct speech promotes Libanius’ agenda of farcifying the δύσκολος. In Dyskolos 328–33, an indignant and wary Gorgias reports Knemon’s rejection of help. Libanius’ approach has a stronger psychological effect on the jurors as the δύσκολος slams them directly with his grandiloquent and misguided contempt for aid. “Would I ever invite you to a partnership?” he asks sarcastically. “Of course, I would,” ἵν’ ὥσπερ τὰ κηλώνεια τὴν δίκελλαν ἀναφέρῃς. [34] Russell here mistranslates (“so that you can pull up the bucket, as the swipe does!),” [35] obfuscating the speaker’s self-damning cruelty by failing to consider the Dyskolos. δίκελλα is the mattock, not the bucket, and the image Libanius recalls is poor Sostratos doing ill-becoming manual labour and suffering as a result. [36] The jurors are pampered urban fops like Sostratos. The δύσκολος would only partner with them to enjoy watching them break their backs. In Dyskolos, this was the slave Daos’ petty thought [37] —hardly a flattering parallel for Libanius’ δύσκολος.

Once again, transferring non-Knemonian motifs to his protagonist Libanius renders him a cardboard caricature of Menander’s complex figure. Further down, Libanius’ language cleverly sets a trap for the misanthrope. He repeats Knemon’s erroneous philosophy of αὐτάρκεια. As long as one is healthy and able-bodied, he argues, no one is genuinely alone; all one needs are their hands and feet. [38] Although the speaker fails to mention Knemon’s admission of error, the knowledgeable audience sees through his silence. Knemon’s mishap serves as a reminder that life is unpredictable, so one must always have someone to rely on when needed. [39] Knemon eventually understood that he had twisted the Cynic ideal of autarky, or self-sufficiency, into a sophistic and Cyclopean fallacy—an objectionable ὑπερβολή in Aristotelian terms. [40] Knemon’s silly transfiguration in Libanius still does not get it.

Apanthropia is a central concept in Dyskolos, which Libanius rehashes in a slanted, humorous form. In Dyskolos, Pan describes Knemon as ἀπάνθρωπός τις ἄνθρωπος σφόδρα, “a singularly inhuman man.” The term also applied to Lucian’s Timon. [41] In Greek literature, ἀπανθρωπία was correlated with words denoting primitive brutality and savagery. [42] It is a mental disorder that verges dangerously towards ‘non-humanity’ and the bestial. More relevant to our discussion is that ἀπανθρωπία was also the vox propria for disproportionate punishment and complete lack of human consideration. [43] Libanius’ misanthrope discerns ἀπανθρωπία in this sense in the agora frequenters who see him fall but turn the other way: ἦν πολλὴ παρ’ ἐλπίδας, ὥς γε ὑμεῖς ἂν φαίητε, ἀπανθρωπία (Declamation 27.8). The reversal lies in παρ᾽ ἐλπίδας (“contrary to expectation”) and ὥς γε ὑμεῖς ἂν φαίητε (“as you would say,” emphasis on the pronoun): the jurors would speak negatively of this behaviour calling it ἀπανθρωπία, but the speaker, mocking them, begs to differ: he is delighted that those people, not taking heed of his predicament, spared him of their vexatious questioning, which he compares to having vomit thrown on him. [44] Libanius’ δύσκολος turns a central trait of Menander’s Knemon against his “enemies”—only he revels in their cruelty. However, simply by introducing the notion of ἀπανθρωπία into the discursive mix, he unintentionally reveals himself to be the true example of inhumanity. The legal action against his son is an extreme and unfair punishment, the very definition of ἀπανθρωπία. Once again, language entraps Libanius’ speaker, making a caricature of him.

The way Libanius turns Knemon’s life-threatening and life-changing accident into a farcical event constitutes the ultimate debunking of the misanthrope. Libanius upends all the details of Menander’s narrative. The mishap of his protagonist is the mirror image of Knemon’s accident. The latter falls into a deep well from which two people take considerable effort to extract him. The severity of his injuries causes Knemon to believe his death is imminent. [45] The shock of the accident and the feelings of shame and gratitude towards his saviour, Gorgias, generate a partial volte-face, whereby Knemon abandons his autarkic delusion and consents to his daughter’s marriage. In contrast, Libanius’ δύσκολος falls into a shallow pothole on the street, suffering no serious injuries and receiving no assistance, as none was necessary. Unlike Gorgias’, his son’s response is derisive rather than helpful. More importantly, far from checking his misanthropic attitude, the accident reinforces it. Instead of softening his demeanour like Knemon, Libanius’ δύσκολος embarks on a ludicrous campaign against laughter.

It transpires then that intertextuality undermines the Libanian misanthrope’s claims of credibility. We shall now see rhetoric doing the same. A declaimer’s primary concern is identifying his speech’s stasis (“issue”) and structuring the oration accordingly. Libanius’ speaker appears to have an elementary technical understanding of both requirements. Nevertheless, this proves illusory, as the δύσκολος soon finds himself entrapped in/by rhetoric.

Stasis theories started developing as early as the fourth century BCE—more systematically from the second century BCE onwards—to enable the orator to classify the various categories of “issues” that could arise, especially in court. The most influential relevant theorist was Hermogenes of Tarsus (second century CE), who established a thirteen-issue system developed around three basic questions. Malcolm Heath describes it succinctly:

Having identified the “issue,” the next step is devising the most effective rhetorical strategy for tackling it. Ancient theorists called the various rhetorical paths one could follow διαιρέσεις (“divisions”). As issue theory was mainly aimed at forensic oratory, most “issues” naturally concern past actions. One stasis, though, called “practical” (πραγματική), involves deliberation on a future course of action. Such πραγματικὴ στάσις is the “issue” of Declamation 27, where the orator attempts to convince the jurors to allow him to denounce his son. “Practical” issues are argued according to six διαιρέσεις: “legality” (νομίμῳ); “justice” (δικαίῳ); “advantage” (συμφέροντι); “feasibility” (δυνατῷ); “honour” (ἐνδόξῳ); “consequence” (τῷ ἐκβησομένῳ). [47] The “legality” and “justice” arguments examine whether the proposed action follows the law, custom, and what is generally considered just. The “advantage” line argues for or against the action’s usefulness (χρήσιμον) and necessity (ἀναγκαῖον). “Feasibility” involves showing that the action is not difficult (in fact, it is easy) or, if it is indeed challenging, that it is necessary and worthy of one’s trouble. Following the “honour” division, the orator proves that the action will bestow a good reputation upon the doer, setting aside any existing disgrace or shame. Finally, “consequence” looks into the possible outcome of pursuing or not pursuing the proposed action.

The misanthrope of Declamation 27 employs all six argumentative resources for a “practical” stasis. At first sight, that is, he shows himself as an expert in handling this type of issue:

1. Legality, Justice, and Feasibility: The speaker presents himself in front of the Boule as the law requires: to disown his son, he needs the expressed assent of the councilmen. The speaker thus acts τῷ νομίμῳ, although the law itself is unreasonable and unjust: it gives strange men a say in the management of one’s household. Disowning a son that derides his father is just (τῷ δικαίῳ) because such a person cannot be allowed to inherit his property and thus laugh at him even harder after his death. His son’s presumed legal defence that ἀποκήρυξις is permissible only for reasons of moral turpitude (being a glutton, a spendthrift, a fornicator, or a gambler) may be founded on law, but it is again unjust: such trespasses would deserve not ἀποκήρυξις but the death penalty.
2. Advantage and Honour: The advantage the community gains from the misanthrope’s proposal is that laughter will be condemned and hopefully excised from people’s lives: thus, his proposal is both useful and necessary. An extra implied advantage would be to validate the misanthrope’s gloomy outlook on life, which is again seen as useful and necessary because he is the paragon of virtue; that is, voting for disowning his son, the judges would bestow honour not only on the misanthrope as a wronged ageing father but also on his ideology and life practices.
3. Consequence: The misanthrope dismisses the idea that his proposal will have negative consequences on him above all because he would be “all alone” (ἔρημος) from then on: he loves ἐρημία!

Examined closely, of course, the misanthrope’s argumentation is illogical and ridiculous, which is consistent with his comedic background. According to him, his proposed action would be recommendable on the grounds of all six arguments if only the law were more reasonable, judicial practice less convoluted, and society knew better what is advantageous for it! However, when he argues for legality and justice, he runs into rough waters. He finds himself forced to acknowledge that the law places severe limitations on a father’s right to disown his son. “Laughing at one’s parent”—or laughing, in general—is not a situation that would warrant such extreme legal action. Facing such challenges, which practically mean that his proposal is unfeasible, the misanthrope’s approach is in tune with his comical character: he fulminates against the law, judicial practice, and the βουλευταί themselves, whom he imagines to be on his son’s side, perhaps because they put him through this trouble in the first place. This approach is unlikely to have been successful in a real court of law.

Russell states that the speaker of Declamation 27 is “able to make fun of common rhetorical teaching (of which, of course, this speech is an example as well as a parody) by anticipating the ἀντίληψις [“counterargument”] which the boy will have learned from his teachers.” [48] However, this is not entirely accurate. Libanius’ misanthrope does attempt to invalidate the counterarguments his son would have learned from his teachers—only the son’s arguments are legally valid, whereas the misanthrope’s refutations are ridiculous. Libanius has the speaker attempting to “make fun of rhetorical teaching.” The speaker is attempting to mock rhetorical teaching, but instead, he reveals his eccentricity and lack of legal foundation.

Libanius’ declamation is thus a parody of stasis instruction: his speaker knows the rules, but, unable to escape who he is, he applies them in a crooked and self-defeating fashion.

Added to how he handles the stasis, the structure of the speech is an ingenious reflection of the speaker’s character (and Libanius’ ethopoeic mastery). Once more, Libanius’ speaker demonstrates awareness of technical rhetorical instruction vis-à-vis the most effective strategies for challenging opposing viewpoints, as propounded, e.g. by Hermogenes. Eventually, however, his tactic backfires because his character gets in the way of structural effectiveness.

Typically, a declamation has a four-part structure: Prooemium, a narration of the facts, the Proof and an epilogue, which Libanius’ speaker follows (see above). On top of that, the misanthrope structures the Proof of Declamation 27 as a quadruple refutation of the son’s imagined defences. I quote Russell’s analysis: [49]

Each of the son’s hypothetical arguments adheres to specific argumentation strategies. His first and second pleas are classic examples of the μετάληψις (“objection”) and ἀντίληψις (“counterplea”) approaches, respectively. [50] The “objection” strategy involves countering the opponent’s arguments through refutation or counter-representation (κατά τε ἔνστασιν καὶ ἀντιπαράστασιν). In this case, the son is imagined denying that his actions warrant denunciation (the legal prerequisites of ἀποκήρυξις are different) and then making a “counterplea” argument of the type ὅτι ἔξεστι καὶ οὐ κεκώλυται, asserting that the act of laughing is permissible and a natural trait of humans. The third argument is a “mitigation” (συγγνώμη), which the misanthrope envisions the jurors presenting on behalf of the accused (an outrage in itself!). A mitigation plea involves portraying the perpetrator of a felonious act as unable to be held fully responsible for their actions (οὐ δυνάμενον ὑπεύθυνον γενέσθαι, ἀνεύθυνον δὲ πάντῃ). [51] While having offended his father with disrespectful laughter, the misanthrope’s son cannot be held fully accountable due to his youth and lack of maturity. As the fourth and final defence of the son, the jurors propose a plea of κοινὴ ποιότης. Hermogenes recommended using this “common quality” strategy in epilogues and second speeches. After completing their logical argumentation, speakers could appeal to the audience’s emotions and attempt to evoke pity (ἐλεεινολογουμένων τε καὶ πάθη κινούντων). [52] The misanthrope accuses the jurors of brandishing the spectre of ἐρημία to intimidate him, a threat which he dismisses with disdain.

The misanthrope, too, uses “objection by refutation and counter-representation” to dispute the pleas. Laughter, he says, is not generally permissible but only in the morally degraded space of the theatre. It is hardly an understandable human reaction, as some would suggest, let alone in this circumstance (against one’s injured father). The jurors have no business defending the youth by appealing to his age or any other mitigating factors because they do not know him and have had no share in raising him. Finally, threatening solitude is pointless because, for the misanthrope, ἐρημία is a blessing, not a curse! The implicit humour behind this argumentation is that the misanthrope’s inherent contrarianism is directed not only at the defendant but also at the law, the jurors, and even, implicitly, the declaimer (Libanius) himself, who lies behind the teachers that would fill the misanthrope’s son’s head with sophistic drivel. [53] The misanthrope structures his speech strictly to rhetorical conventions, which he appears adequately to command. However, rather than utilising persuasive oratory tactics to argue in favour of his case, with all the blandishments an orator needs to sway the audience, the misanthrope launches a crusade against everybody and everything. One can hardly imagine this strategy to have been a winning one!

One of the more nuanced themes Libanius derives from literary tradition, particularly Menander’s Dyskolos, is the misanthrope’s self-entrapment in the quagmire of public speaking. Misanthropes are notorious μισόλογοι; they despise not just formal oratory but human communication at large. However, these individuals are unexpectedly forced to make a structured speech in front of an audience to defend their interests—Knemon, in his Act IV apologia, before the family he had shirked all his life; Libanius’ speaker, before a panel of jurors. The outcome is a spectacular rhetorical catastrophe. At the crucial juncture, λόγος fails the misanthrope as the misanthrope had failed λόγος throughout his life.

Intertextuality exposes Libanius’ misanthrope as a laughable caricature of Menander’s Knemon. Rhetorical analysis of the structure and stasis of Declamation 27 demonstrates that he is also a parody of an effective public speaker. Libanius’ speaker unwittingly uses rhetoric to reveal his character rather than serve his purpose—and his character is the strongest argument against him. He knows the rules, but unable to escape who he is, he applies them in a twisted and counterproductive fashion. Locating the stasis and developing a strategy for addressing it with the appropriate argumentative resources in the proper order is critical in delivering an effective speech, whether real or imaginary. The misanthrope of Declamation 27 correctly identifies the “issue” of his oration as a “practical” one (πραγματική στάσις) and effectively employs all six strategies recommended in rhetorical textbooks for this purpose. He is also shrewd enough to structure his speech as a pre-emptive demolition of anticipated counterpleas. In both cases, however, he makes crucial mistakes that turn his rhetoric against him: he utterly fails in his εὕρεσις (inventio, producing the appropriate content for the speech). This rhetorical fiasco is the declamation’s most effective ethopoeic gesture. The rhetorical ability of Libanius’ speaker is skin-deep. In the end, rhetoric entraps him.

The traditional misanthrope was not typically a buffoon; Libanius makes him one. The most innovative trait he bestows upon him, his vehement aversion to laughter, is the core of his buffoonery. Traditional δύσκολοι are gloomy moralists who style themselves as fierce μισοπόνηροι. [54] Being only partially withdrawn from society (unlike “pure” misanthropes), they spoil everybody’s fun with their endless pontification and obstruct the happy ending—in Knemon’s case, his daughter’s marriage. Libanius’ δύσκολος is different. He is not simply an insufferable grumbler glued to his high horse. He has developed a theory that, while all men are to be shunned, some are more deleterious than others. He seeks to disown his son not to punish the boy’s irreverent behaviour or scare him into reform [55] but rather because he believes that the youth has been irredeemably corrupted by the disease of laughter, which he contracted through bad associations despite the father’s best efforts to prevent it. For Libanius’ δύσκολος, laughter is μέγιστον ἀδικημάτων—not just laughing at one’s father but laughing in general: γελῶν ἐπ’ ἐμοί, μᾶλλον δὲ ὅλως γελῶν (Declamation 27.14). This man is not just an agelast but something never seen in the misanthropic tradition before, an antigelast.

The term “agelast” was coined by George Meredith: [56]

Agelasts are the traditional “blocking characters” [57] of comedy, “spoilsports,” and “enemies of festivity.” [58] For Meredith, agelasts are the antagonists of hypergelasts,

More importantly, in Meredith’s theory, the agelast is one step before becoming a misogelast (μισόγελως), a puritanical hater of laughter:

The antigelast’s condition, I argue, is even more progressed than that of the μισόγελως. Antigelasts do not simply harbour a revulsion for laughter. The laughter-hating of men like Libanius’ δύσκολος has morphed into an ideology that governs their lives, a comprehensive system of thought and action founded on the concept that laughter is the apex of human vices and the root of all evil.

Antigelasticism is not just another humorous quirk added to the misanthrope’s already eccentric personality. Condemning a quintessentially human trait like laughter denies human beings the very right to be human. In these terms, antigelasticism represents the most severe expression of misanthropy, such that it strips the misanthrope of any right to be regarded with human sympathy and understanding. Libanius pushes his morose man to the fringes. Still, one must recall that by manipulating intertextuality and formal rhetorical instruction, the declaimer systematically portrays his δύσκολος as a fool and the entire situation in which he embroils himself as a comical absurdity. This is the lens through which the misanthrope’s faux-pas must be evaluated: if the anti-laugher is a harmless buffoon (his constant faux-pax ensure that the trial could not have ended in his favour), antigelasticism itself is diluted into light farce—a send-up of such attitudes and their notional proponents in real life.

The question arises: if the ideological hatred of laughter is not a traditional trait of literary misanthropes, where did it originate from, and why did the declaimer pursue this fascinating renovation of the dyskolic tradition? Older generations of scholars regarded Libanius as a “recluse student,” [59] “an oblivious composer of epideictic exercises… deaf to contemporary issues and finding solace only in the study and consideration of the Trojan War.” [60] If my interpretation is correct, declamations like no. 27 belie such outdated assumptions, presenting Libanius as actively engaged with the cultural and political landscape of his era—and not just in his epistolary writings: constructing his antigelastic δύσκολος, Libanius may be subtly commenting on contemporary cultural politics in ways that previous scholarship had overlooked.

Not elsewhere, but in his native Antioch, Libanius could easily encounter real-life polemicists raging against laughter with arguments almost identical to those expressed by the misanthrope of Declamation 27. Primary among them, inheriting a long tradition of Christian antigelasticism that he pushes to new extremes, [61] was John Chrysostom. The firebrand Christian ascetic, who was to become Bishop of Constantinople, coincided with Libanius in Antioch for decades [62] and was once believed to have been his student. [63] In the following paragraphs, I will provide evidence of the remarkable similarity between the antigelastic discourses of John Chrysostom and Libanius’ δύσκολος. These similarities cannot simply be dismissed as coincidental.

There should be little doubt that Libanius, who cannot but have been well aware of John’s fervent activity in his city, [64] was familiar with the Christian preacher’s antigelastic crusade. Chrysostom’s most sustained harangue against laughter is concentrated in the seventeenth homily on St Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians (Ὑπόμνημα εἰς τὴν Πρὸς Ἐφεσίους Ἐπιστολήν, PG 62.118–122). This sermon, dated ca. 395–397 CE, was delivered after Libanius died in 393 CE. The fifteenth homily on St Paul’s Epistle to the Hebrews (Ἑρμηνεία εἰς τὴν Πρὸς Ἑβραίους Ἐπιστολήν, PG 63.121–124) is another primary source from after the pagan rhetor’s passing (402–3 CE). [65] However, identical positions are ample in texts produced in Libanius’ lifetime, most notably in the sixth homily on the Gospel of Matthew (Ὑπόμνημα εἰς τὸν ἅγιον Ματθαῖον τὸν Εὐαγγελιστήν, PG 57.69–72, dated ca. 390 CE). Severe antigelastic comments are also dispersed in texts dating from John’s return to Antioch in 378 CE, after his six-year sojourn as a monk, to shortly after his ordination as a priest in 386 CE. These works are the speech Against the Enemies of Monasticism (Πρὸς τοὺς πολεμοῦντας τοῖς ἐπὶ τὸ μονάζειν ἐνάγουσιν, PG 47.319–86), written shortly after 378 CE; [66] two complementary books on the theme of contrition, dated 381/382 CE (Πρὸς Δημήτριον μονάζοντα περὶ κατανύξεως, PG 47.393–410, and Πρὸς Στελέχιον καὶ περὶ κατανύξεως, PG 47.410–432); [67] three works attributed to the years of John’s diaconate (381–386), probably also written in 381/382 CE: Against Men who Cohabitate with Women out of Wedlock (Πρὸς τοὺς ἔχοντας συνεισάκτους, PG 47.495–514), How to Guard One’s Virginity (Περὶ τοῦ πῶς δεῖ παρθενίαν φυλάττειν, PG 514–52), and On Virginity (Περὶ παρθενίας, PG 48.533–96); and finally, some of the Homilies on the Statues (Εἰς τοὺς ἀνδριάντας ὁμιλίαι κα´ ἐν Ἀντιοχείᾳ λεχθεῖσαι, PG 49.15–222), which John delivered to the Antiochenes after the serious riot that terrified the city in 387 CE. Five speeches of Libanius (Orations 19–23) refer to the same events. Notably, the riot’s instigators were a small group Robert Browning identified as the theatrical claque. [68] We shall see both Libanius’ δύσκολος and John Chrysostom venting most vehemently against the people of theatre and how they corrupt everyone around them by exposure to ostensibly harmless “funny” spectacles.

The fundamental premises on which the antigelasticism of Libanius’ δύσκολος is grounded are the following: (a) that laughter is not, as commonly believed, “a human thing”; (b) that it characterises the behaviour of immature/incomplete men (children and slaves) and lower life forms, such as animals, being intolerable even in those cases; (c) that human beings are meant to weep rather than laugh; (d) that laughter belongs to the depraved world of the theatre, from where it should not be allowed to spill into respectable society; and (e) that decent people should imitate proper models rather than the mimes. As the analysis below shows, John Chrysostom’s relevant discourse runs on exactly these lines. The passages from Libanius and John on which my analysis is based (the “Exhibits”) are fully quoted in the Appendix.

Both Libanius’ δύσκολος and John Chrysostom brand laughter as a perverse form of behaviour, alien to their respective ideal man.

Libanius’ δύσκολος refutes as “nonsense” (φλυαροῦσιν) the established view that laughter is natural to humans (ἀνθρώπων τὸ πρᾶγμα or ἴδιον ἀνθρώπου, Exh. L1), an ordinary, automatic, and light-hearted reaction to minor disturbances of life’s flow (Exh. L2). Whatever the circumstances (cf. below, under “Laughter is the attribute of children…”), laughter is the gravest offence (μέγιστον ἀδικημάτων, Exh. L3). It is even a form of madness (μαινομένων ἡγοῦμαι τὸν τῶν γελώντων εἶναι χορόν, Exh. L4). [69]

Nothing grates on the δύσκολος more than laughter. Nonetheless, the law does not recognise it as an ἀδίκημα; therefore, the victim of gelastic outrage is totally at the mercy of the laughers: “Who will save us from those offenders?” (Exh. L3). If his son is not punished now, but his gelastic insult is disregarded, he will behave even worse in the future (Exh. L5).

John Chrysostom, too, declares laughter as unnatural. “Making fun” (τὸ κωμῳδεῖν) and “laughing out of order” (γέλως ἄκαιρος) are especially aberrant for Christians, but, ironically enough, they would render even a pagan καταγέλαστος (Exhs. J1–J2). Laughter is the habit of men surrendering to the Devil (Exh. J3). Christians should be sober and focused on eternal life in a true spirit of repentance and contrition (Exh. J4).

Libanius suspects that if his son laughed uncontrollably (ἀκάθεκτος ὑπὸ γέλωτος ἦν) at something minor like a fall, his reaction to his father’s future death would be even more outrageous (Exh. L5): a laugher, that is, walks on a slippery moral slope. Similarly, John believes that “disorderly laughter” (ἄτακτος γέλως) [70] is a “gateway offence” of sorts (ἁμάρτημα) that can lead (ἄγει) to the more “established” violations (ὡμολογημένα ἁμαρτήματα, Exh. J5). The seemingly innocuous act of laughing at small things breaks the dam of decency. As a result, depravity inundates the soul of a Christian.

The negligence of the law, in Libanius, or widespread complacency, in John, make laughter hard to guard oneself against (δυσφύλακτόν, Exh. J6; cf. L3: τίς ἐπὶ τούτῳ τὸν ἠδικηκότα ἀμύνεται;). John finds it alarming that people do not take the dangers of laughter seriously and do not even count it among the offences (ἀδιάφορον εἶναι τὸ πρᾶγμα δοκεῖ, Exh. J6). Laughter is literally diabolical. It is the Devil that causes people to make light of laughter (οὐδὲν ἡγῇ τὸ πρᾶγμα, Exh. J8), not realising how it undermines Christian resistance to evil. In reality, however, untimely laughter and “funny words” (ἀστεῖα ῥήματα) are the root of all wickedness (Exh. J7). Laughter destroys a Christian soul’s harmony (κέχηνεν ἡ ἁρμονία, Exh. 9) and removes the salutary barrier of fear. Fear benefits a Christian; removing it exposes the soul to malevolent influence (Exhs. J9–J11). Facetious, seemingly innocent words lead to immoral, soul-damning actions (Exhs. J12–14). Nothing infuriates God more than irreverent laughter (Exh. J15).

Neither Libanius’ δύσκολος nor John want anything to do with laughter and those who practice it. The former hopes that, if he cannot do so himself, the jurors will denounce τὸ πολύγελων μειράκιον; the latter, that Christians will eventually heed St Paul’s advice (Exh. J7)—if not his own—and banish this nasty habit (ἐξορίσωμεν τοῦτο τὸ ἔθος, Exh. J16).

Presenting further “evidence” against the supposed misconception that laughter is a uniquely human trait, Libanius’ δύσκολος isolates animal behaviours like a calf leaping about or a dog wagging his tail as examples of “laughter” in their own right (Exh. L6). Animals, too, then, “laugh” in a way; laughter is not exclusive to humans. The argument is cunning: if beasts and immature men like his son behave identically, laughter pertains not to the human but to the subhuman. The law allows the δύσκολος to punish his domestic animals but, alas, not his equally mindless son (Exh. L6).

Similarly, John Chrysostom considers laughter to be evidence of immaturity and foolishness (ἀνοίας τεκμήριον). Children and slaves laugh at what is not laughable, wasting their time on play or matters of no significance (τῶν ἀσυμφόρων); on the contrary, “we,” that is, mature men, turn to the pressing issues at hand (τὰ παιδία τὰ μικρὰ πολλάκις γελᾷ, σπουδαιολογουμένων ἡμῶν καὶ περὶ τῶν ἀναγκαίων ἀσχολουμένων, Exh. 17). [71] Laughter is childish behaviour (παιδικώτερον, Exh. J18). Alluding to St Paul, John urges grown men “to abandon the ways of children” (Exh. J19).

Laughter may be a youth’s wont, but this does not imply that it can be excused. For Libanius’ δύσκολος, no time is ripe for laughter, and nothing, not even young age, justifies gelastic behaviour (Exhs. L7–L8). For John, too, laughter is indefensible, especially when one wanders around the agora laughing untroubled by one’s sins: such an attitude would be intolerable in a domestic slave, let alone the slave of God (Exh. J19). “What sort of forgiveness will [the laughing man] deserve?” (ποίας ἔσται συγγνώμης ἄξιος; Exh. J20) is the rhetorical question of John that Libanius’ morose man also implies.

Libanius’ δύσκολος strives to convince his audience that laughter is more subversive than it looks. Similarly, John Chrysostom attempts to shroud laughter in existential dread. Laughter is the useless activity of idlers—another “low” life form compared to the battle-ready Christian. Laughter serves no practical purpose but pure momentary entertainment (Exh. J21). Christians are constantly at war with the Devil (Exh. 22), who lurks in the dark, ready to pounce on their soul like a lion against its human opponent in a theriomachy (Exh. J23). Laughter, play, and relaxation ruin the Christian’s chances of winning the fight with the forces of darkness (Exh. J22–24). Laughter belongs to the world of perishable matter (τοῦ γὰρ κόσμου ἐστιν, Exh. J25); Christians should strive for heaven.

Libanius’ δύσκολος proclaims that, normally, it would be impractical for human beings to laugh as they have nothing to laugh about: they make each other miserable just by being in each other’s company, and their wicked actions fill their lives with woe (Exh. L9). In the same vein, that laughter is impossible for Christians is the cornerstone of John’s antigelasticism. Jesus teaches Christians always to be sombre, contained, and on their guard. After all, those who mourn in this life will be consoled in the next: Christians will laugh in Paradise (Exhs. J26–J27).

Life on earth is no time to relax and soften up (διάχυσις, Exh. J28). Surprisingly, Libanius’ δύσκολος allows one day when laughter is permissible, the day of one’s death, which brings sweet release from life’s misery (Exh. L9). This statement reads like an ironic reversal of John’s warning that anyone who laughs in this life will regret it “on that fated day” of judgement (κατ’ ἐκείνην τὴν ἡμέραν) and will constantly weep in life eternal (Exh. J29). The image of the formerly mirthful men bitterly lamenting their gelastic behaviour on judgement day (τρίζοντες… καὶ βρυχώμενοι, Exh. J29) recalls the Libanian misanthrope’s intention to force, on this day of (literal) trial, “this laughter-filled little boy” καὶ κλαῦσαί ποτε (Declamation 27.1).

Associating laughter with the theatre, and indeed with its supposedly lowest form, the mime, is one of the most vital points of contact between Libanius and John Chrysostom. Antigelasticism goes hand in hand with antitheatricalism both in Declamation 27 and in John’s homilies. Respectable people and serious matters are not to be laughed at—and the theatrical stage is a hotbed of such offensive activities.

Laughter, Libanius’ δύσκολος argues, is “altogether alien to mankind” if one laughs at what is not laughable (Exh. L10). [72] A father falling is barely reason to laugh unless real life is mistaken for the ludicrous shows and lurid dances of the theatre, where mimes and other clowns (κωμῳδοί, γελωτοποιοί, κόρδακες) poke irreverent fun at all that is good and decent (Exh. L11). The mimes tend to focus their ridicule on upright individuals like the δύσκολος, and his stupid son has furnished them with the material they needed (Exh. L12). Honest people should come in no contact with laughter whatsoever, even in the theatre. Even under such controlled conditions, laughter demeans the person, equating them with the mimes. The δύσκολος kept his son away from the poisonous spectacles of the stage to protect him from even knowing what laughter is. Apparently, he failed (Exh. L13).

John’s argument runs along the same lines. Laughter is not for Christians but for “the people of the stage, women prostituting themselves, men who shave their bodies for the same purpose, parasites, flatterers…” (Exh. J30). Theatre is the devil’s weapon for unnerving “the soldiers of Christ” (ἵνα τοὺς στρατιώτας ἐκλύσῃ τοῦ Χριστοῦ καὶ μαλακώτερα αὐτῶν ποιήσῃ τῆς προθυμίας τὰ νεῦρα, Exh. J30). The mimes ridicule the holiest of Christian holies, such as the mysteries of marriage and the Eucharist (τὸ μυστήριον τὸ μέγα παραδειγματίζοντες, Exh. J30). [73] Laughing with such lewd shows instead of stoning their performers to death or glossing them over as mere “playacting” (ὑπόκρισις) is not innocent fun (Exh. J32). Such an attitude degrades the soul and harms proper social relationships by causing people to imitate what they see onstage. One remembers Libanius’ δύσκολος when John accuses theatregoers of being the mime’s veritable sponsors and accomplices. The misanthrope’s son became the χορηγός of the mimes by providing them with a real-life scenario to enact (Exh. L12). Similarly, Christians who attend mime shows are “those who furnish the beginning and the root of these scandals” (οἱ παρέχοντες τὴν ἀρχὴν καὶ τὴν ῥίζαν τῆς τοιαύτης παρανομίας); for if these spectacles had no audience, they would not exist (εἰ γὰρ μηδεὶς ἦν ὁ τὰ τοιαῦτα θεώμενος, οὐδ’ ἂν ὁ ἀγωνιζόμενος ἦν, Exh. J30). Christians who attend the theatre become themselves “the builders of those workshops of the devil” (παντὶ τρόπῳ συγκροτῶν τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐργαστήρια τῶν δαιμόνων, Exh. J30). Notably, John describes the theatregoer’s dangerous complicity with the activities on the stage with the exact phrase Libanius’ δύσκολος uses to portray his son’s watching his fall as if it were a mime show in statu nascendi: “standing there laughing” (Hebrews, PG 63.121 = Exh. J31: σὺ δὲ ἕστηκας γελῶν; Declamation 27.17: καὶ σὺ μὲν ἴσως ἑστήξεις γελῶν, ἐγὼ δὲ κείσομαι κατὰ γῆς, οἱ δὲ προσθήσουσιν οἷα εἰώθασι ῥήματα).

“Our whole life,” John cries, “has become laughter and urbane ways and jokes; nothing is stable, nothing is solid” (Exh. J31). I use the phrase “urbane ways” to render John’s πολιτισμός. Laughter is literally “the manner of the πόλις,” the city and its “high,” pleasure-prone, idle society. Taking after his Menandrian forefather but echoing John, too, there is nothing Libanius’ δύσκολος dislikes more than the ἄστυ and its ways (Declamation 27.3).

Ultimately, both Libanius’ morose man and John Chrysostom insist that gelasticism is the result of misguided imitation. This would allow for the possibility of correction: rather than the mimes, one should imitate appropriate models. In the place of Chrysostom’s Jesus and St Paul, Libanius’ δύσκολος puts himself!

The models that John and Libanius’ δύσκολος prioritise never laugh or tolerate laughter and mirth in others (even in animals!); rather, they lead a stern, humourless life of “working the stones,” literally or metaphorically (Exh. L14, J33; further below).

Both John and Libanius’ δύσκολος try to shame their respective audiences into conformity. “The animals follow my ways, but you do not?” is the dyskolos’ drift (Exh. L15); “Christ and St Paul never laughed, but you do?” is John’s. Guilt is also a shared strategy: “I was hard at work, and you never came to watch me; you are watching me now and laugh?” (Exh. L16); “Christ was crucified for your sins, and you laugh?” (Exh. J34). “When and where did you see me laugh?” (Exh. L15); “When and where did you see Christ or Paul laugh?” (Exh. J35).

The Christian preacher chastises his flock harshly but still believes in their ability to find their way back to the right path. As for Libanius’ δύσκολος, unless we believe that, deep down, he shares the jurors’ belief in punishment as σωφρονισμός (Declamation 27.14), he has lost all hope for his son.

The following remark clinches the connection between his ideal soldier of Christ and Libanius’ antigelastic crusader. Defining the εὐτράπελος type, whom he identifies mostly with theatre practitioners, [74] John Chrysostom describes a man that is evil incarnate and Satan’s agent (Exh. J36). “To understand the nature of this man,” John suggests analysing

John’s word for “pliable” is εὔκολος. Being εὔκολος, writes Chrysostom, is the opposite of “those who work the stones” (τῶν τῇ πέτρᾳ δουλευόντων). Decisively, in Libanius, as we saw, these are the δύσκολοι. The soldier of Christ, metaphorically assuming the toilsome profession of Libanius’ speaker, is imbued with the latter’s morality: he is δύσκολος in the face of εὐτραπελία and the associated moral depravity.

The misanthrope’s antigelasticism, as seen in Libanius’ Declamation 27, represents a radical departure from the misanthropic/dyskolic tradition. Therefore, it should be the focal point of any analysis of Libanius’ imaginary speech. My investigation has shown that the morose man’s arguments against laughter are intertextual in nature and bear a striking resemblance to the Christian attacks on γέλως and εὐτραπελία, prevalent since the time of St. Paul but exceptionally pronounced in the homilies of Libanius’ contemporary (and possibly, former student) John Chrysostom. Libanius’ innovative use of antigelasticism in redefining the traditional misanthrope serves a deliberate and provocative purpose, albeit executed in a playful manner that is characteristic of the declamation genre. In my interpretation, it represents the pagan rhetor’s satirical response to what could be perceived as the anti-laughing hysteria of the Christians.

Libanius plays an intriguing rhetorical game. He constructs a μελέτη of evident classical origins, built almost exclusively with Menandrian material. His morose man, however, completely lacks Knemon’s solemnity. He is a hyperbolic, farcical variation of Menander’s cantankerous man, a buffoon who commands no sympathy or respect and undermines his case by constantly revealing his disagreeable character behind his superficial rhetorical skill. The new misanthrope’s damning deviations from his classical models are designed to accentuate the absurdity of his laughter-hating. The more ridiculous the man, the more excessive (and laughable) his antigelastic sermon.

Libanius’ δύσκολος erodes the classical misanthrope, and antigelasticism is his crowning buffoonery. When a closer look reveals that this new kind of laughter-hating fool echoes John Chrysostom and his campaign against γέλως, Declamation 27 acquires surprising fresh dimensions: it becomes Libanius’ delightful contribution to the polemics of laughter raging all around him in Antioch. One need not dig too deep into John Chrysostom’s discourses to discover an implicit admission that his puritanical version of Christianity did not always sit well with its target audience. [75] Libanius’ Declamation 27 could suggest that John’s extreme denunciation of laughter as the root of all evil, an ἀποκήρυξις of its own kind, elicited in pagan circles, too, the reaction that would mostly infuriate John: amusement.

6.1.1 Libanius