hard, painful labor, and even physical distress. Meanwhile, in another passage Epictetus chides a person who has evidently only engaged in the self-study of philosophy, and emphasizes to him that extended periods of learning under a vocational teacher, and a deep rather than a casual knowledge of a school’s texts and tenets are required before he can legitimately stake his claim to be a philosopher:
What did you do at school then, what did you hear? What did you learn? Why do you mark yourself down as being a philosopher when you might have recorded the reality, saying, “I have studied a few introductory works and have read a bit of Chrysippus, but I have never even approached the door of a philosopher.”102
τί οὖν ἐν τῇ σχολῇ ἐποίεις, τί ἤκουες, τί ἐμάνθανες; τί σαυτὸν φιλόσοφον ἐπέγραφες ἐξὸν τὰ ὄντα ἐπιγράφειν; ὅτι ‘εἰσαγωγὰς ἔπραξάς τινας καὶ Χρυσίππεια ἀνέγνων, φιλοσόφου δ᾽ οὐδὲ θύραν παρῆλθον.
The verb above, ἐπιγράφω, “putting down,” is commonly used in the sense of someone inscribing something, usually on stone, or, less commonly, to publicly attach one’s name to something. It is clear, therefore, that Epictetus is intending to portray this person who has only a passing interest with philosophy, as attempting to formally have their identity as a philosopher be recognized, something that Epictetus strongly contests. Intending to lead someone to reach a similar conclusion, Dio Chrysostom asks an unnamed dialogue partner what he would think of an individual who professes to be a huntsman, but who has no equipment that would allow him to engage in the activity; or a musician who neglects to ever pick up an instrument; or an astronomer who exchanges time contemplating the science to pursue gambling? When Dio’s imagined interlocutor replies that he would not believe these people to be genuine practitioners of their proclaimed arts/area of expertise, Dio similarly argues that if a person were to claim that they are a philosopher a thousand times, even in front of a public assembly or kings, it is of no matter, for:
there are certain words which one who goes in for philosophy must hear, and studies which he must pursue, and a regimen to which he must adhere, and, in a word, one kind of life belongs to the philosopher and another to the majority of mankind.103
Ἀλλὰ δὴ καὶ λόγοι τινές εἰσιν ὧν δεῖ τὸν φιλοσοφοῦντα ἀκούειν, καὶ μαθήματα ἃ δεῖ μανθάνειν, καὶ δίαιτα ἣν δεῖ διαιτᾶσθαι, καὶ καθόλου βίος ἄλλος μὲν τοῦ φιλοσοφοῦντος.
Through the above statement and the analogies he provides, Dio intends to argue that just as being a hunter, musician, or astronomer requires dedication and the use of certain resources, so does being a philosopher: in this case, firstly having access to philosophical teaching and literature, and devoting enough attention to them until its idioms and technicalities become known, and, secondly, adopting a pattern of behavior that is distinct from the bulk of humanity’s. Dio’s stance that the philosopher should have a different type of life (βίος) to the layperson’s is further seen from the phrase which is translated above as “regimen to which he must adhere,” δίαιτα ἣν δεῖ διαιτᾶσθαι. When δίαιτα is used in the middle voice, as it is here, it almost always refers to a person having a mode of life in which there are continually operative rules that guide their behavior, not just that they happen to have a particular routine.104 In this passage there is, therefore, the two requisite criteria for philosophical identity that have been outlined in this chapter being openly reflected upon.
It is perhaps worthwhile at this point to note that the listing of the ethical and intellectual demands for philosophers together is, to my knowledge, expressly commented upon in at least three other classical authors’ writings, which, due to space constraints and a fear of laboring what is hopefully an already substantiated point, I will not detail in depth. The first example comes from Apuleius (ca. 124–170 CE), who expresses a wish (that was referenced near the start of this chapter) that an edict regarding the identity of philosophers would be issued so that the (1) inexperienced (imperitus) (2) and/or base (sordidus) claimants of the title would be exposed for punishment.105 Alcinous’ (ca. second century CE) stipulation that philosophy’s students should show a capacity for intellectual endeavor and also be of virtuous disposition provides us with a second relevant text.106 Finally, for our interest is Lucian’s (125–180 CE) portrayal of the competition for the chair of Peripatetic philosophy in Athens during the reign of Marcus Aurelius, where, firstly, the candidates’ doctrinal familiarity and, secondly, their actions are portrayed as being held up against their school’s teachings.107 These passages hopefully show that the criteria for philosophical inclusion that have been explored in this chapter are not just evident with hindsight, but were recognized and utilized by people at the time.
Finally, it is worthwhile to note that during the course of this discussion two conclusions have been reached whose ability to sit alongside each other might require some explanation. On the one hand, it has been argued that during the time of the Roman Empire philosophical identity was imprecise and flexible, yet, contrastingly, that obtaining it necessitated that significant and robust criteria should be met. In order to ascertain how this dynamic worked, I suggest that we might consider two types of individuals who could have tried to gain inclusion into philosophical circles. Firstly, if evaluating a person who has an apparent deficiency in their intellectual capacity or moral character, then the criteria by which philosophical communities define themselves would appear to be solid and well defined, indeed almost able to be perfunctorily applied. Secondly, should another candidate for affiliation but whose attributes appear ambiguous, then it is found that the means of determining their inclusion or exclusion within a school appear to lose their power of precision, and the issue suddenly becomes a matter of subjective interpretation. When placed within this context, philosophical identity during the time of the late Roman Republic and Empire should not, therefore, be thought to be nebulous, but it apprehended that when effort is made to plot its boundary lines with exactitude, then they suddenly seem to lose their clarity.
In this regard, it might be usefully highlighted that in her study of Libanius’ (314–394 CE) school of rhetoric, Raffaella Cribiore draws upon the work of the classicist Fritz Pedersen, which explores Imperial-era attitudes toward professional qualifications, especially for political and military posts, and wherein Pedersen argues that the evaluation of potential candidates was largely carried out in an informal and person-person basis.108 Drawing upon insights from Fritz’s work and the extant records of Libanius’ school, Cribiore argues:
modern concepts of competence do not apply to the ancient world, and that considerations of training and efficiency emerge only sporadically and unsystematically . . . testing [in the schools] was largely informal and thus escapes sure detection . . . [there is a] lack of formal examinations and the seeming absence of precise and objective criteria of evaluation in ancient [rhetorical] education.109
Such a situation should, I propose, be understood by scholars to also characterize the ancient evaluation of philosophical identity.
Philosophical Outsiders
It can be observed that the lengthy process of study that philosophy required and the change in attitudes/worldview that it could provoke in its adherents would often instill a sense of affinity between respective schools’ pupils.110 For example, Dio Chrysostom reflects that philosophers believe themselves to be superior (δίαφέρω) in morals to those around them, while Lucian can
