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 portray a philosopher (of seemingly Stoic allegiance) promising a prospective student that philosophy could make him one citizen (πολίτης) of many who lived in a different and higher state.111 Appealing to an equally strong concept, Plutarch asserts that because of their similar training in philosophy, even people who live centuries apart can display a similarity in outlook and behavior that bespeaks of a shared kinship, while, expressing a similar outlook, Apuleius can refer to the “Platonica familia.”112 Both Plutarch’s and Apuleius’ remarks align with research which has posited that despite the disparate location of Platonic adherents across the Roman Empire, they existed in a “textual community,” where their allegiance to Platonic texts and practice of similar intellectual pursuits provided them with a shared identity.113 In addition, it might be noted that although it has not been widely deliberated in scholarly discussions, there is evidence that some schools’ students (including the Stoics’) might have adopted a shared dress code.114
The feeling of connection to fellow adherents and the exacting scholastic demands of philosophical study naturally created a divide between individuals who were and were not familiar with deep philosophical thought. A frequent way in antiquity to refer to people who were not philosophers was to employ the word ἰδιώτης. Iδιώτης has two primary meanings: firstly, a private as opposed to a political person, and, secondly, someone who lacks familiarity or skill in a certain activity or field of expertise.
Regarding the first use, ἰδιώτης is frequently utilized in ancient literature to designate someone who does not hold political office. When used in this sense, ἰδιώτης is obviously being employed in a way that places it outside of the concerns of this book. It should, however, be noted that while ἰδιώτης might be used to signal a person’s lesser status in comparison with an individual who holds political office, scholars have noted that it does not often appear to carry derogatory connotations.115
With regards to its second meaning, the ignorance or inabilities of ἰδιῶται in relation to, for example, the skills of military officers, physicians, orators, craftsmen, sophists, and philosophers is also frequently described in classical literature.116 When used in this way ἰδιώτης can again sometimes seem to lack derogatory intention, for example when it is employed to refer to people who were not part of early Christian circles.117 More often than not, however, when ἰδιώτης is used in ancient literature to negate someone’s skill, experience, or knowledge, then demeaning descriptions of their capabilities or intelligence are attendant,118 and ἰδιῶταί are referenced in order to set up a contrast with and amplify the talents of the skilled or cultured.119
As it was noted in the Introduction, aside from ἰδιῶται, words that relate to crowds, the masses, or humanity in general (such as δήμῳ, the people of a country/the general masses; ὄχλος, crowd/throng; οἱ πολλοί, the many) are also frequently used by classical authors as a way to describe people who lack philosophical education or awareness.120 Regarding Latin, the Greek word ἰδιώτης was transliterated into the language as idiota, and was commonly used to designate an individual who was ignorant of a particular area of study, whether that be science,