In Dio’s extant writings, again in contrast to Seneca’s, the autobiographical material plays a much more prominent role in underscoring his cultural capital: he rose to the challenges of his wanderings and exile and, like the Cynic Diogenes (Or. 6) and even Homer (Or. 53.9), coped heroically, almost literally in a Herculean manner, with hardship8; he returned to favor and claims to have gained access to the emperor Trajan, which allowed him to capitalize on the prestige of being an emperor’s associate (as in Or. 3.2; 44.6, 12; 45.2–3; 47.22); and his speeches delivered in his native Bithynia and home town of Prusa show a man who holds a privileged, if not uncontested, position (as in Or. 38, 40, 43, 44, 46). Last but not least, in the anecdote about his address to soldiers, Philostratus claims that Dio presented himself not merely as a philosopher but as a sage, a sophos.
It may seem that in at least one of the extant expositions of Musonius Rufus, the one mentioned above on exile (9), he, too, uses the first person voice to draw a comparison between himself and Diogenes the Cynic, presenting himself as a role model. After first mentioning how Diogenes coped, Musonius claims that he himself is displaying the very same fortitude. But the setting of the exposition matters and gives quite a different feel to the exchange from that in Dio’s speeches: the account presents Musonius as speaking from one man in exile to another, in a one-on-one conversation (even though witnesses must have been present to record the address). Thus the account reads like both a consolation and encouragement of his interlocutor and a reminder to himself (and others) of the reasons why exile is not to be lamented:
Οἷςδὲ λογισμοῖςχρῶμαιπρὸς ἐμαυτόν, ὥστεμὴ ἄχθεσθαιτῇ φυγῇ, τούτουςκαὶ πρὸςσὲ εἴποιμι ἄν.
The reflections which I employ for my own benefit so as not to be aggravated by exile, I would like to share with you too.
He, Musonius Rufus, knows what he is talking about because he has firsthand experience with exile, and if he, like Diogenes, can rise above such a challenge, so can his interlocutor and his audience. The immediate purpose of this manner of presenting oneself as a model is to establish a connection with the interlocutor not in order to meet the other on his own terms, as Plutarch did in his treatises on practical ethics, but to encourage him to strive for an ideal that is possible, even if difficult, to attain. Enhancing one’s own status, on the other hand, is not a primary concern.
If it is true that later Stoics such as Musonius Rufus and Epictetus consciously resist the traditional mechanisms of acquiring status, one could argue that this Stoic teacher’s discretion is merely analogous to the (in)famous Socratic irony and his disavowal of knowledge. After all, the end of Plato’s Phaedrus shows us a Socrates praying on his own behalf as well, as if he needs help, for inner beauty, for an exterior that harmonizes with his inner self, for the ability to recognize that the sage is rich, and for only so much material wealth as would be compatible with temperance. (The line about only the wise man being rich in particular would be picked up by the Stoics as one of their notorious paradoxes; SVF 3.593–603.) And in the Phaedo (91b–c) Socrates urges his interlocutors Simmias and Cebes to “care little for Socrates but much more for the truth” (trans. Gallop). Yet if we view such claims in the broader context of Plato’s works, it is clear that Plato at least has no qualms presenting Socrates as supremely sovereign and in control, notably in the Symposium, Phaedo, and the Apology. Plato and Xenophon stage their version of Socrates to a much greater extent than Arrian does with his Epictetus.
An important corollary to the low profile that both Epictetus and Seneca adopt for themselves is their recommendation that philosophers practice discretion. Epictetus has stripped his Socrates and Cynics of all quirky features, and in the case of the latter, of all potentially shocking behavior. Epictetus’s Cynic has been cleaned up considerably; no urinating or masturbating in public for his role model. (For this reason, too, we should be careful with using Epictetus’s portrait to complement our information about ancient Cynicism.9)
And Epictetus also endorses the more common topos of being very critical of those who merely look and play the part of being a philosopher by relying on props, as well of those who neglect their physical appearance altogether.10 He rails against effeminate looks and wants his pupils to be clean, manly (with beard), and healthy. Epictetus even goes so far as to concede that a threat to cut off his beard could be enough reason for a philosopher to commit suicide (Diss. 1.2.29), probably also because, as Musonius too points out, a beard is a sign bestowed by nature to distinguish men from women (21 Lutz and Hense; on this topic, cf. also Dio as in Or. 33.63–64; 35). According to Philostratus, Domitian did have Apollonius of Tyana’s beard and hair shorn off in order to humiliate him (V A 7.34). But even if it is the case for Epictetus that the true Cynic will be impressive in his simple radiance (Diss. 3.22), it would be a mistake for one merely to adopt this image without being able to rise to the considerable challenges of what it means to be an envoy and scout of the gods.
The literature of the period abounds with reflections on the “looks” of a philosopher.11 (An amusing and less often discussed example occurs in a pseudo-letter of Crates to his lover Hipparchia, 33 Malherbe, who has given birth to their son. Because of his mother’s healthy and rugged lifestyle, her son in turn is very strong, and it would not be long before he would be a child version of the Cynic, a puppy born of “Dog” parents, complete with staff, cloak, and wallet.) In comparison with Epictetus, Dio is much more ambivalent. While he, too, adopts the topos of railing against false philosophers, he pays considerable attention to his own mode of dress and self-presentation. Through visible cultural markings, Dio claims, a philosopher distinguishes himself from all others (as in Or. 70.7; 72; 47.25). He calls himself a mere self-taught wanderer and “laborer” in philosophy (1.9), yet the use of the first person in his orations allows him to brag and align himself with Heracles in his simplicity of speech and life (Or. 1, haplôs legein/bioun), with Socrates as someone who speaks the truth and avoids flattery (3.26–28), with Homer as having bravely born a life of wandering (see above), or with Diogenes as enjoying leisure and thus having time to advise a ruler (4.3). In spite of the almost requisite claims of humility about how someone like Dio pales in comparison with the first generations of philosophers (as in Or. 12.5–8, 72.16), it did not escape the notice of astute readers such as Arethas, a pupil of Photius, that in reality Dio aligns himself systematically with this august company (T7 Lamar Crosby). Rather than divert attention from himself, as Epictetus does in his expositions, Dio enhances his own status through his references to the great men of old.
In contrast to Dio and more in keeping with Epictetus, Seneca, too, prefers discretion. One does not flaunt one’s philosophical allegiance in being an agent provocateur; no repulsive dress, unkempt hair, messy beard, and conspicuous rejection of luxury by wallowing in squalor (Ep. 5.2–3). In a famous passage about a festival, for instance, he recommends that one not hold oneself aloof but take part without letting oneself go (Ep. 18.4). According to Stoics such as Seneca and Epictetus, we continue to do the same things, but not in the same manner.
Epictetus presents Socrates as such a pinnacle of discretion that even when asked to take others to philosophers, Socrates happily complied without drawing any attention to himself (Diss. 3.23.20–23; 4.8). There are passages in Plato that also point in this direction: in the Protagoras, for instance, Socrates complies with providing an overly eager young admirer access to the “great” sophist (310e), and in the Theaetetus he claims that he matches those who do not have an aptitude for philosophy with sophists instead of taking them on himself (151b). Yet the tonality of these scenes is quite different from Epictetus’s point. Plato’s account hinges on the distinction between the sophists and the “true” philosopher Socrates is supposed to be, whereas in Epictetus’s perspective, Socrates hides his very identity as a philosopher.
Epictetus also explicitly justifies the value of philosoph
ical discretion (Diss. 4.8.17–20). Such an attitude makes one focus on doing the right thing for one’s own sake and as a tribute to god, not in order to impress onlookers. Furthermore, if one makes mistakes, one undermines only one’s own reputation, not philosophy’s, and does not lead the general public even further astray. Epictetus here clearly has in mind the widespread lampooning of philosophers as hypocrites who themselves are not able to practice what they preach and the damage this does to philosophy.12 Seneca not only addresses this topic at some length, he even indirectly defends himself against such a charge (Vit. Beat. 17ff.), which, as we know, was historically leveled against him because of his great wealth and close association with Nero.13
Epictetus puts his defense of discretion into the mouth of his contemporary, the less-known Stoic Euphrates.14 But his portrait of Euphrates stands in marked contrast to that by Pliny the Younger (Ep. 1.10.5–7), who very much focuses on Euphrates’s outer appearance and rhetorical skill. Pliny describes Euphrates as a tall and comely man, with long hair and a beard—one of the physical hallmarks of a philosopher, as we have seen already—and his style of speech as luxuriant and seductive, the epitome of rhetorical elegance. Euphrates, Pliny claims, affects his listeners as much by his appearance and discourse as he does by the integrity of his life. One cannot help but notice that Euphrates in Pliny’s rendering is radically different in appearance and speech from Epictetus, as the latter comes across in Arrian’s records: a “little old man” (Diss. 2.6.23) with a lame leg and a caustic wit rather than a mellifluous tongue. If Pliny is right, instead of hiding his identity as a philosopher, as Epictetus claims he did, Euphrates, like Dio, seems to have presented himself as a living billboard. And even Epictetus acknowledges the attraction that Euphrates exerted through his rhetorical skill (Diss. 3.15.8; Ench. 29.4) in converting people to philosophy, although he does question the effectiveness of a speech to bring about such a tremendous outcome.
It is not the historical accuracy of the descriptions that is the issue here, but the conscious presentations. Pliny’s portrait is much more in line with broader cultural expectations of a philosopher’s behavior, which could be quite colorful, and verges onto the sensational. Even before the Second Sophistic reached its peak in the early second century, Dio, as we have seen, already embodies this mode of self-representation.15 Culminating in Philostratus’s over-the-top portrait of Apollonius of Tyana, whom Euphrates for his part had attacked and criticized severely, this mode increasingly depicts larger-than-life figures, as also in Lucian’s satirical staging of the Cynic Peregrinus, who “performed” even his own death by leaping into a pyre.
Euphrates’s rebuttal of Apollonius in front of Vespasian as rendered by Philostratus (5.37) is worth quoting in this context. If Euphrates relied more on public status than Epictetus did, Apollonius of Tyana, in turn, apparently pushed his status claims too far even for Euphrates: the emperor should “favor and embrace the kind [of philosophy] that is in accordance with nature, but avoid the kind that claims to be inspired [by (the) god(s), θεοκλυτεῖν]. For by misrepresenting the gods, such people [i.e., ones like Apollonius] prompt us to many foolish schemes” (trans. Jones). Traces of this criticism, with its concomitant rejection of magic, can also be found in Marcus Aurelius’s writings (1.6, 16, 17).16 In his Lives of the Philosophers and Sophists, Eunapius has captured well the notion of philosophers as divine men (as in 454 Wright).
Could a philosopher in the imperial era go too far in claiming authority for himself? The challenge must have been especially poignant for public speakers such as Dio. In several of his orations, we find lengthy prooimia in which he establishes his credentials with his audience and tries to secure its goodwill. That this could be difficult we also learn from him when he dwells on the reasons why people generally dislike philosophers who look down upon and berate others (Or. 72). In one instance in the extant writings, this discourse of self-justification takes up as much as half of the exposition (Or. 33), which focuses on a critique of “snorting” as a comic vehicle for addressing weightier issues.
Let us take a closer look at one such preface, from an address to the people of Alexandria (Or. 32) delivered to a big crowd in the great theatre, whom he needs to convince to pay attention to a serious speech. Entertainment, he claims (7), will never be in short supply, but speeches such as the one he himself has to offer for their benefit are much more rare. Next, in order to strengthen his credentials, he tries to get potential rivals out of the way: philosophers who do not speak in public at all or confine themselves to their lecture rooms (see also 20), Cynics who because of their modus operandi end up increasing the insolence of their audience, or speakers who focus merely on display and their own reputation. Perhaps there have been a few who have sparingly uttered frank statements, he goes on, but to find a man who is noble, brave, and disinterested enough to address them in this manner, as Dio himself is doing, is all too rare and precious, a gift of the good fortune of a very lucky city. He is not taking on this task, he claims, of his own volition, but by divine appointment, a point on which he dwells greatly in an elaboration of the importance of divine Providence. Where Epictetus took great pains to warn any would-be Cynic of the immensity of the task, which could be undertaken only by someone appointed by god as a scout and special emissary (3.22, see esp. 2–8, 23–25, 46–47, 53), Dio here has no qualms arrogating that status to himself. The remainder of the preface is devoted to the challenges of addressing a large crowd and coaxing it into being good listeners.
By Dio’s standards, Musonius Rufus, Epictetus, and Seneca would all be liable to the charge of hiding away from public encounters. Although Musonius Rufus has some public appearances to his name, based on the extant evidence, he mostly taught in a more intimate setting, like Epictetus. And though Seneca’s writings were destined for a wider audience, they are framed as exchanges with individuals, not with a larger audience at public gatherings. This, again, I would argue, points to a conscious decision in a cultural polemic about how philosophical discourse should best be conducted, a decision that ran counter to the mode adopted by Dio, Euphrates, and others.
When one views Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations from this angle, one could argue that Musonius Rufus’s and Epictetus’s stance reached its logical conclusion with this work: the writings are so far from intended to impress and garner status for their author that they were probably meant for personal use or to be read by a very small circle of people. The Meditations, written in Greek, show traces of a ruler who is aware of the importance of his public role and his responsibilities, but they were also, in all likelihood, the only way for Marcus Aurelius to get some distance from this role and to overcome its considerable social constraints (cf. 6.30). We can discern in Dio’s positioning of himself vis-a-vis Trajan how even the category of associates or friends of an emperor was governed by heavy protocol. In these writings, Marcus Aurelius attempts to move beyond such social scripts and strives to exemplify the ideal of making philosophical teachings his own and integrating them into everything he does.
Stoics of the Roman imperial era such as Seneca, Musonius Rufus, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius drew from the same cultural stock as did more public actors such as Dio and other members of the Second Sophistic, but they put this tradition to a radically different use; they attempted to walk a fine line between challenging common assumptions and practices and maintaining one’s responsibility and role in socio-political contexts. Because of this latter concern, they were not quite the kind of closet agents against whom Dio directed his scorn (see also Or. 47.2–3, for a more positive view of the Stoics’ quandary). For their part, they consciously eschewed certain modes of acquiring social status and success, whereas Dio did, after all, take on a role in public life and try to convey certain messages that ran counter to a business-as-usual approach, and he may very well have needed an established reputation to accomplish this task. The trade-off and cultural dilemma could not be clearer than in the two anecdotes about Musonius Rufu
s and Dio each addressing armies.
FURTHER READING
Of the works included in the bibliography to this chapter, Inwood 2005 is a good introduction to the thought of Seneca, as is Van Geytenbeek 1963 to Musonius Rufus, Long 2002 to Epictetus, and Hadot 1998 and Van Ackeren 2012 to Marcus Aurelius. Ramelli 2008 provides the most complete and up-to-date bibliography, and Reydams-Schils 2005 focuses on the topic of social ethics. Hahn 1989 and Whitmarsh 2001 constitute the best background reading for the issues discussed in this chapter.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Bénatouïl, T. 2006. Faire usage: La pratique du stoïcisme. Paris.
Bénatouïl, T. 2009. Les Stoïciens III: Musonius, Épictète, Marc Aurèle. Figures du Savoir 45. Paris.
Billerbeck, M. 1978. Epiktet “Vom Kynismus,” herausgegeben und übersetzt mit einem Kommentar. Philosophia Antiqua 34. Leiden.
Bonhöffer, A. 1890. Epictet und die Stoa. Stuttgart.
Bonhöffer, A. 1894. Die Ethik des Stoikers Epictet. Stuttgart.
Colardeau, T. 2004. Étude sur Epictète. La Versanne. Originally published in 1903.
Frede, M. 1997. “Euphrates of Tyre.” In Aristotle and After, edited by R. Sorabji, 1–11. London.
Hadot, P. 1993. “Une clé des Pensées de Marc Aurèle: Les trois topoi philosophiques selon Épictète.” In Exercises spirituels et philosophie antique, 135–172. 3rd ed. Paris.
Hadot, P. 1998. The Inner Citadel: The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Cambridge, MA, and London.
Hahn, J. 1989. Der Philosoph und die Gesellschaft: Selbstverständnis, öffentliches Auftreten und populäre Erwartungen in der hohen Kaiserzeit. Stuttgart.
Inwood, B. 2005. Reading Seneca: Stoic Philosophy at Rome. Oxford.
Long, A. A. 2002. Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life. Oxford.
The Oxford Handbook of the Second Sophistic Page 85