Doctrine, Anecdote, and Action: Reconsidering the Social History of the Last Platonists (c.430–c. 550 C.E.)Author(s): Edward WattsReviewed work(s):Source: Classical Philology, Vol. 106, No. 3 (July 2011), pp. 226-244Published by: The University of Chicago PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/661544 .Accessed: 14/10/2012 21:24

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Classical Philology 106 (2011): 226–44[© 2011 by The University of Chicago. All rights reserved] 0009-837X/11/10603-0003$10.00

DOCTRINE, ANECDOTE, AND ACTION: RECONSIDERING THE Social hiStory of the laSt PlatoniStS (C. 430–C. 550 C.E.)

edward watts

T wo Parallel narratives have tended to dominate modern recon-structions of the final century and a half of Platonism’s long ancient history. The first ties the dramatic intersection of pagan-Christian

conflict, imperial policy, and philosophical principles to the end of Platonic teaching in the Eastern Roman Empire. 1 A second, distinct narrative analyzes Latin philosophical writings and traces the gradual unraveling of the ties that bound Latin philosophical culture and its Greek counterpart. 2 Each of these narratives has its own unique way of viewing and understanding Platonism. The first story culminates with the emperor Justinian’s closing of the Athe-nian Platonic school. It tends to present the affected philosophers as a small, isolated group of pagan intellectuals whose conflict with an increasingly as-sertive Christian political order pushed them to the empire’s margins. The second narrative ends with Boethius and Cassiodorus and stresses how their philosophical efforts both underlined Graeco-Latin philosophical separation and planted the seeds of medieval scholasticism. It sees Platonism primarily as a movement held together by scholastic practices and doctrinal continuities in which Latin writers participated only at some remove.

This paper proposes a different, more expansive way to think about late antique philosophical life. Ancient philosophical culture was not defined ex-clusively by religious concerns and doctrinal ties. Beginning with the Old Academy of Xenocrates, Platonists shaped themselves into an intellectual community held together by doctrinal commonalities, a shared history, and defined personal relationships. 3 As the Hellenistic world developed and Platonism spread beyond its Athenian center, doctrine, history, and social ties stopped being conterminous. Platonists remained connected by a shared intellectual genealogy, but Platonism’s social and doctrinal aspects became

Earlier versions of this paper were delivered at the Late Antique Network meeting in Knoxville, Tennessee in 2009 and at a symposium in Uppsala University. I wish to thank the participants in these meetings as well as the anonymous referees of CP for their suggestions and criticism.

1. Numerous studies have been written arguing about the closing of the Athenian school. Among the most prominent are Cameron 1969, 7–29; Blumenthal 1978, 369–85; and Hällström 1994, 141–60. For a more detailed discussion of this event and its aftermath see Watts 2006a, 128–42, and 2005, 285–315.

2. For this line of exploration see, most notably, Courcelle 1943. In assessing Courcelle’s arguments about Boethius’ use of contemporary Greek philosophy, one should note the important corrective offered by Shiel 1990, 349–72. For Boethius as one who anticipates Medieval Scholasticism, see Marenbon 2003. Note as well the essay of Moorhead 2009, 11–33.

3. Watts 2007, 106–22.

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decentralized as individual schools with their own interests grew up in vari-ous cities. 4 Although no direct institutional connection joined them to the Academy, late antique Platonists saw themselves as part of an old philosophi-cal lineage that reached back to Plato. 5 In their schools, the history of an individual circle’s past mingled with that of the larger intellectual tradition it claimed to have inherited. This amalgamated tradition was handed down from teachers to students in personal conversations that had a number of important, community-building effects. They attracted students to Platonic philosophy, encouraged them to identify with the movement’s past leaders, and influ-enced their ideas and actions once they joined a specific group. As this paper will show, the Platonic circles that these men and women formed were then defined as much by the relationships they formed and by the behaviors they exhibited as by the doctrines they espoused.

1. Social Space

Before speaking about the men and women who used Platonic ideas to guide their actions, it is first important to emphasize that the classrooms of Platonic teachers contained many students who studied philosophy only as a supple-ment to a different sort of education. Some of these people ultimately chose to order their lives according to Platonic principles, but many (and perhaps most) simply absorbed Platonic ideas and moved on to law schools, adminis-trative positions, or other pursuits. 6 It is also important to note that a number of the Platonic philosophers leading these classes taught in other disciplines as well. Chrysanthius, the intimate and former teacher of the emperor Julian, spent his mornings teaching grammar in Sardis. 7 Syrianus, the Aristotelian commentator and Orphic hymnist who preceded Proclus as head of the Athe-nian Platonic school, and Horapollon, the scion of an Alexandrian Platonic dynasty at the turn of the sixth century, also offered regular classes in gram-mar. 8 It is probable, then, that some of the students who studied under these men never received any Platonic instruction at all. 9

These diverse interests complicated the social organization of a Platonic community, but the way in which Platonists used scholastic space may have

4. On this process of decentralization, see the important collection of essays in A.-M. Ioppolo and D. Sed-ley 2007.

5. The connection that late Platonists felt they had to Plato can perhaps be best seen in the Philosophical Histories assembled by both Numenius and Porphyry. For the role of Numenius, in particular, in crafting a broad and integrative model of the philosophical past, see Boys-Stones 2001, 38–41.

6. Among the most notable examples of casual students who became devotees are the fifth- and sixth-century Athenian luminaries Proclus and Damascius. Proclus first took instruction in philosophy while pursu-ing a course of study that he hoped would lead to law school (Marinus Vita Procli 8). Damascius, for his part, seems to have sat in on the philosophical lectures of Ammonius Hermeiou while preparing himself for a career in rhetoric; this is suggested by Isid. 56. For discussion of Damascius’ conversion, see Athanassiadi 2006, 192–94. For those who moved on to other pursuits, see Zacharias Ammonius 1–2, 28–31.

7. Eunap. VS 503, 505.8. The best indication that Syrianus taught grammar is his extensive commentary on a work by the gram-

marian Hermogenes. On Horapollon, see Dam. Isid. 120B as well as the account in Zacharias Scholasticus Vita Severi 15–27. His grammatical teaching is described at Vita Severi 15. For Horapollon’s position as head of a philosophical school in the 490s, see Maspero 1914, 163–95.

9. Eunapius, for example, studied both grammar and philosophy with Chrysanthius but seems to have received philosophical instruction after he returned to Sardis following his rhetorical training in Athens.

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helped to resolve some of this complexity. Late antique Platonic schools seem to have utilized public spaces for teaching students seeking a general philo-sophical education and private spaces for the interaction of Platonic initiates. Two sites that may be connected to philosophical instruction suggest a way to understand in spatial terms how late Platonists set their public instruction apart from the activities of a school’s inner circle. The first, unearthed at Kom el-Dikka in Alexandria, seems to have been a sort of publicly-commissioned classroom complex. In the mid-to-late fifth century, perhaps as many as twenty-five lecture halls were constructed in the center of the city abutting a late Roman bath. 10 Each of these contained rows of seats arranged along three walls of the room so that they resembled small, horseshoe-shaped theaters. At their head was a raised chair, presumably for the teacher leading the class. These seem to have been part of a larger scholastic quarter in the city that included a public theater, a large open space in which people could congre-gate, and a colonnaded portico onto which all of the individual rooms opened.

A series of literary descriptions of the space in which philosophical instruc-tion took place in fifth- and sixth-century Alexandria suggests that the Kom el-Dikka classrooms may have been used by the most prominent Alexandrian Platonists of the period. In the early sixth century, Zacharias Scholasticus wrote about the Platonist Ammonius Hermeiou “sitting on a high seat in the manner of a pompous sophist, expounding and clarifying to us Aris totle’s doctrines.” 11 He also describes leaving a class given by Ammonius and head-ing out into an area called “the temenos of the Muses,” in which “poets, rhetors, and students of grammar make their declamations” and to which students could go to further discuss issues raised in class. 12 This could cor-respond to the large open space next to the classrooms at Kom el-Dikka. 13 Similarly, in the later sixth century, the philosopher Elias spoke about the classrooms of his day as “not unlike theaters” with “a rounded plan in order for the students to be able to see one another as well as the teachers.” 14 Here again, an Alexandrian teacher describes his teaching space in terms that seem to match the structures found at Kom el-Dikka.

The remains of a number of late antique houses erected along the Athe-nian Areopagus may preserve the foundations of a different type of scholastic building. One group of structures located along the north side of the hill had distinctive architectural features (like apsidal rooms) that have prompted some to speculate that these were the residences and schools of teachers oper-ating in the city. 15 More intriguing is a structure on the Acropolis’ south slope.

10. The remains are described and analyzed in detail by Majcherek (2007, 11–50); and placed in their urban context by McKenzie (2007b, 53–83). On the larger complex of auditoria, see Majcherek 2004, 25–38, as well as 2005, 17–30. I thank Professor Majcherek for the final two references. Note now the detailed recon-structions in McKenzie 2007a, 208–20.

11. Zacharias Ammonius 92–99. All translations in this article are my own, unless otherwise noted.12. Zacharias Ammonius 361–69.13. On this space see Majcherek 2007, 14–15; McKenzie 2007b, 79. Elsewhere McKenzie (2007a, 214)

explicitly connects the temenos of the Muses with the teaching complex of Kom el-Dikka.14. Elias in Porphyrii Isagogen 21.29–30 (trans. Majcherek 2007, 41).15. Most prominently, Frantz 1988, 39–41; and Athanassiadi 1999, 343–47. Athanassiadi’s proposal that

Areopagus House C may have replaced the so-called House of Proclus as a scholastic center after the latter was abandoned around the turn of the sixth century remains an intriguing one. On the “House of Proclus,” see more

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Its location matches what is described by Marinus, the biographer of Proclus, when he writes about the house that Proclus inherited from his teachers Syri-anus and Plutarch. 16 Like those on the other side of the hill, this building contained a large central hall with a mosaic floor and an apse at the floor level.

A passage in Eunapius’ Lives of the Sophists states that the house of the Athenian sophist Prohaeresius contained a marble theater in which he held class, an arrangement that Prohaeresius and other Athenian teachers adopted because scholastic violence had reached such a level that it was unsafe to teach in public. 17 On the basis of this description, it has been assumed that the apsidal rooms in the Areopagus houses were constructed to serve the same instructional purpose as the private theater that Eunapius mentions. 18 There are a couple of difficulties with this idea, however. First, Eunapius’ description should be considered with a bit more caution. The house used by Prohaeresius predates the Areopagus houses by perhaps as much as a cen-tury. 19 In addition, Eunapius highlights the arrangement created by Julianus and continued by Prohaeresius because it was exceptional. 20 This suggests that Eunapius’ evidence may not necessarily provide a helpful parallel for understanding how these later constructions were utilized. Secondly, the apses in both the house of Proclus and its cousins on the Areopagus’ north side are relatively small in size and do not contain the sort of theater arrangement that Eunapius describes. This is especially important to note because, at roughly the same time as their construction, the Metroon on the west side of the Agora was refitted to include an apse with marble benches at the end of a long central aisle, a structure not unlike that found in the Alexandrian public auditoria. 21 The size and shape of the apsidal rooms in the Areopagus houses suggest that they are more likely to be the large public dining rooms of elite houses

below. The similarity of the Areopagus houses to urban villas in other cities has been noted by Castrén (1994a, 8); and Fowden (1990, 494–500).

16. “To this end his house in which he lived was a help to him. Indeed, in addition to other good features, the house was beautiful to him, and then there was the fact that his ‘father’ Syrianus and his ‘grandfather’ Plutarch, as Proclus himself called them, lived there. More so, it was on the one hand neighboring to the Ascle-pion, famous from Sophocles, and the temple of Dionysus adjacent to the theater, and on the other it could be seen and was otherwise perceptible to the senses from the Acropolis of Athens” (Vita Procli 29). On the House of Proclus, see Karivieri 1994, 115–39.

17. VS 483.18. Frantz 1988, 45.19. It had once belonged to Prohaeresius’ teacher Julianus, who first set up shop in Athens in the 290s.

Eunapius says nothing about when the house was constructed. It has generally been assumed that the Areopa-gus houses were built in the last part of the fourth century (e.g., Frantz 1988, 47–49).

20. In the same period, Libanius taught in his home only when he was trying to establish himself in Antioch. Once his school became viable, Libanius moved to larger, more public spaces; for discussion, see Cribiore 2007a, 30. Other teachers used their homes too, but most seem to have done so only until public space became available (see Cribiore 2007b, 144–47). I am skeptical of Cribiore’s identification (on p. 146) of the small school described by Himerius in Or. 64 as his home, though this is certainly possible. CTh 14.9.3, a law that prohibits teachers who make use of public facilities in Constantinople from also teaching privately in their homes, shows the difficulty in distinguishing between informal gatherings in a home and actual teaching. The specific problem it addressed, however, was publicly salaried professors looking to supplement their income by taking on additional fee-paying students (or charging extra fees for better instruction). It is not generally concerned with the use of private facilities.

21. Thompson 1937, 195–202. Because of its westward orientation, this cannot represent conversion into a church. Thompson has proposed identifying the renovated building with a synagogue, an idea echoed by Frantz 1988, 58–59. In light of the Kom el-Dikka remains, however, Majcherek 2007, 42–43, has suggested reinterpreting this site.

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than the teaching spaces of schools. Indeed, such features are typical of later Roman villas found throughout the empire and often were part of the public space in which prominent families entertained their guests. 22

This does not mean, however, that late antique Athenian intellectual com-munities made no use of houses like these. The Life of Proclus suggests that this sort of semiprivate space may have served as a site for both public scholastic activities and social interaction between philosophical initiates. When Proclus first arrived in Athens, he joined a small meeting (sunousia) led by Syrianus and attended by Lachares, a professional rhetorician “who was drenched with philosophical learning and a fellow student of the philosopher in these matters.” 23 The conversation ran long and, as the moon began to rise, the two philosophical initiates “tried to send [Proclus] outside, speaking to the youth as a stranger [xenos], 24 so that they might be free to make obeisance to the god on their own.” 25 Proclus then “immediately removed his sandals and, as these men watched, he paid his respects to the god.” 26 Lachares, “who was struck by this free expression of the youth, spoke to the philosopher Syrianus that statement divinely spoken by Plato about those of great character ‘This man either will be a great good or quite the opposite.’” 27

This scene offers rich material for understanding both the organization of the fifth-century Athenian Platonic school and the way in which different strata of the school’s social hierarchy utilized its space. Although Marinus does not specify that this encounter took place in the so-called house of Pro-clus, this is the most likely location. 28 Marinus also implies that this area was sometimes open to visitors to the Platonic circle while at other moments its access was restricted only to initiates. 29 Our initial inclination may be to at-tribute this way of using space to a political climate that made open displays of pagan piety risky in the 430s, 30 but a number of parallel situations suggest that religious pressure is only a partial explanation for the exclusion of a stranger from the communal space of the school. In the 480s, for example, some Alexandrian teachers who normally used public classrooms would hold their Friday lessons in their homes and open them to only a small subset of

22. See Fowden 1990, 496; Sodini 1984, 344–50, 359–60, 375–83. Indeed, Julia Hillner has recently dem-onstrated that the size and complexity of these apsidal rooms increased in Late Antiquity, suggesting that they may have become more important in elite entertaining (Hillner 2009).

23. Vita Procli 11.24. Marinus’ choice of words here is deliberate and designed to contrast the outsider status of Proclus with

that of Lachares, Syrianus’ “fellow-student.” In the end, of course, Proclus’ prayer showed that, despite his recent arrival, he was not really an outsider at all.

25. Vita Procli 11.26. Ibid.27. Ibid.; among the Platonic parallels are Resp. 491e, Cri. 44d, Grg. 525a, Hp. Mi. 375e.28. The prayers that Syrianus and Lachares want to perform in the meeting space make it clear that this

encounter did not take place in a public auditorium or, indeed, in a place easily seen by passersby. Because Syrianus then occupied the house that would eventually be left to Proclus, this is the most likely place in which the encounter occurred.

29. Dillon (2007, 117–18) understands this meeting as an interview. He suggests, quite rightly, that, had Proclus shown himself to be a Christian, he would likely have been allowed to listen to lectures but not admit-ted to the school’s restricted religious activities.

30. E.g., Dillon 2007, 117.

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their students. 31 Nor was this practice unique to the fifth century. A similar dynamic can be seen in second-century Athenian schools of rhetoric as well as in early fifth-century Alexandrian philosophical schools. 32 Each of these institutions rewarded their more talented and dedicated students with greater access to the professor and his home. Indeed, even during the lifetime of Plato, Platonists may have demarcated space depending upon one’s degree of attachment to the master. 33 These examples suggest that public auditoria (like those in Alexandria) and private houses (like the one belonging to Proclus) could serve as two complementary components of a scholastic physical plant. As students progressed from casual auditors of lectures to initiates into the culture of a scholastic circle more of the school’s space opened up for them.

2. Social Relationships

The particular ways in which Platonists restricted access to some scholastic space ensured that the ideas presented in a classroom played only a small part in defining one’s experience of and standing in a Platonic community. Literary sources that speak about the social organization of schools confirm this picture. Theoretically, late antique teachers and students saw themselves as members of a scholastic family. 34 Reality often did not conform to this rhetoric. 35 Zacharias Scholasticus, for example, studied philosophy under Ammonius Hermeiou in Alexandria but later did not hesitate to attack the character and credibility of his teacher. 36 More intriguing is John Philopo-nus, a member of Ammonius’ philosophical family who, like a rebellious son, disavowed some of the circle’s core ideas in an attempt to establish his own intellectual identity. 37 Many other students were more disinterested than hostile, perhaps not unlike the students whose unwillingness to actually read assigned texts bemused a later Arabic scholar. 38

The most dedicated members of a philosophical school, however, readily embraced these familial relationships and the personal intimacy they enabled.

31. Zacharias Vita Severi 23. Zacharias here describes the beating of a student of the teacher Horapol-lon by his fellow students. He says that the students of Horapollon chose Friday to set upon their classmate because Horapollon would be away owing to the fact that “all the teachers used to lecture and give instruction in their homes” on that day. This suggests both that some of Horapollon’s students studied with him at his home and that a large number of Horapollon’s students did not.

32. E.g., Philostr. V S 585–86; Vita Procli 8.33. If Epicrates and Aelian are to be believed, it seems that discussions held in the Academy grove were

apparently open to all (Epicrates, frag. 11), while Plato led other seminars in his home to which he welcomed only the most devoted of his followers (Ael. VH 3.19).

34. E.g., Lib. Ep. 931, 1009, 1070, 1257; Synesius Ep. 16. For a discussion of these terms, see Petit 1957, 35–36; and Cribiore 2007a, 138–43.

35. This seems to have been a particular problem in schools of grammar and rhetoric. Late antique evi-dence suggests that only a minority of those attending classes in rhetoric at any one time would complete even a three-year course of study (see Kaster 1988, 26–27, based upon Petit 1957, 62–65). See Lib. Ep. 379, for a case of a student who left his care before completing his course; note, however, the cautions of Cribiore 2007a, 177.

36. E.g., Zacharias Ammonius 19–24, 27–32.37. Watts 2006a, 237–55. On the ways in which this rebellion is manifested in his work, see Verrycken

1990, 233–74, though note as well the comments of Scholten 1996, 118–43, and Lang 2001, 8–10.38. “These synopses obviate the need for the original texts . . . and save one the trouble of reading the

digressions and superfluous material which they contain.” (Abu-l-Farag ibn Hindu, Miftanh al-Tibb 63.13–15, trans. Gutas). He is speaking about the works of Galen, but this attitude probably lies behind the production of so many synthetic philosophical prolegomena in the later fifth and sixth centuries; for these, see Wildberg 1990, 33–51.

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Synesius, for example, spoke with reverence about his philosophical “mother” Hypatia and compared his fellow student Herculianus to a “brother.” 39 In some cases, this notion of an intellectual family extended into more tangible realms. When he took over the Athenian Platonic school, Proclus would “go out to the Academy and perform rites in the defined place for the souls of ancestors [progonoi] and kindred souls.” 40 Syrianus, Proclus’ teacher and philosophical father, even asked Proclus to arrange to be buried in a “double-vaulted memorial tomb” that Syrianus had constructed for the two of them. Before he died, Proclus arranged for this to be done and inscribed his half of the monument with an epigram that underlined the philosopher’s personal development in particularly succinct fashion:

I am Proclus, born of the Lycian race, whom Syrianusraised [threpse] here to succeed him in his teaching.A common tomb has received both our bodies,may a single place receive our souls. 41

Proclus there described himself as born into an earthly family but raised by Syrianus into a proper philosophical life. When he died, Proclus’ body was placed in the mausoleum of his philosophical family and, he hoped, his soul would end up in the same realm as that of his philosophical father. No concern is expressed for a reunion with his biological ancestors.

Proclus and Syrianus took notions of philosophical lineage further than many late antique Platonists, but their actions were not unprecedented. In the Old Academy, for example, the scholarch Polemo shared living quarters with his appointed successor Crates and a common tomb with him when both died. 42 Similarly, the Academics Arcesilaus and Crantor lived in the same house during their lives. 43 The pseudo-Platonic Theages, a dialogue likely composed during this period, suggests that Platonists understood this sort of arrangement as one in which a young man traded the guidance of a biological father for that of a teacher. 44 In an exchange near the end of the work, Theages and his father Demodocus both appeal to Socrates to take the young man on as a pupil. 45 When Socrates expresses some reluctance, Demodocus begs Socrates to “be willing to associate with [Theages]” and implores Theages to “not seek to associate with anyone other than Socrates.” 46 If this happens, both will be “freeing [Demodocus] from numerous and fearsome concerns.” 47 Theages then answers his father: “Now no longer have any fear for me, father, if you can persuade this man to accept my association [sunousia].” 48 Sunou-sia can, of course, have erotic overtones and the Theages can certainly be read as a justification for the eros-driven educational theory advanced by the

39. Synesius Ep. 16.40. Vita Procli 36.41. Ibid., 36. I thank an anonymous referee for offering some suggestions for improving this translation.42. Diog. Laert. 4.21.43. Ibid., 4.30.44. On the dating and purpose of the Theages, see Tarrant 2005, 131–55 (dating on p. 144).45. Theages 127–28.46. Ibid., 127b7–b8.47. Ibid., 127b8–c1.48. Ibid., 127c3–4.

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Old Academic Polemo, 49 but the paradigmatic teacher-disciple relationship it sets out remained important long after Polemo’s influence had faded. Indeed, while there is no evidence that Proclus and Syrianus shared the sexual ele-ments of the relationship apparently envisioned by the Old Academics, they do seem to have been greatly influenced by a model of intellectual mentorship that replaced one’s biological family with a family of the soul.

Relationships between members of an intellectual family did not need to become quite so involved for them to have meaning. Less favored intellectual sons secured these quasi-familial ties through a set of regular, informal inter-actions with their teachers. The most common mechanism in antiquity seems to have been the teacher-student dinner (a tendency that perhaps explains the prominent dining rooms of the Areopagus houses). The invitation to dine with a teacher welcomed a student into a school’s restricted space. As such, it rep-resented a significant reward that bestowed upon him an elevated status within an intellectual community. Damascius describes his brother’s invitation to dine with Severianus, their teacher of rhetoric, as “a reward for his enthusiasm that was befitting a member of his inner circle.” 50 Other schools in other periods accorded the same significance to an invitation to dine with a teacher. Herodes Atticus offered regular lunches to his most promising pupils, 51 and two of Proclus’ early teachers gave him standing dinner invitations in recogni-tion of his scholastic achievements. 52 At the same time, these meetings often engendered a close personal bond between teacher and student that brought tangible meaning to the familial language of a school. When Proclus first received a dinner invitation from Leonas, one of his Alexandrian teachers, it meant that Leonas would not only share “his knowledge with Proclus but [that] he even deemed Proclus worthy to share his house and dine together with his wife and children, as if he were his own legitimate child.” 53 Dam-ascius’ teacher Isidore similarly enjoyed meals with his Egyptian teachers of philosophy Asclepiades and Heraiscus. 54

In his Lives of the Sophists, Eunapius describes a relationship built upon a different sort of interaction that involved personal conversations in pub-lic spaces. When Eunapius returned to Sardis to teach rhetoric, he began to audit philosophy lectures given by the Platonist Chrysanthius. Chrysanthius often invited Eunapius to accompany him on walks following these classes. This was a custom that Chrysanthius had evidently learned from his teacher Aedesius, and one that Aedesius had appropriated from his own mentor Iam-blichus. 55 Eunapius vividly describes these walks: “He would take along the author of this text. He would stretch these into long and leisurely walks. And

49. Polemo defined eros as “a service to the gods for the care and salvation of the young” (Plut. Mor. 780d). As both Dillon (2002, 165) and Tarrant (2005, 144) note, this does not refer to the eros between a parent and a child but a different sort of relationship.

50. Isid. 108. I am here interpreting hetairos as “member of a school’s inner circle,” the most common meaning in the Life of Isidore. The word could also simply mean “companion.”

51. Philostr. V S 585–86.52. Vita Procli 8, 9.53. Ibid., 8.54. Isid. 72E.55. In Aedesius’ case, Eunapius (VS 481) suggests that the walks also were designed to teach his students

how to behave toward others. As for Iamblichus, see Fowden 1977, 374.

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one would forget the soreness of his feet, because he would become enchanted by the stories Chrysanthius told.” 56

3. Philosophical Society, Shared History, and Doctrine

The stories that Eunapius heard from Chrysanthius as they walked in and around Sardis play an important role in showing how abstract doctrine could intersect with one’s experiences in the world. As they walked, the two men discussed their philosophical progonoi. Indeed, much of the material that came to make up the philosophical lives in Eunapius’ Lives of the Soph-ists came from these conversations with Chrysanthius. But these were no idle reminiscences. The anecdotes that Chrysanthius shared demonstrated the ways in which his philosophical ancestors brought to life the religious and theological ideas that played such a central role in the Iamblichan Platonic system. 57 Eunapius heard about how Iamblichus levitated when he prayed, discerned the presence of corpses from an extreme distance, and communi-cated with divine figures—all attributes that showed how theurgy enabled its practitioners to unite their souls with related divine figures. 58 He also came to know quite a bit about Maximus of Ephesus, a philosophical uncle whose life demonstrated both what a theurgist could accomplish and the problems that came about when theurgic teachings were inappropriately applied. 59 The power of these stories came from the personal and intellectual relationship that enabled their transmission. These accounts had been passed to Eunapius by his philosophical father and, as such, they were valued as tokens of a cherished personal relationship and mementoes of a shared lineage. 60

Eunapius’ Lives highlight one way that informal interactions could rein-force the theological doctrines that a school presented. Damascius’ Life of Isidore shows how these conversations not only shaped a student’s under-standing of theology but also influenced his views about the appropriate ways in which to apply a school’s ethical teachings. For Damascius, teacher-student meals represented one of the most important settings in which these stories could be shared. The anecdotes told on these occasions could involve theo-logical content, 61 but, just as often, they modeled appropriate behaviors. At one such dinner, for example, the teacher Severianus spoke to Damascius and his brother Julian about his public career. Severianus told them that he had once served in the imperial government but saw his career end prematurely

56. VS 502.57. On the central role of religious ideas and practices in late Platonism, see Dillon 2007, 117–38.58. Shaw 1995, 121–26; and Cox Miller 2000, 243.59. The force of such anecdotes is shown by Eunapius’ suggestion that the emperor Julian was drawn to

Maximus because he heard a story about a wonder Maximus performed at a temple of Hecate (VS 475).60. The Letters of Iamblichus show another way in which the practical application of Platonic doctrine

could be communicated to Platonists in a personalized fashion. These have been assembled in Dillon and Polleichtner 2009. The surviving fragments usually preserve somewhat abstract discussions, but some provide specific advice for how ethical teaching could be implemented in the world. Among the most notable such fragments are Ep. 6, frag. 2, a text that instructs a governor in the correct ways to distribute benefactions and Ep. 16, a letter that describes in rather precise terms how a father should prepare his son for an education in virtue.

61. E.g., Isid. 72E.

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because of his paganism. 62 He then passed around an imperial letter that promised high office in exchange for his conversion to Christianity. Severia-nus, of course, refused this offer. Severianus later took part in a plot to kill the emperor Zeno and restore paganism—an act for which he barely escaped execution. 63 For Damascius, these informal conversations illustrated how an intellectual ought to act in the Christian empire of the 470s.

Another set of stories that Damascius heard while a student showed the in-fluence of a Platonic interpretation of Epictetus that would become influential at the turn of the sixth century. 64 These were anecdotes recounted to him by Theosebius, an Epictetan scholar who worked to “regulate his outward way of life” and reform the personal behaviors of others. 65 Theosebius told a number of stories to Damascius that illustrated how Epictetan ethics could be applied in the world, 66 but the most powerful narrative he shared emphasized the need to live philosophically even under the most dangerous conditions. This tale concerned Theosebius’ teacher Hierocles:

Once in Byzantium, he gave offence to the ruling party and, being taken to court, he was savagely beaten up. As he flowed with blood he gathered some of it into the hollow of his hand and sprinkled it over the judge, exclaiming: “There, Cyclops, drink the wine now that you have devoured the human flesh.” He was condemned to exile and, after returning to Alexandria some time later, he continued to teach philosophy to his disciples just as before. 67

This account forms part of a larger collection of Alexandrian narratives that describe how pagan intellectuals lived philosophically even in the face of Christian pressure. These include an account of the murder of Hypatia and a discussion of the teacher Olympus’ leadership during the Christian siege of the Serapeum in 391. 68 Hierocles’ exile from the capital in order to escape the rule of a tyrant, however, illustrated Epictetus’ ideas about the appropriate political behavior of a philosopher and imitated Epictetus’ own actions under Domitian. 69

4. Curriculum, Society, and Applied Ethics

The Epictetan ethical trend exemplified by Theosebius’ stories shows how personal communication between teachers and students helped to define the

62. Vita Severi 108.63. Damascius seems to have left for Alexandria around 478 (on the basis of Photius’ comments in Bibl.

181.81–89), meaning that he would likely have heard about this from Severianus sometime between 476 (Zeno’s restoration) and 478.

64. The significance of these Epictetan ideas in the 500s will be discussed in more detail below.65. Isid. 46D.66. E.g., Isid. 46E.67. Isid. 45B (trans. Athanassiadi). This material must have come to Damascius from Theosebius, his only

named source for materials related to Hierocles. In the preceding fragment, Damascius records some informa-tion from Theosebius about Hierocles’ interpretations of Plato’s Gorgias. Earlier in this fragment, Theosebius is also mentioned as a source for Hierocles’ view of Socrates.

68. These are Isid. 43A–E (Hypatia) and 42A–F (Olympus). The Hypatia material certainly comes from more than one source, with some elements coming from “ignorant legends” (frag. 43A) and others from a more secure scholastic tradition. On the pagan traditions associated with Hypatia’s murder, see Watts 2006b, 335–37.

69. For this model in a Platonic framework, see Simplicius in Encheiridion 65.37–39. This passage will be discussed in more detail below.

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proper application of philosophical teaching. At the same time that these stories were circulating among Platonists, the Stoic ethical ideas advanced by Epictetus found their way into the early stages of Platonic instruction. Epitectus was read by a number of fifth-century Platonists, 70 but he came to play an important role in at least one version of the Platonic curriculum in the 520s and 530s. 71

The evidence for his increased prominence comes from Simplicius, a stu-dent of Damascius who wrote a commentary on Epictetus’ Encheiridion in the 530s. Simplicius calls Epictetus’ words “very effective and moving so that anyone not totally deadened would be goaded by them, become aware of his own afflictions, and be energized to correct them.” 72 Simplicius also praises the Epictetan tactic of illustrating his precepts with concrete examples:

Proper education in both ethics and politics turns on appropriate actions . . . so, while he has educated the reader so far by using precepts (which themselves concerned appropriate actions), what Epictetus does now is explain the technical method of dealing with appro-priate actions by showing how to find them and put them into practice . . . [these things] our philosopher explained in a few lines using effective illustrations and soul-stirring viv-idness. 73

Despite Epictetus’ virtues as a writer, Simplicius needed to adapt this Stoic work to make it fit into a Platonic curriculum. The Encheiridion took some positions that a Platonist could not support and lacked other ideas that Sim-plicius felt belonged in a proper introduction to Platonism. Simplicius then had to “clarify” some problematic Epictetan ideas and discuss other topics not mentioned by Epictetus. Notably, he chose to incorporate seven lengthy digressions into the commentary in order to introduce important Platonic ideas that were otherwise missing. 74

The best known of these insertions describes the appropriate behavior of a philosopher living in a morally corrupt state, 75 an expansion upon Epicte-tus’ discussion of the need for a philosopher to be unconcerned about politi-cal position and public honors. 76 Simplicius speaks about the philosopher’s obligation to serve as “a father and teacher for all in common, their corrector, counselor, and guardian.” 77 In a good state, the philosopher “will be chosen as a ruler . . . and as an advisor, because he is sensible.” 78 “In a corrupt state,” however, the philosopher will “abstain from public affairs . . . Indeed, he ought to ask to be an exile from these incurable affairs, and, if indeed it is possible, he will go to another, better state.” 79

70. Hierocles, Proclus, and Olympiodorus all knew the Encheiridion. For discussion of this, see Brennan and Brittain 2002, 4 and 28 n. 18; as well as the larger discussion of Boter 1999.

71. This is the curriculum represented in Simplicius’ commentaries. For this curriculum and Simplicius’ aims in laying it out, see Baltussen 2008.

72. Simplicius in Encheiridion 1.30–33, trans. Brennan and Brittain, with slight adaptation.73. In Encheiridion 83.12.74. Brennan and Brittain 2002, 7–18. For the way in which this was consistent with the conventions of

Platonic commentary, see Baltussen 2007, 273–75.75. For a detailed discussion of this section of the text, see O’Meara 2004, 89–98.76. This discussion is found in chap. 24 of the Encheiridion.77. In Encheiridion 65.3.78. Ibid., 13–15.79. Ibid., 65.35.

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Simplicius’ comments here correspond quite closely to the practical ethical system illustrated by Damascius in his Life of Isidore, a text probably written by the scholarch in the early 520s. 80 This connection is already apparent in Damascius’ discussion of Hierocles, but it becomes clearest when one consid-ers Damascius’ portrait of Isidore, his own intellectual father. According to Damascius, Isidore was involved in public life to the degree that conditions permitted. 81 He criticized vice and offered correction to those who he felt behaved inappropriately. 82 He never had any contact with Christian leaders, however, because he could not bear their corruption. 83 When political condi-tions were relatively benign in the 470s and early 480s, Isidore behaved with the modesty and restraint that Simplicius says a philosopher should show in an unjust but not irredeemably corrupt state. When Christian leaders began to apply pressure to the Alexandrian pagan philosophical community, however, Isidore left Alexandria for the more hospitable political climate of Athens. 84

Simplicius’ theoretical discussion of the proper expressions of political virtues parallels many of the ideal behaviors illustrated by Damascius in the Life of Isidore. In addition, Damascius, Simplicius, and their peers actually lived according to the paradigms illustrated by both their doctrinal teach-ing and their exemplary anecdotes. As is well known, in 529 the emperor Justinian issued an edict that led to the cessation of teaching at the Athenian Platonic school. 85 Around 531, a second set of laws restricting the property rights and legal position of pagans prompted Damascius, Simplicius, and five other philosophers to go into exile at the Persian court of Chosroes. They fled, Agathias tells us, because “it was impossible for them to live with-out fear of the laws, since they did not conform to the commonly followed conventions.” 86 In good quasi-Epictetan fashion, the philosophers decided that the Roman Empire had become so irredeemably corrupt that they were compelled to exile themselves from it. In this way, their journey to the Per-sian Empire then mirrored Isidore’s voyage from Alexandria to Athens and Hierocles’ from Constantinople to Alexandria.

5. Toward a New View of Late Antique Platonism

Simplicius brings us to a model of philosophical paideia that is quite differ-ent from the traditional one that has often guided investigations of the last generations of ancient Platonism. It reveals a nuanced Platonic system that, in its fullest sense, shaped students’ involvement in the larger world by bringing them into a living community of scholars and inculcating in them a set of ideal behaviors. Although Platonism functioned in this way, it is still important to gauge the scope of its importance. On first glance, the two most important

80. Cf. O’Meara 2004, 97.81. Isid. 26B,82. Ibid., 15A.83. Ibid., 20A–B.84. On the Athenian conditions at this time, see Watts 2006a, 111–23. It is worth noting that this also

resembles Theosebius’ account of Hierocles’ flight from Constantinople to a more hospitable Alexandrian environment in the 430s.

85. For discussion of this sequence of events, see Watts 2004, 168–82.86. Agathias 2.30.3–4.

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narrative texts to survive from fifth and sixth century Platonic authors seem to give different pictures of the size of Platonic circles and the extent of their influence. The earlier text, Marinus’ Life of Proclus, suggests a small com-munity of devotees clustered around Proclus in Athens. Marinus gives few names of students and associates. On this basis, some scholars have surmised that Proclus inherited and led a small circle that had only a limited impact on the larger world. 87 Marinus’ aim, however, was to argue that Proclus’ life embodied the virtues that late Platonists saw as collectively producing a happy life. 88 Proclus was his focus and the world around Proclus entered the text only when it illuminated his character. Consequently, one should not expect this work to yield a comprehensive profile of late Platonism.

Damascius’ Life of Isidore offers a very different picture. Instead of writing a simple account of Isidore’s life, Damascius sought to highlight the achieve-ments of his subject by critically examining the intellectual and tangible achievements of a large number of pagan thinkers. 89 The resulting portrait reveals a vibrant philosophical movement with outposts sprinkled throughout the Mediterranean world. There are three reasons to think that the philosophi-cal world described by Damascius in the Life of Isidore better represents the way that his contemporaries would have understood their community of intel-lectual relations. First, the characterizations of individual philosophers in the Life of Isidore usually draw upon either Damascius’ own experiences or oral traditions that he heard from his intellectual father and uncles. 90 Because it depends so heavily upon orally-transmitted Platonic “family history,” the text conveys the limits of Platonism as Platonists themselves set them and captures many of the themes they thought important. 91 Second, despite the differ-ent centers in which these people studied, Damascius used a common set of criteria to evaluate their philosophical achievements. Damascius found most of these men lacking—some severely so—but he highlighted their deficien-cies not to exclude them from the Platonic community but to show the gener-ally base condition of philosophy at the time. 92 This suggests that even men criticized by Damascius should be understood to belong to the same broad philosophical community that he did. Finally, as Han Baltussen has recently

87. E.g., Lamberton 2001, 450–51, who argues, largely on the basis of this text, that Syrianus had only two students at the time of his death.

88. Blumenthal 1984, 471–93.89. On Damascius’ authorial aims, note Athanassiadi 1999, 24–27. Photius twice says that he “read Dam-

ascius regarding the Life of Isidore the Philosopher” (Cod. 181.125b30; and Cod. 242.335a21). In Codex 181, Photius also discusses the oddity of this title when the work covers a whole host of other intellectuals as well.

90. Damascius states at the beginning of the text that the things he will tell about Isidore and his associates are “those things which I believe to be true and which I have heard from my master” (Isid. 6A; note as well Isid. 84E). The other sources he mentions include the ex-consul Severus (Isid. 7, 51A–E), the philosopher Theosebius (Isid. 45B), an older contemporary philosopher named Hierax (Isid. 58B), Asclepiodotus of Alex-andria (Isid. 96D), Marinus (Isid. 98B), and Severianus (Isid. 108).

91. For discussion of how thematic elements of oral discourse reflect a community’s values, see Vansina 1985, 18–21 as well as the comments of Nasson 1990, 111–26, at 124–25.

92. On the aims of Damascius’ work and the reasons for his criticism, see Athanassiadi 2006, 205–8. At the same time, misinterpretation of a text or a bad line of argument did not rob one of his or her status as a Platonist. Damascius, for example, systematically undermined Proclus’ reading of Iamblichus (e.g., Simpl. in Phys. 795.11–17; cf. Athanassiadi 2006, 214–17). The same is true of Asclepiodotus, who Damascius saw as deficient in his understanding of the Chaldean Oracles (e.g., Isid. 85; cf. Simpl. in Phys. 795.11–17). Neverthe-less, Damascius counted both men as Platonists.

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demonstrated, the first three decades of the sixth century saw antiquity’s most sophisticated and expansive attempt to harmonize all Greek philosophy into a diverse and well-developed Platonic system. 93 One should not then be sur-prised that Damascius includes characters like Sallustius (who, according to Damascius, lived the life of a Cynic) and Hierocles in this work. 94 These men were Platonists, despite their interest in thinkers other than Plato. In this sense, we can see a broad Platonic umbrella that covered philosophers who pursued a range of topics in much the same way that we might understand imperial Platonism serving as a category that joined such diverse figures as Atticus, Gaius, and Albinus. 95

Damascius describes some people whose surviving writings leave no doubt about their philosophical standing. These figures are outnumbered by others who (as far as we know) neither wrote about nor taught Platonic philosophy. They did, however, live according to its tenets. Their ranks included men such as the rhetorician Lachares, the physician Gessius, and the patrician Asclepi-odotus. Damascius assesses each man on the basis of his intellectual skill, personal behavior, and ability to maintain philosophical integrity. Lachares, Damascius indicates, was “slow in intellectual pursuits but, when it came to virtue, he was good and fair to behold: worthy indeed of being called a philosopher.” 96 Gessius was a below average and indifferent philosopher, 97 but Damascius nevertheless “applauded the noble courage of his virtuous soul” because Gessius hid the philosopher Heraiscus from imperial agents looking to arrest him. 98 Asclepiodotus, a leading citizen of the city of Aph-rodisias, enjoyed strong enough ties to the philosophical schools of Athens that Proclus dedicated his Commentary on the Parmenides to him. 99 To our knowledge, Asclepiodotus never wrote any philosophical works, but he showed that he belonged in the ranks of philosophers through his piety and his affection with other Platonists. 100 Damascius’ profiles indicate that these men were neither philosophical commentators nor especially accomplished think-ers. They were, however, viewed as philosophical peers by contemporaries.

This yields a portrait of late antique philosophical life that belies the tra-ditional narrative. The seven philosophers who left Rome for a Persian exile in 531 could be described, to borrow Agathias’ words, as “the greatest flower of those who philosophized during our time.” 101 They were not, however, a

93. Baltussen 2008, 8–11, 54–87. Like Plotinus, Iamblichus, and Proclus, Simplicius presented a broadly integrative Platonism that incorporated Aristotelian, Stoic, and Pythagorean ideas. He went beyond them in also including figures such as Empedocles, Parmenides, and Anaximander.

94. Damascius makes it clear that he considered Sallustius a Platonist (e.g., the comment at Isid. 66A that Sallustius called belief in the gods “a fifth Platonic virtue”). This was true despite the fact that he worshipped only a small number of gods and lived the life of a Cynic (on his Cynic lifestyle, see Isid. 66B). Hierocles had Epictetan and Pythagorean interests, though again he is clearly a part of the larger Platonic community that Damascius describes.

95. For these men and the differences between their ideas, see Dillon 1990, 231–340.96. Isid. 62A.97. Ibid., 128.98. Ibid., 128 (trans. Athanassiadi).99. Asclepiodotus is described by Roueché 1989, 86–92. Asclepiodotus’ wealth and influence are at-

tested to by a set of inscriptions put up in his honor in Aphrodisias (Roueché 1989, nos. 53, 54).100. Isid. 86A–B.101. Agathias 2.30.3.

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small group of pagan religious stalwarts holding out like the last dinosaurs in a shattered world. Agathias’ description instead suggests that these seven were only among the brightest members of a still-vibrant philosophical land-scape. Their peers who continued teaching in Alexandria are the best known mid-sixth century Platonists, but traces of the wider Platonic movement to which these men belonged turn up in other contexts as well. 102 Among the intimates of Damascius who remained in the Roman Empire during his ex-ile were Theodora, a woman learned in “philosophy, poetics, and grammar” and “certain others who joined in her request” that Damascius write down “the activities and tales” about “many people, both his contemporaries and predecessors [progegonoton].” 103 The nature of their request suggests that Theodora and these others were members of Damascius’ extended intellectual family who already had heard some of the oral traditions that would find their way into Damascius’ text. All of these people then had an interest in philosophy that was manifested in their associations. 104

A greater awareness of Platonism’s social aspect also allows for a reassess-ment of the degree to which Platonism joined the late antique Latin and Greek cultural worlds. Even into the late fifth century, Latin figures participated in Greek intellectual circles, familiarized themselves with their illustrative anecdotes, and adapted their own actions to the standards these circles set. These men then offer an important measure of the degree to which Greek cultural life continued to penetrate the Latin world. Indeed, if we use this measure, we uncover figures such as Marcellinus of Dalmatia who, according to Damascius, “received a Roman education and was a man of great general culture.” He was, Damascius continued, “the independent leader of Dalmatia and a Hellene in doxa. Sallustius the philosopher was his intimate [sunên].” 105

Flavius Messius Phoebus Severus, consul of the West in 470, 106 presents a more remarkable case. Severus moved to Alexandria after the fall of the em-peror Anthemius in 472. Once he arrived, Severus set up an intellectual salon in which he read philosophical works from his personal library and discussed ideas with the many intellectuals who called upon him. 107 On one occasion, Damascius heard Severus describe the visit of certain Indian Brahmans. 108 Severus told his listeners about the diet of his visitors, their political advisory

102. On the Alexandrians, see Watts 2006a, 232–62.103. Phot. Bibl. Cod. 181.19–21.104. As this suggests, one should not be too concerned about the decrease in the number of philosophers

we can identify for the period after Damascius’ narrative ends. As even a brief glance at Elżbieta Szabat’s excellent prosopography of teachers in the Eastern Roman Empire shows, Damascius’ Life of Isidore stands out as the one source that dominates any reconstruction of late fifth- and early sixth-century intellectual net-works; see Szabat 2007, 177–345; cf. Ruffini 2004, 241–57. The relative paucity of names and locations after Damascius’ main narrative breaks off in the early sixth century should be taken not as evidence of a dramatic decline in the philosophical life at that moment but instead as the end of the information provided by a source of unequaled breadth. Here, I am advocating an approach to late Platonism not unlike that adopted by the scholars who acknowledge how the dominant position of Philostratus’ Lives of the Sophists can distort our view of the size, scope, importance, and durability of the Second Sophistic. For this view of Philostratus, see, for example, the discussion of Eshleman 2008, 395–413.

105. Isid. 69D.106. Consul of the West in 470 (PLRE 2: 1005–6). On his general reputation, see Malchus, frag. 5 (Block-

ley). For his consular diptych, see Volbach 1976, no. 4.107. Isid. 51C. Damascius must have been one of these visiting intellectuals.108. Isid. 51D.

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role at home (framed in proper quasi-Epictetan terms), and their ability to use prayer to cure droughts (a skill they shared with Proclus). 109 Severus also sug-gested to Damascius that the emperor Anthemius was a pagan and indicated that he had agreed to serve as consul under Anthemius as part of a secret plan to restore paganism. 110 If we view Severus as a Platonist philosopher, this plan anticipates Simplicius’ notions of the proper role of a philosopher in the state by 60 years.

Neither of these men were philosophical initiates in the traditional sense. Their political and social positions allowed them to gain a level of prominence that was disproportionate to their intellectual achievements. Damascius makes no claim that Marcellinus had extensive philosophical training. Severus can be said to have some detailed knowledge of Platonic doctrine (though he apparently never wrote commentaries) but, like his Dalmatian contemporary, his real claim to membership in the community of philosophers derived from his association with Platonists and his willingness to guide his conduct by their principles. Nevertheless, Damascius places both men in his catalog of the intellectuals of the age because of how they lived and the men with whom they associated.

If philosophical paideia depended upon the knowledge of a set of doctrines, the practical application of them to daily life, and membership in a commu-nity of like-minded colleagues, then Marcellinus and Severus merit inclusion in the roster of late antique Latin philosophers. Their examples show that, even into the late fifth century, Greek philosophy remained a real presence in parts of the Latin world and this presence extended far beyond the random commentary or Platonic florilegium that hitched a ride to Italy.

Conclusion

All late antique Platonists were intellectually invested in a philosophical sys-tem founded upon an interpretation of Platonic teaching. Knowledge of this teaching, however, did not necessarily mark one as a Platonist. Late Platonism was instead characterized by communities of adherents who, despite different levels of intellectual and doctrinal sophistication, felt bound to one another by personal relationships and a set of behavioral standards governed by Pla-tonic philosophical principles. Defining late antique Platonists by their actions and associations as well as by the quality of their philosophical writing has important implications for how we view the cultural history of the ancient world. By this measure, philosophy becomes a much more useful category for understanding late antique society. If philosophically inclined men and women understood that they belonged to a community with defined standards of conduct, this influenced how they would behave. Communal standards did not always determine what a person did in a specific situation, but, by sug-gesting that certain behaviors would earn the praise or sanction of colleagues, they could influence one’s thought process when weighing a course of action.

109. Cf. Vita Procli 28.110. Isid. 77A; one must note that this comes to us only through a Photian paraphrase of a longer section

of text.

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Philosophical schools were not unique in creating a social environment that played this role in Late Antiquity, 111 but Platonists are explicit in explaining the purpose of this system and sophisticated in theorizing its utility. Their example then suggests a different way of understanding how scholarly circles understood their own membership. With luck, this approach will lead to a new map that better captures the nuanced topography of late antique cultural life.

Indiana University

111. As we have already seen, the social system of Platonic schools was replicated in other later Roman cultural contexts as well. Some of this is due to the fact that a number of Platonists taught other things in addition to philosophy, but rhetoricians, grammarians, and even Christian ascetics (many of whom spoke of themselves as “philosophers”) encouraged the same sort of master-disciple bond and carefully structured hier-archy as philosophical schools. Ascetic master-disciple relationships framed in this way are a common feature of Christian hagiographical texts. For some of the most explicit discussion of this sort of relationship, see, for example, Historia Monachorum 24.2, 3, 6–7, 8; Barsanuphius and John Ep. 693.

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