man soul and body by john m. rist

John M. Rist

Man, Soul and' Body

Essays in Ancient Thought from Plato to Dionysius

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l lus edition cop)mght 0 1996 by Iohn M fist

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British Lfbrary CZP Data Rist, John M. (John Michael), 1936- Man, Soul and Body: Essays in Ancient Thought from Plato to Dionysius. (Variorum Collected Studies Series; CS549). 1. Philosophy, Ancient. I. Title. I80

US Library of Congress CW Data Rist, John M. Man, Soul and Body: Essays in Ancient Thought From Plato to DionysiudJohn M. Rist. p. cm. - (Collected Studies Series; CS549). lncludes index (cloth: alk. paper). I . Philosophical anthropology-History. 2. Philosophy, Ancient. 3. Mind and body-History. 4. Ethics, Ancient. I. Title. 11. Series: Collected Studies Series; CS549. B187. M25R57 1996 96-33 152 128' .0938-dc20 CIP

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CONTENTS

Introduction

Acknowledgements

I

I1

111

IV

v

VT

VII

VIII

IX

Plato says that we have tripartite souls. If he is right, what can we do about it? Sophies Maiefores: Chercheuys de Sagesse: Hommage c i

Jean Pipin. Paris: Institut d'Etudes Augustiniennes, 1992

The theory and practice of Plato's Cratylus Greek Poetry and Philosophy: Studies in Honour of Leonard Woodbury, ed. Douglas E. Gerber. Chico, Calg: Scholars Press, 1984

Parmenides and Plato's Parmenides The Classical Quarterly 20, no. 2. Oxfard, 1970

Arisrotlc: the value of man and the origin of morality Canadian JournaE of Philosophy 4. no. 1 . Calgary, 1974

On Greek biology, Greek cosmology and some sources of theological pneuma Prudentia suppl. no. 1985. ~ucklnnd, 1985

Zeno and Stoic consistency Phronesis 22, no. 2. Assen, 1977

The Stoic concept of detachment The Stoics, ed. John M. Rist. Berkeley, Calg: University of CaIifomia Press, 1978

Are you a Stoic? The case of Marcus Aurelius Jewish and Christian Self-Defnifion , ed. Ben F. Meyer and E. P. Sanders. London: SCM Press, 1982

Epictetus: Ex-slave Dialectic 24. Newcastle, NSW, 1985

vii-viii

ix

103-124

207-2 1 8

22 1-229

1-21

27-47

161-174

259-272

23-45 190-192

3-22

COLLECTED STUDIES SERIES C.549

X

XI

XI1

XIU

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

Index

Seneca and Stoic orthodoxy 1993-201 2 Aufstieg und Niedergang der Rijmischen Welt 36, no. 3. BerlidNew York, 1989

Plotinus on matter and evil Phronesis 6. Assen, 1961

The Indefinite Dyad and Intelligible Matter in Plotinus 99-107 The Classical Quarterly 12, no. 1. Oxford, 1962

Plotinus and the Daimonion of Socrates 13-24 Phoenix. Journal of the Classical Assoication of Canada 17. Toronto. 1963

Back to the mysticism of Plotinus: some more specifics 183-197 Journal of the History of Philosophy 27, no. 2. Atlanta, Ga., 1989

Is Plotinus' body too etherialized? Prudentia suppl. no. 1993. Auckland, 1993

Pseudo-Ammonius and the soulhody problcm in some Platonic texts of late antiquity 402-4 15

American Journal of Philology 109. Baltimore, Md., 1988 I

Pseudo-Dionysius, Neoplatonism and the weakness of the soul From Athens to Chartres: Neoplatonism and Medieval Thought. Studies in Honour of Edouard Jeauneau, ed. Haijo J. Westra. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1992

This volume contains x + 298 pages

INTRODUCTION

The seventeen papers republished in this book range chronologically from Plato in the fourth century B.C. to Ps-Dionysius in the early sixth century A.D.

Thematically they are less diverse: the majority of them deal with the ever growing and ever more variegated f latonic tradition both in its Christian and its non-Christian forms. Most, but not all, concern, the interrelated topics of ethics and the spul, but in antiquity such themes are never far from wider questions of metaphysics - and so it is in this collection. A few of the essays go beyond the Platonic tradition, especially in the direction of Stoicism, but late Stoicism overlaps with Platonism both in many of its emphases - and its challenges - and in the mentality of some of its leading exponents.

The first three papers deal with Plato himself, the first -concerned with his basic intentions in discussing what others called the 'tripartite soul' - in many respects setting the tone for the entire volume. For Plato raises the question of the simplicity of the good soul, and the increasing 'multiplicity' of the souls of the increasingly evil. The second and third papers are more metaphysical, dealing with Plato's rejection of the possibility of an ideal language, and his own understanding of a dialogue, the Parmenides, which in non-Platonic reinterpretations was to be so fruitful in the development of the PIatonic tradition.

The fourth essay is a preliminary treatment of the complex problem of hdw far Aristotle's ethics depend on Platonic underpinnings, while the fifth, the first of a group on the Stoics, opens up the important topic - not only among Stoics, its specific subject - of the relation between ethics and biology, the later being viewed within a specific metaphysical framework.

The next essays deal with specifically Stoic topics: their relation to their Cynic predecessors, and the reasons for their dissatisfaction with Cynicism; the famous (and often misunderstood) Stoic notion of detachment, or apatheia; and the orthodoxy (and at times the partially Platonic unorthodoxy) of three late Stoics: Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus and Seneca. Underlying these last papers - and explicit in the study of Marcus - is an attempt to understand the most fundamental features of the mental attitudes which enabled philosophers to identify themselves as Stoics.

There follow four papers, two from thirty odd years ago, on Plotinus, the greatest, though not the most typical, of the later Platonists of antiquity. All treat of fundamental themes: matter, whether sensible or intelligible; Plotinus' attitude to the 'guardian spirit' or duimonion of Socrates, and hence

viii

to 'supernatural' phenomena and 'angelic' beings in general - with some treatment of the post-Platonic background to Plotinus' thinking; and the mysticism of Plotinus - in a paper in which fairly recently I considered criticism of my earlier discussion in Plotinus: The Road to Reality.

The final Plotinian paper is somewhat different, attempting both an elucidation of Plotinus' elusive account of the reality, if such it be, of material objects, and critical comment on the relation of his views to a standard problem in the history of philosophy, identified by Locke as the question of whether matter is 'something, I know not what' underlying physical objects.

Paper XVI is both the treatment of the growth of a philosophically significant legend, that of the 'Christian Ammonius' (and the relation of that figure to the teacher of Plotinus), and the intertwining of that legend with the persistent debate between Platonists and Stoics in late antiquity about the relationship between the soul and the body. Finally paper XVII reaches the Christian Neoplatonist whose self-identification with a convert of St Paul helped him spread Christianity in a very particular Neoplatonic guise, much influenced by Iarnblichus and Proclus. The main aim of this paper is to consider why Dionysius has been so consistently misunderstood - and the crisis in Neoplatonic ethics lying behind that misunderstanding - not least in the version of his mysticism which predominated in Western mediaeval circles,

The papers in this collection have been composed during a period of more than thirty years. I have inevitably had to consider whether they should be revised or corrected, for I certainly would not stand by every word of every one of them now. In the end I have decided to reproduce them unchanged, for two reasons: I have a persistent dislike of two or more versions of published work being in the public domain, with scholars in disarray as to the version they happen to cite; and I think that the collection as it stands is still sufficiently respectable and coherent, as a body, to present both significant facts about the development of ancient thought, and - importantly for me and I hope for others - a view of the developing and improving understanding of that thought in our own times since 1960.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Grateful acknowledgement is made to the following persons, institutions and publishers for their permission to reproduce the papers included in this volume: the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique (for paper I); Scholars Press (11); P.C. Millett on behalf of The Classical Quarterly (III, XH); The University of Calgary Press (IV); the editorial board of Prudentia (V, XV); Van Gorcum & Comp bv (VI, XI); The University of California Press (VII); SCM Press (VIII); The University of Newcastle, NSW (IX); Walter de Gruyter & Co. (X); the Classical Association of Canada (XIII); Rudolf A. Makkreel, Editor of the Journal of the History of Philosophy (XIV); The Johns Hopkins University Press (XVI); E.J. Brill (XVII).

Cambridge April 1996

JOHN M. RIST

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

The articles in this volume, as in all others in the Collected Studies Series, have not been given a new, continuous pagination. In order to avoid confusion, and to facilitate their use where these same studies have been referred to elsewhere, the original pagination has been maintained wherever possible.

Each article has been given a Roman number in order of appearance, as listed in the Contents. This number is repeated on each page and is quoted in the index entries.

PLAT0 SAYS THAT WE HAVE TRIPARTITE SOULS.

IF HE IS RIGHT, WHAT CAN WE DO ABOUT IT?

The City

Scholars talk about Platonic parts, or parts B, of the soul and of the city. Since Platonic cities are made up of people, a part of the city would seem to be a group of people. But what are Platonic souls made up of? There may be different answers to this question in different PIatonic texts; however one answer, I think, at least for incarnate souls, or souls in bodies, is that they are made up of competing but undeveloped personalities, each personality being generated by our innate ability to set competing life-styles before our eyes, that is to envisage them and feel their amaction. These competing personalities may loosely be called *parts B of the soul, or psyche, though in the major discussion of the matter (Rep. 4), PIato only so calls them twice (442C 5, 444B 3). Of, course, if a Platonic psyche is an immaterial substance of living stuff, then, at least as a metaphor, it is not too odd to refer to its parts, Plato repeated such language ; so did Aristotle; so do modern critics. But, if we believe most of the interpreters of Platonic parts, or rather if we note their widely differing views, Plato was obscure at best, at worst confused. Yet a few patient critics have found him less confused and much less obscure than is usually assumed1. They have often begun by observing that Platonic ((parts w are not Aristotelian faculties or capacities2.

I . Cf. especially J. Moline. uplato on the Complexity of the Psychen, AGP 60, 1978, p. 1-26, and L. Gerson, a A Note on Tripartition and Immortality in Plato w, Apeiron 20, 1987, p. 81-96. Gerson (especially p. 86) wmes nearest to my position on Platonic wparts m, though his interpretation of some of the passages from the Timocus is quite different (p. 94). There are still interesting things to be found in J. L Stocks, u Plato and the Tripartite Soul w, Mind 24, 1915, p. 207-221, provided the archaic tone is not allowed to jar : *Of course i f Orphicism is Oriental, as some say it is, that would account for a taint of the East in Soaatic- Platonic ethics. (p. 221).

2. See especially Moline (note 1 above) 1.8.

TRIPARTITE SOULS 105

If Plato thought that we (or our souls) are like cities or nations, composed of many potential individuals, that the psyche is a set of personalities more or less developed, a notorious opinion of Hume's has some interesting similarities : a I cannot compare the soul more properly to anything than to a republic or commonwealth, in which the several members are united by the reci- procal ties of government and subordination and give rise to other persons who propagate the same republic in the incessant change of its parts. And as the same individual republic may not only change its members, but also its laws and constitution, in like manner the same person may vary his character and disposition as well as his impressions and ideas, without losing his identity H (Treatise on Humun Nature I, IV, Of personal identity).

Hume is thinking of changes in a sequence, of one character succeeding another; he pays litfle attention to explaining the succession. Plato, on the other hand is proposing simultaneous (<personalities H engaged in a struggle - each perhaps always doomed to incomplete victory - to come to the top and identify itself, perhaps for an extended period of time, as the psyche itself. Let us see how Plate sets up his semi-actualized personalities.

Before the city, in the sequence of the Republic, is the man, and in some early references in book 2 (375 C 6) and book 3 (410B 6,410D 6,410E 7) we hear that each Guardian - the notion of a Guardian is still unrefined here - has two natures (QIumts) or sorts of character (fieos, 395C6). one gentle and in love with wisdom, the other full of spirit and self-esteem (8upo:t6d~, peydh- Bupov): which makes him look a bit odd, perhaps, like a Homeric hero. If these natures or characteristics lack training, love of wisdom and gentleness will degenerate into sofmess, even effeminacy or artiness, while proper pride will turn into savagery and harshness. The arts and gymnastic will prevent such a catastrophe. both being primarily pursued for the good of the soul.

But men live in cities, and in the Republic we are supposed to see justice better in its large letters in the city than in its small letters in the soul. Thus the more detailed analysis of our plurality of natures and characters begins in the city. We must take the comparison of the city with its individual members more seriously. Plato insists on it, and he has his reasons.

We begin at 422E -423 A. Each city is really many cities, or at least two: the c$y of the rich and the city of the poor. That is hyperbole, of course. Both rich and poor are citizens of the same city, but, Plato means, they act as though they are not; they strive with one another as though with the citizens of another city. But we can say, with Plato, not only that each city is really two cities, but that each city contains two cities. Thus a city turns out to be a set of people who can either constitute a series of defective cities or who can be organized into one perfect, harmonious city. See how Plato might apply this to an individual psyche. An individual psyche is really many psyches (or kinds of psyche). These psyches, whatever they may be, strive against one another as though they were at war; there is a civil war in the soul. Thus we might say

not only that each psyche is two (or more) psyches, but that each psyche contains two psyches. Thus an individual psyche turns out to be a set of something-or-others (natures, characters - leave that for a moment) which can either be constituted into a series of defective psyches or can be organized into one perfect, harmonious psyche: or more or less.

Go back to the city. There are different classes (%0vn, 428E7; cf. 420B 7). each of which constitutes a part (here for the f i t time used of cities whose parts are clearly sets of men : 429 3 8, 431 C). The smallest part is made up of those fit to rule (428E7). If this small class or part (%Bvoc, ykvw) rules, then the city is in its naturally best shape. So if the best city is that in which the wise guardians rule, what do the others do? Basically, as we shall see, what they are best fitted for. We have already spoken of courageous, shame-motivated people: the best thing they can do is fight; therefore they shall be soldiers. That does not mean that the Guardians cannot fight; it only means that soldiers cannot be wise - not, of course, that they cannot think at all.

Soldiers, notoriously, get out of hand. That part of the city will not be wise in the way the Guardians are - mere courage is not enough. Soldiers may bite the wrong people. Plato has already made this point; it is only a well-bred dog who bites the right people (375E3); right-biting is a genuinely philosophical quality of a guard-dog, human or canine. It has something to do with being self-controlled or master of oneself, a virtue which Plato (and others) regularly find missing i n Spartans. Self-control is hard to understand, says Plato3, and we may %leave consideration of it Until we come to the individual; for the moment just note that the person who lacks it may be a soldier with a taste for looting. Yet he would be ashamed if be got caught and he is a bit ashamed of himself anyway. Naturally the soldiers in the just state are not looters. Of course they could loot, they know how to, they have the strength to, they know what looting is and that it is caused by a desire to secure material objects.

Now everyone needs some material objects, a fact which at times causes Plato regret; we all have to eat and drink, even Guardians and certainly soldiers. But the life of the Guardians (at best) is not about eating and drinking; it is about ruling. And the life of the soldiers (who also eat) is about fighting for good causes. But there are some people in cities, indeed the majority, whose function is to acquire material objects. The desire for material possessions and the pleasures which go with such possessions are their dominant concerns. When they are first given a class-name (perhaps at 434 C 7). it is possession-seekers (~p r~&ta~~mixo i )~ . Plato never says that they lack courage, of a sort, or that they have no brains, or that they lack opinions (573 DE, 603 D) and plans. But their intelligence is put at the service of their craving for physical objects, including, of course, sex-objects, viewed perhaps

3. Cf. Laws 626 D - 627 B, 689 D. 4. Cf. of the soul +thopjpa~ov (580 E 7). +rAox~p& q (581 A 7).

TRIPARTlTE SOULS 107

in the Sartrian sense as flesh, or reducible thereto. In another Platonic prefiguring of ~ u m e ~ , their reason is entirely subordinated to their passions, especially but not exclusively to their acquisitive passions. <<Reason is, and ought only to be, the slave of the passions D (Treatise 11, III, 3). It is easy to be misled by Plato's forceful rhetoric into thinking that these material-goods- hunters are primarily after food, drink and sex, but that is only a titillating part of the truth. Desires for such objects are merely scandalous and exciting examples of the desire for material objects in general.

In most cities, Plato reasonably thinks, the natural Guardians, soldiers and free-marketeers will be in conflict. The latter class, composed, he claims, of u women, slaves and a vulgar mass of so-called free men a (43 1 C 2-3), will be led by a whole range of variegated desires, while the guardians will be led by good sense and reason. The mob will have intelligence to misuse, but they will be guided by the lust to possess. Clearly then we have two types of reasoning under discussion: for the wise, reasoning sets the goals and the means ; for the possession-hunters reason is the means to secure what is lusted after. What then happens in a well-ordered city? Here we shall find a common opinion shared by rulers and subjects as to who shall rule (433C6; cf. 442D 1). In other words in a well-ordercd city the money-seekers will concede that they shall not set the goals of the city and that they shall apply their skills and their instru- mental rationality to the acquisition of the physical objects which the city needs (with perhaps a little K bustarella n as a sop to their appetite^?)^.

But how is this desirable state to be brought about? The cccharms s of proper music and poetry will doubtless help (Rep. 608 A, cf. Phaedo 114D. Laws 665C). and certainly Plato would not scruple to use fwce or fraud, for the common good7. Untruthtelling by the Guardians is advocated medicinally in the Republic, and the city will work well when the soldiers support the proper rulers, Thus a good city can be produced when the money-lovers are kept in their proper place, preferably by persuasion, but if necessary by force, (We shall observe a similar attitude in the treatment of the black horse of the Phaedrus.) But Plato's achievement of harmony need not be merely a matter of force, fraud or even incantation; perhaps the money-makers, who are not mindless, can be persuaded by arguments (Some forms of the Prisoners' Dilemma might be effective.) to see that they will do better individually if they do not strive for personal gain with a merely blind competitiveness. Perhaps in

5 . For more on reason as the flatterer of the passions see the attack on pavauaia and ~ ~ q m c p i a at Republic 9,590C 2ff.

6. For 9 bustarella w see Arthur L. Kelly, <<Case Study: Italian Tax Mores n, in T. Donaldson and P.H. Werhane (edit), Ethical Issues in Business', Englewood Cliffs 1983. p. 84-86.

7. Cf. J. Annas.An Inrroducrion to Plaro's Republic, Oxford 1981, p. 106-108, 116-1 17, on Plato's attitude to force and fraud. If producers will be resentful, pressure needs to be brought on them. If they see sense, it does not But will they ever see sense all the time?

the guise of Pareto the Guardians will even be able to persuade the money- makers only to maximize their share of the profit to the point where no-one else would suffer actual financial loss by their further financial successs. (Such persuasion would, among other things, perhaps enhance the integration of the community.) The Guardians would at least have the advantage of being able to point out to the money-makers that the material needs of the rulers and of the army would be quite restricted. But I do not want to spend more time on how the << common opinion w in the city will be secured - at least not yet. Let us simply rest assured that the Guardians, who are a deliberative sort of people (434 B 2), will be able to come up with something. If the subjects see this, they will, in a way, be just. At least justice could be imposed on them, for justice is a power which imposes (433 D 9) on each individual -the task most suited to his mental and moral capacities.

So in each actual and possible city we have different classes (CBvr), 420B 7, 428E 7), different sorts of people (&i'6r), 434B 2 ; yCvr), 434B 9, 434C 8, 440B9). Each class is a part (429B 8, 431 E 10) of the whole city and consists of a larger or smaller number of individuals : guardians for whom wisdom and the desire for rational organization are the guiding principles ; soldiers led by what they judge to be the honourable course: and the rest who in their untamed state would be unbridled egoists and materialists, using reason to secure what they feel they want and presumably, if necessary, to rationalize their possibly violent or fraudulent means of getting it. We may say that the three groups represent individuals who have settled for one of three different life-styles ; perhaps Plato's mdel is the well-known Greek theme of the Choice of Lives9. Now the pursuers of these life-styles would obviously clash in what Plato would think of as an ordinary immoral city; in the good city harmony would be achieved. (*If everyone does what they are told, no-one will get hurt. B) But remember that a degenerate Guardian could live the life of a soldier or a money-maker, a degenerate soldier,might make a possession- hunter, but a natural possession-hunter could only make some more degraded sort of possession-hunter - at least this time in his cycle of lives. Downward mobility is possible in a non-idea1 world where it is easy for the best to become the worst, but upward mobility seems almost unattainable, though one's children may make it. The subjects may have the intelligence to see what is

8. On the use of Prisoners' Dilemma arguments by calculators of material gain see (for example) D. P. Gaurhier. Morals by Agreement, Oxford 1986.

9 . On the possibility in Greek thought of living several lives (piot) at the same time, see D. Keyt, ~Intellectualrsm in Aristotle r, in J. P. Anton and A. Preus (idit). Essuys in Ancient Greek Philosophy, Albany 1983. p. 373-374. Ancient badition (implausibly, I think) attributes a C ~ O ~ Q of three lives to Pythagoras {See Stocks. note 1 above). For a characteristically m e (and ultimately fence-sitting) discussion of the problem see W. K. C. Guthrie, A History of Greek Philosophy, vol. I, Cambridge 1962. p. 164-166.

TRIPARTlTE SOULS 109

good for them, but not to make prescriptions for the good of the city as a whole.

The Individual

At 435 C 9, having identified three types of people, who in their natural state, or a given a chance,, can be said to prefer - for good reasons or for no reason - one of the three different life-styles, Plato turns back to each individual. We are to expect that the clash of life-styles, seen incarnated in the behaviour of the three types of citizen (It could be more than three if compound mentalities were added), will somehow reappear within the psyche of each of us, and that here too, at least in a wicked society, the same struggle will go on. But while it is easy to see who is struggling in the cities and what the adopted goals of the three parties are, it is more difficult (naturally) when we try to look inside ourselves. I will therefore once again set out what Plato says, guided by the parallel with the city as a whole wherever possible, and offer an explanation of why it seems so baffling. I shall argue that what he says can be sorted out more or less unambiguously, and that he can be shown to offer a powerful account of what we are uoriginally D and what we ought to be, but that he fails to offer a helpful account of a possible process of moral improvement. I shall also suggest a reason why he seems to fail at this point, and why his failure is of the utmost consequence.

Plato begins by asking whether we have the same three kinds of things (dGq, 435C 5, 435E2) in the soul which we found in the city. He then immediately, and unfortunately, glosses ~'i6q by igrl (habits, dispositions : we have met the word right at the beginning of the story at 375C6). The first difficulty is what is meant by ({in the psyche. or a peri the psyche),. In one sense it is clearly parallel to u in the city u. But we know that ~c in the city u means u among the citizens r, and that a part of the city is a class, kind or group of citizens. But what of soul? Souls are, for Plato, immaterial. In one sense, therefore, they do not have parts, or at least physical ones, and what other kind could there be? Perhaps a part of a psyche would be a kind of psyche, as justice is a kind of virtue. Indeed we have noticed that Plato himself begins the discussion not by talking of parts of psyche but of kinds of psyche (~r6r)). So have we got no more than what we saw at the beginning, a merely verbal parallel beiween city and psyche? Thus as one city is really several, or at least two, so the psyche (our psyche) is really two or three. But two or three what? Cities (even bad ones) are made up of communities of people, groups of people. Clearly Plato should not say that we are each a group of people, that we contain, say, three homunculi, and that if we act tyrannically we have a little tyrant inside who wins over the other homunculi and thus produces the tyrannical effects we exhibit. For that is no solution at all; indeed it looks like a regress - how does the title tyrant become tyrannical? - and there seems no reason to attribute it to Plato in Republic 4.

If our earlier comments were on the right lines, however, it would seem that if men in the state live out various life-styles, then the struggle in our souls will have something to do with the possible goals and life-styles each of us might choose to adopt and live out. Then Plato would be saying that the philosopher has rejected the life of honour and the life of money-making, but that he knows that these other lives were real possibilities for him. A striking and justly famous passage from the beginning of book 9 of the Republic (571 C 3 - D4) seems to suggest such an interpretation. The tyrannical life, perhaps summarized in the life of the man who kills his father and mames his mother, appears in the good man's dreams, but the tyrant does these things, in an extreme of self-assertion, in his waking life. For the good man tyranny is a rejected life-style. but for reasons later to be considered, a life-style of which we cannot entirely rid our incarnate souls. Unfortunately a word for life-style does not appear in the Republic, but the word diaifa is exactly so used in the Phaedrus, where we read of the reasoned life-style f256B).

But we have moved on to the Phaedrus and Republic 9. What does Plato actually do after identifying our temperaments or kinds of psyche in Republic 4? He does not immediately seem to be talking about life-possibilities ; a mere awareness of such possibilities would not supply us with sufficient motivation for action, and that is apparently what Plato is conccmed to discuss in book 4. But as the story of Leontius shows (439E-440A), we do not merely, in Plato's account imagine these life-styles, these sets of actions, we feel their attraction. Annas speaks in this connection of a crmotivational source,,'0, Plato of the dragging of reason and desire (439 AB).

The search for what corresponds in the individual psyche to the citizens or sets of citizens in the city must be pursued at two levels, philological and interpretative. We have already noticed that even in the case of cities Plato is' very sparing in his use of the word apart u, and so far we have observed a natures B, u dispositions * and akinds of things P in the soul (again at 437 D 3-4). Sometimes, as at 436 A 8- 12, Plato is even vaguer : ct Perhaps we learn with one thing (Cr@y), are aroused ( & ~ o G p ~ B a ) by another, and have desires about nutrition and begetting with a third*; or do we act a with the whole psyche in relation to each of these things? N We have already noted an informative variant on this language a little later, at 439B 3-5. There is something that drives a thirsty man (like a beast) to drink, but there may be something which drags him back. Enstinct bids the man drink: as a result of some reasoning there is also something which restrains him. Presumably then he does not behave r like a beast*. The process of reasoning, of course, does not just stop him drinking; it provides a reason for his not drinking, and perhaps even makes him aware that disregarding the course proposed by reason would be to behave like a beast.

10. For u motivational sources n see Annas (note 7 above), p. 124.


So that Plato appears to be saying that when we reflect on instinctive behaviour, like rushing to drink when thirsty, we are in effect proposing a different model of human behaviour to ourselves: in brief that when we act under the guidance of our sense of honour or of our desire for any physical object or satisfaction, we are opting for a possible life-style, that is, attempting to make of ourselves what we could be, but need not be. And if we ask, <<Who is the 'we' in such cases? >>, the answer, admittedly in more or less non- Platonic terms, would have to be a set - of whatever undefined metaphysical status - of desired but only partially realized dispositions (That is a Platonic word) or life-styles, or kinds of life (E& @fit). This <<set m seems to be the (<I * which contains or possesses its members - unsatisfactory though that is. In any case the life-styles themselves are (for the incarnate soul) only partially realizable because, although we may by our choices become more or less philosophical or materially grasping, the possibility of adopting different attitudes remains alive so long, for example, as we fail altogether to destroy our power to judge rather than to rationalize. (An argument in book 10 might seem lo suggest that we cannot destroy that power altogether.) Similarly the continuing possibility of developing our preference for grasping material goods is assured by the fact that we continue to need material goods to maintain an incamate existence at all.

Plato's gods, of course, are not incarnate as we are; therefore it is not possible for us to be entirely like them. Hence one reason for Plato's talk in several places of attaining likeness to god ((as far as yossible B. Later we shall observe that, when Plato decides that he musl take this <<as far as possible* with great seriousness, there are far-reaching implications for his whole political philosophy.

At any rate it looks as though we can accept, for purposes of examination at least, the view that what corresponds to types of people in the city are potential people in the psycheH. If not a sort of Numean nation or club in the sense of being a series of (<people, over a period of time, at least we may look like a crowd of ((individuals a searching for a common direction and feeling incomplete, inadequate and dislocated - lacking a sense of unity (cf. Rep. 4, 443E. Eva ex ~ ~ M w v ) - before we find it. If this is right, then Plato claims that as soon as we (living human stuff) grow up enough to use our reason, we will find ourselves picturing two or more different life-styles and experiencing two or more motivational sources dragging us in two or more directions. Clearly we can picture these forces as parts as well as experience the feeling of being pulled in two or more directions, and the fact that sets of individuals can be caHed parts of the city may encourage us to talk of parts of the soul in the same way.

1 1 . Cf. Gerson (note 1 above).

But we should also notice that although Republic 4 is Plato's first major attack on the problem of sorts of soul-stuffs, sorts of selves, potential and desired life-styles, in Republic 4 he only twice calls that by which (4391)s) we are pulled in contrary directions under the inspiration of conflicting goods a (<part )> of the soul (442C 5, 444B 2). So it is that we find genuine (non- instinctive) reason and our instincts of acquisition providing us with contrary models of life. How does Plato say that we resolve the conflict? There is no clear answer in book 4 to the question of how, when we know thd higher life and higher action, we can be sure of selecting it regularly, or occasionally, or even at all. There are, however, indications in his account of the city which allow us to answer the question, perhaps to Plato's satisfaction at least for a while - though not to ours ; and we can compare what we can infer from book 4 with what we find more explicitly elsewhere. But before turning to that, there is another way in which we can look at u parts D.

Presumably we (though not Plato) should all agree with the proposition e I've only got one Ufe B, at least in this world. But while accepting this proposition, we do not hesitate to talk of our political life, our private life. our sex life, etc. when we use these phrases, we allude to the fact that (e.g.) our political life is what we do, say, in a political party or in public encounters about public policy, or that our private life is what we do at home or with our family. Some philosophers, of course, say that we play different << roles n in these areas and that these roles might well contribute contradictory elements to our moral make-up: for example our role in public life involves us in deliberate deceptions of the public where the public good, we say, would be served thereby, while our role as Sunday schooI teachers involves us in saying that to deceive people, certainly to their individual disadvantage, is morally wrong. Hence the goals of our public life may conflict with the ideals of our private life. We may even be said, platonically, to be leading a double life (with two kinds of psyche), or to believe and to act on the belief, as Plato suggests in the Republic (602D), that p and not-p are true at the same time and about the same things.

Of course, the different lives we may lead or speak of do not necessarily correspond with the different life-styles considered by Republic 4. If our life is the proverbial pie, it may be cut up in different ways. For example, in Plato's state members of all three classes can be said to have a sex life, so that to say that a sex life is a part of a life is to look at the psyche, and to divide the psyche, in a different way from that of Plato in Republic 4. Plato's principle of division, in fact, is connected to different attitudes individuals may have, and different motivational sources they may experience, to questions like, ((What is the goal of life? R or e What do you want out of life? R. Thus the division is not, as in the case of home life, business life and sex life, based largely on what I do at different times and places in my life; it is a distinction between three ideals : reason organizing the passions, reason at the service of my sense of

TiUPAR'I'lTE SOULS 113

honour, love of esteem and self-respect (cf. 9, 58 1 B 1-2 ; 586 C 9), and reason promoting and justifying my material acquisitiveness. But in another way the two methods of cutting up the pie of life do have a basis for comparison: in both cases I can be aware of choices; I can give more time or concern to my public life than to my home life, or I can give more time and concern to a reason-governed life than to a passion-governed life, and vice versa.

It seems reasonable to suggest, therefore, that a Platonic part is viewed - here is the source of confusion - borh as a possible life-style which we can imagine and strive for, and as the almost personalized thrust towards that life- style which we experience in our souls. For to be aware of a possible life-style seems to be psychologically inseparable from experiencing something of the attractiveness (and also the unattractiveness) of such a style. So that while thinking primarily of the model of a life-style directed by reason, Plato can quite naturally speak of reason pulling us one way and thus being a part of us, while material desire pulls another way and is a second part.

But Plato also thinks both that one of the ((parts >> wins and that it is possible to ensure such a victory. Just as justice within the city can be achieved when the parties agree on which group shall rule and how much the goals of the material-goods-seekers shall be allowed, so within the individual Plato wants to secure a settlement, a constitution (9, 591 E ; 10, 608A), in terms of which we shall all live the life-style in which unbiassed rationality is accepted as the guiding principle. That need not imply, of course, that Plato should expect us all to be Guardians, to be able to rule in accordance with reason; rather that we should all accept the principle that reason should rule. That is the first, not unreasonable point that Plato wishes us to recognize; the second is to recognize (and this time I leave that word anibiguous for the moment) that we are not all competent to hold positions of public authority. Remember that in the city it is precisely the mark of Platonic justice not that each class should enjoy its own property (It is the priority only of the hunters for material objects to enjoy that), but that each class shall enjoy and perform its own task.

Educarion and Preference

We have noticed how in a city the rulers and the soldier-auxiliaries should form an alliance. Agreement of the money-makers that proper rulers should rule is dbviously obtainable in a variety of ways. The consent of the ruled may be compelled or willingly conceded. If it is compelled, we have no tyranny - hence no slavery - but regal rule, since slavery involves submitting to unjust compulsion (Rep. 9, 577E) both in the city and in the psyche. Indeed in the city those who concede unwillingly may eventually come to see that the rule of the proper rulers is the best for everyone. In the city Plato can easily claim that the dynamics of the situation are clear enough. Rulers can persuade or compel possession-hunters to obey, and we can identify who persuades and compels and what means are at his disposal. But now consider the problems of

the individual psyche. We read at 442A 5 that the two higher things in the soul will under some circumstances exercise control over the material appetites, at 442E 1 that the honour-driven part preserves what is prescribed by reason, and at 444B 2 that there is injustice when the subject part of the soul rebels. This all sounds like reflections on the possibility of rebellion against a properly constituted government rather than descriptions of an intra-psychic disorder, as does 442D 1 where we find that the two lower parts, sorts, or whatever, agree that the reasoning part should rule. If Plato really wants to say, as I have argued, that we are dealing with options for the ongoing self, the self in the process of making and unmaking, why does he talk like this? Or rather, perhaps, why does he import the language of the city so strictly into an account of the self?

The answer, I think is to be found if we consider who, or rather what, in an ideal psyche, can put pressure on our normal acquisitive urges. The same question arose, of course, in the case of the city, and there the answer was that force, persuasion or fraud is applied by the rulers and the soldiers - as individuals or in groups : but if we consider our own psyche, merely to put the question is to realize its difficulty. Plato in Republic 4 is talking about the achievement of harmony in the psyche, of the achievement of singleness of purpose, and he says that such singleness implies that we live by preferring a lifestyle with goals set by reason to all others. What he does not tell us explicitly in Repub/rc 4 is how and by what means we determine on the preference, In fact, he has already told us by implication in the preceding books : there is a sense in which we do not determine it ourselves at all. Rather it is determined for us by the education we receive: indeed in a sense we are or become the education we recave.

What Plato speaks of in Republic 4 is the nature of the alternative life- styles and the charms and claims of each, and in book 9 he offers an argument that the rational life-style is much happier (729 times happier, 587E 1-2) than the acquisitive. But hc also says in book 6 that when the philosopher-king gets the power to act, he must start from scratch with human characters, wipe the human slate clean of post-natal disfigudngs and rewrite human dispositions on it (501 A 1-7). (Mao and Pol Pot had in some ways the same ambition, though differences of end necessarily governed their differences of means.) Again in book 7 of the Republic we read that nothing can be done with people over ten years old. They must be sent out of the city (541 A) and left to breed. Then their young children must be takcn back and educated from scratch. There is little reason to doubt that Plato means what he says when he implies that, unless such radical measures are taken, there is no chance that the human character can be well developed; no chance, that is, in terms of the theories of book 4, that any of us will in facl adopt the reason-governed life-style. Plato seems to have thought that without such extreme steps an individual of the Guardian sort might appear by luck or grace (0da poipa) ; Socrates had indeed appeared.

TRlPARTlTE SOULS 115

But if we want more than that, if we want to guarantee the regular appearance of such people, we need the radical step. That implies that if right education is essential, and if right education depends on radical acts by a philosopher-king, then if the philosopher-king is an impossible dream, the correct upbringing of human beings becomes, in human terms, an impossible dream too.

Plato, as we shall see, comes to think that philosopher-kings are virtually hors concours ; indeed I shall argue that from his premisses in the Republic itself and elsewhere there should not be a philosopher-king. For Plato did not see that within the parameters of his account of the psyche and without a pre- existing philosopher-king, any regular and predictable choice of the right life- style is impossible. Without the external pressure on our incarnate selves, without our being kept unfree, until the right soul-constitution is established in us (590E4), it is extremely unlikely that we shall ever whole-heatedly act in accordance with reason, even if we recognize the validity of the arguments in favour of such alife. If that is right, Platonic ethics ends up as an inspiring ideal but an impossible reality. We are all condemned to being more or less acratic. Laws, Plato hopes, will provide something of a substitute for the rule of philosophers, but Plato thinks that they are often a << blunt instrument ,,I2. In any case he knows well enough that even if laws make us act correctly, they are no substitute for the knowledge of the putative philosopher-king as a means of making us want to act correctly.

People have often discussed whether the Platonic Republic is intended as a practical possibility, and they have observed that Plato himself, on several occasions, notably at the end of book 9 (592B 2 ff.). seems to be almost cavalier about it. But Plato is not cavalier about the claim that even if the state is aan example laid up in heaven >>, we can arrange ourselves in accordance with the Republic's ideals of harmony and justice. Commentators have been less impelled to query the latter claim, but it is in fact the more interesting, not only because unless we get a well-ordered psyche (in a philosopher-king) we cannot have the institutions to breed and educate good citizens, but because the discussion of parts of the psyche in Republic 4 might suggest that it is not possible to have such a permanently well-ordered psyche in our present earthly life at all - whatever the educational system.

In order to see why this is so, within purely Platonic parameters of thought, we must turn to some other discussions of soul-parts, particularly in book 9 of the Republic and in the Phaedrus, and to Plato's question in book 10 of the Republic about whether the psyche is ultimately simple or multiform in its (< true nature B (+licr~v, 612A 3 ff.). Our conclusion will be that in Platonic terms not only can there be no perfect state (or set of individuals), there cannot be a perfect incarnate individual : an altogether much more disturbing conclu-

12. The phrase is Guthrie's adaptation of Poliricus 295A (cf. A History of Greek Philosophy, vol. V, Cambridge 1978, p. 186).

sion. Indeed the conclusion may be even more disturbing than it seems at first glance: not only can we not hope to be perfect, but perhaps we have no good reason to suppose that in Plato's psychological universe we can experience genuine moral improvement at all. That is not, I hasten to add, a claim which Plato accepts for a moment; my argument is only that the developments in his own account of the psyche make it a claim which he cannot rebut.

Simple andlor Composite : Republic 9, I0 and Phaedrus

At 577D 1, dealing with the tyrannical man and the tyrannical state, Plato reminds us once again of their parallel structures. The language in which he speaks of the types of soul (~i611. 58OC3 ff.) and of its parts (577D4, 581 A 6; cf. 583 A 1, 586E 5) seems indistinguishable from that of Republic 4, though the term uparts H is now applied to the soul more regularly; we are surely by now supposed to know what a part is. We are told at 580D 11 that our ((acquisitive part* or character is often just called lustful (Greek dn&upr)- rtxov) because our desires for food, drink and sex are particularly insistent and therefore typify the u part B as a whole; but the phrases (( money-loving D and u gain-loving e also recur here (580E5 - 581 A 7, cf. 586 D 5). Contrariwise it is said that a that by which we learn v concerns itself least (581 B 7) - note ((least *, not (<not at all*, again suggesting not a faculty but a type of character or life-style - about wealth (the concern of the third part) or about reputation (the concern of the second).

Similarly at 581 E 3, in the course of a fallacious argument that only he who has experienced the pleasures of thought can judge between different kinds of pleasures, Plato observes that such a man cannot avoid experiencing the pleasures, say, of ertting and drinking. These pleasures he calls <c necessary B, in the sense of inevitable. We have here again an obvious discussion of forms of life-style: reason qua reason does not enjoy the pleasures of food, drink and sex, but rational men do, and, in the case of food and drink. must do. Such pleasures may be regrettable, but they are unavoidable. (The argument more generally is fallacious, for although the rational man unavoidably enjoys the orderly pleasures of food, drink and sex, he does not experience (and therefore qua experienced is no judge of) the disorderly ones. He can, it would seem, judge that they are disorderly, but he cannot know what it feels like to experience a disorderly pleasure.)

Thus far we find nothing added to the earlier account of the psyche, but at 588B 1Off. a new though not entirely unexpected image appears, an image which both clarifies Plato's position in the Republic and finds strong confirmation (also in a rcmythical~ passage) in the Phaedrus. Let us then examine our new image ( d x h v ) of the soul: in this fife we find it of triple nature, though extemalty it looks like a man. The three natures are a volatile and many-headed monster (588C 71, a lion (588D3) and a man (&vOponw, 588D 3-4, cf. 589A 7, a man within). This, of course, is the passage which

TRIPAMTl"ITl' SOULS 117

most womes those who suspect that Plato begs the question13 about why we act, for example, tyrannically: if he says that this occurs because we have a tyrant within, he leaves open the question of why the tyrant within acts tyrannically. But the passage is avowedly an image and the suspect interpretation is unnecessary in view of what we have already learned in book 4 about Platonic G parts D. The correct interpretation is indicated by Plato himself when he talks about feeding the man, the lion and the beast. These are possible selves which we may or may not nourish. We can nourish our humanity, our lionlikeness or our bestiality. Plato then goes on to reveal for the first time, unmistakeably, what he takes us to be. We have bestial and divine characteristics. The <<equation D which Socrates offers us at this point seems to run as follows :

H (human) = B (beast) + T (god).

A limited mathematics would enable us to reformulate this as :

In other words, if we could remove what is bestial from our natures, we would become not <( men s nor the << man within B (as the homunculus theory would demand), but gods. It is easy to misinterpret the implications of this equation. If our w bestial n parts were simply the non-rational capacities of the tripartite soul, we should, when divinized, become pure unmixed rationality, thinkers without volitions, desires or pleasures. Certainly the soul in its essence would be simple, and that would be that. In fact when Plato raises this very issue in the next book (61 1 BS), we find Socrates saying of composites that it is not easy for them to be immortal unless (pi not 06) they are combined in the best possible wayI4. It seems then that it is an open question whether the <<true nature H (612 A 3) or the u original nature B (61 1 D 2) of the soul is pluriform ( T I O ~ U E L ~ ~ ~ ~ ) or uniform. And in thc Republic that question rcmains open. What Plato believes he has established is that even if the cr true nature,, of the soul is composite in some sense, it cannot be in a state of disharmony and disorder. It must exhibit the best possible type of organization. As for us now, he adds, we have examined the passions and variant characteristics (nu&) TE

xui ~33~) it may take on during its human (incarnate) existence. As we shall see, we should not confuse the division of the soul into three parts with the distinction between incarnate and disincarnate existence.

13. On homunculi see Moline (note 1 above). p. 22-25 and Amas (note 7 above), especially p. 145 on Republic 588-589. But Annas' solution that Plato's parts are (harmlessly) a relatively ignorant and narrow-minded homunculi N does not do justice to Plato's position. Indeed Annas slips into u faculty-psychology n language when she compares the homunculi to a *theoretical item> like short-term memory.

14. On combination in the best possible way see T. M. Robinson, Pluto's Psychology, Toronto 1970, p. 51-53.

But the question of the soul's true nature which is left open in the Republic - even if Plato may wish us to guess the answer - is answered unequivocally in the Phaedrus, and by virtue of an image remarkably similar to that of Republic 10. We begin (245C) with the assertion (at least) that soul wherever it is found is an immortal. Piato then tells us that the immortal souls of the gods are tripartite; they can all be likened to a charioteer driving two horses (246C). That should long ago have settled the question of Republic 10. Is a soul in its true nature (as represented by a god) multiform or uniform? The answer is both : one souf, one harmonious structure of three <<parts >>. In Republic 9 we have 4< within B us a man, a (tameable) lion, and a monster; in the Phaedrus we have a man, an ordinarily good (though seduceable) white horse, and a vicious black horse. What does this tell us about the life of the gods compared with the life of men? Surely, in view of our previous account of possible life-styles, that in the gods form-governed, goal-directed conduct is combined with a proper self-respect (The gods, specifically, would rightly wish to be worshipped with due honours) and with a proper set of desires in relation to material objects. This last divine feature may seem extraneous in the context of the Phaedrus itself, and in commenting on what the cr parts B of the souls of the gods are for, I have to go beyond the limits of the dialogue. Plato always bclieved thc gods lo be providential and in the Timaeus he is going to spell out the nature of a God's desires vis-his the matcrial universe. In relation to self- respect, a virtue of the second <<part ), of the soul, it is noteworthy that at Phaedrus 247A Swrates observes that envy is a stranger to the divinc nature. Unlike human beings when their sense of honour is perverted, self-respect in thc gods docs not rcsolve itsclf into brutal cornpctitiveness and exclusiveness.

The l'imaeus then confirms our interpretation of the divine nature, of the nature of the gods. In the Timaeus Hato offers a c< mythical B account of the ordering of the cosmos. The ordering is the work of god, and god is called Nous (mind). But this mind is not merely rationalcapacity. Though he is obviously able to reason, he is not designated hoyto~~xov. for in addition to seeing the truth and knowing how lo act, he has properly ordered desires: he wants to act well and he enjoys doing good (29E. 39C). Finally, as in the Phaedrus, he is free of envy (29E).

We conclude from these brief remarks about the last two books of the Republic and the Phaedrus - supplemented by a sampling of the Timaeus - that so far there is no reason to modify the account of PIatonic <<parts P we identified in Republic 4. What we see, however, is that after Plato has developed a theory of different possible life-styles and discussed the growth of a harmonious soul and city, he has extended his account of uparts )> beyond its original parameters. Indeed further investigation will show that after the Phaedrus the theory of a tripartition B of life-styles, worked out for particular purposes in the Republic, more or less drops out of sight: not that Plato ever discarded it, but that he moved on to other questions. In his pursuit of these other questions

W A R T R E SOULS 119

echoes of the language and thought of Republic 4 may reappear, but what have sometimes seemed to be major and disturbing new developments of the original theory in the Timaeus are really parts of a different theory and a different set of problems.

Divisions of the Soul in the Timaeus

The usual, and puzzling, account of the soul in the Timaeus is roughly as follows : Plato offers a rather cruder version of the Republic's tripartition theory - cruder in that it appears more <<dualistic B. We have the same three parts: reason, spirit and appetitiveness (usually bodily appetite in the Timaeus); but only reason is immortal and godlike; the others are exactly as the passions and variant characteristics (nu80 r e xai ~ 3 0 ) of Republic 10 (6 12 A 5) , merely due to the presence of reason in the body, and destined to perish with the body. The difficulty with this is that it makes the Plato of the Timaeus forget much of the sophistication of the Plato of the Republic and the Phaedrus and revert to an only slightly less crude version of the soul-body dualism of the Phaedo, How could this be? Drastic remedies may be offered : they say that the Timaeus is a much earlier dialogue than it is usually proclai- med to be. But for our present purposes even a radical redating of the Timaeus like that of Owen would be inadequateI5. It would seem that only a claim that the Timaeus predates Republic 4 would do the trick: the sequence might be Phaedo, Timaeus, Republic 4. But of course that is ludicrous. The 'I'imaeus itself is presented by Plato as a sequel to the Republic, and at the beginning of the dialogue a large part of the contents of the Republic is summarized.

Fortunately our problem disappears if we deny some common assumptions: that despite its diffcrent set of problems the Timaeus offers a c< tripartite B theory of the soul substantially close to that of Republic 4, and that the Timaeus provides evidence for a Platonic solution of the problems about the originally simple or complex nature of the soul in Republic 10. Now Plato, notoriously, is unconcerned about technical language, and it is indeed a mere assumption that he is facing the same problems of the soul in the Timaeus which he faced in the Republic and the Phaedrus, and which - it has been argued in this paper - he believed he had settled in those works16. Let us look, therefore, with some care, at what Plato actually does in the Timaeus. At

15. G. E. L. Owen, *The Place of the Timaeus in Plato's Later Dialogues w , CQ 3, 1953, p. 79-95. For discussion of the present state of debate about the date of the Timaeus see G. Fine, *Owen's Progress H, PR 97, 1988, p. 374-383. Fine argues that Owen has not succeeded in dating the Timaeus earlier than the Parmenides and Theaeferus, but that it must precede the Sophist and Poliricus. I would dispute the latter claim. but it does not affect the present argument.

16. On the difference between the Phaedrus and the Timaeus see T. Szlezik. a Unsterblichkeit und Trichotomie der Seele im zehnten Buch der Politeia H. Phronesis 21, 1976, p. 57-58.

41 CD we read that something of the human psyche is immortal, something is mortal. But we should not assume that this immortal part is just bare rationality, for several reasons: 1. God (nous) in the Timaeus is not like that; he has desires and pleasures, as we have already noted; 2. The orderly rational lives of the gods in the Phaednts are the lives of beings with << tripartite P souls. We can conclude from this that if Plato had chosen to discuss the nature of our u immortals part, he might have introduced tripartition in the manner of the Phaedrus ; but that is not his concern in the Timaeus. What is his concern is to show how our @original nature of soul* (to borrow from the Republic) is itself involved in all sorts of ungodly activities as a result of its insertion into a body. These activities, however, are soul-activities; they involve the na&) TE xa i ~ I 6 n of the soul of which Republic 10 speaks (612A 3, and they bury the immortal nature of the soul - compared to the sea-god Glaucus (61 1 B - 612A3) - in the flotsam and jetsam of earthly life. The immortal Glaucus, we recall, immediately precedes Socrates' query about whether the true nature of the soul is pluriform or uniform.

If we recognize that Plato's project in the Timaeus is to indicate what kind of activities are unavoidable for the soul once it becomes incarnate, we have no excuse for confusing what he says with remarks made in parts of the Republic which have a quite different purpose, namely to illuminate problems of our awareness of different possibilities of self-development (or self-disintegration). Naturally some words and phrases of one project will reappear in the other: there will be a degree of overlapping so that in both the Republic and the Timaeus we find +dovix6v (70A), ktrthpr)~~x6v (70E) or talk of parts of the soul (9IE), the Iowest of which is a savage beast (70E4). But in 70E this savage beast does not represent an alternative life-style; it is s i m ~ l y the instinctual, non-rational demands that arise from the body and are received and experienced by the soul. The example given by Plato himself in 86 DE is that of sexual incontinence and involuntary emissions. We experience these, but we are not to blame for them. They do not indicate our preference for a vicious way of life; on the contrary we regret them. Rather they are bodily experiences which we <( feel * in the soul simply because the human body (both male and female and through no fault of ours, 91 BC) may react or function involuntarily.

Clearly Plato's concern in this passage is quite different from anything in Republic 4 if our analysis of Republic 4 is even approximately correct. Clearly the attempt to read the Timaeus as though it were a discussion of personal stability and character development rather than primarily an account of mortal versus immortal soul-experiences should never have occurred. There are three parts of the soul in the Timaeus, but they are not the same kind of parts as they were in Republic 4; indeed the most important fact about them is not that they are three, but that in a more basic sense they are two, the mortal and the immortal. Plato is not concerned with possible life-styles within our incarnate


life, but with the fact that in any case we experience during our whole span of earthly existence both a mortal and an immortal mode of existence.

If the remarks about non-responsibility for unwanted arousal were not enough to make us suppose that Plato's project in the Timaeus is not the same as that in Republic 4, it ought to have sent us off in the right direction. For in the Timaeus the immortal part or kind (ykvoc, &0(; 99Eff.) is located in the head (69DE. 91 E etc.), the lower parts in the breast and belly. The << mythical* structure of the exposition allows Plato to localize, almost to n materialize u, the parts of the soul, but metaphorical suggestions about whether we think with our head or with our gut have only a limited connection with the subject-matter of Republic 4. In brief, if we look carefully at Plato's purpose in the Timaeus, we see that there is simply no discussion of the problems of a choice of life-style outlined in the Republic and explicated further by the study of immortal souls in the Phaedrus ; and that nothing in the Timaeus suggests that Plato would have to withdraw anything he said about k i d , parts or dispositions of the soul, let alone about the original or true nature of the soul, in those earlier works. Politicus 309 C 2 ff., again treating of parts - the etefllal (&ry&vdg) and the this-worldly (Cyoy~vdl;) sort - seems to have in view concerns similar to those of the Timaeus. The distincticn of u divine * and human P is also found there.

Plato, incidentally, never uses the phrase cc tripartite soul N (tpq~xplj~).

Moral Growth

In this section I shall assume as a working hypothesis (leaving the Timaeus aside) that for Plato in the Republic and elsewhere a a part D of the psyche is a possible life-style and its concomitant attractions, 'and that when Plato thinks of moral improvement he is thinking about reducing the plurality of lives we attempt to live at the same time to one consistent and harmonious life. The fact that such consistency is unattainable in this life should provide further evidence that the parts (even the superior part) cannot be read as homunculi. We are men and we can never, in this life, become identical with our u rational P part and Live a life wholly governed by reason. If we were to become identical with our <<rational parts, that is, live a wholly rational life-style, we should no longer be incarnate. Indeed we should no longer be men, though we should still, in Platonic terms, be tripartite, for the rational life-style is not, as we have seen, a life without the logical possibility of behaviour motivated by considerations of honour or of gain; it is a life -without actual behaviour motivated by such considerations. In other words we might still have the physical power to act in such ways and we should understand what it is to act from such motives, but we should have no wish or inclination to do so. What we should be like can be seen from consideration of the nature of a possible omnipotent god; such a being, it could be argued, would be strong enough to injure people with malice aforethought, and he would understand what it

means to say that someone is injuring someone else with malice aforethought, but he would not and could not u bring himself*, as we might clumsily put it, to act in this way1?. Our immediate question is this: why is such godlike behaviour impossible for us in terms of the psychology of the fourth book of the Republic, although it is necessary behaviour if we are to be ( p e r impossibile) philosopher-kings ?

In at least four passages, of which that from the tenth book of the Republic is presumably the earliest (613 B ; cf. Theaet. 176 AB, Tim. 90 A-C, Laws 716B), Plato alludes to our capacity, as far as possible, or as far as human nature permits, to attain immortality, or likeness to god. In the Timaeus he specifically identifies our best self as a daimon, a demigod whom we can try to look up to. But why the caveat? Why the nas far as possible*? Because, as both Republic and Phaedrus have taught us. we have, for better or worse, something bestial, something irreduceably bestial, in us, at least in our present life. We can feed or starve the beast, but we cannot make him disappear altogether. The implication of that inability is that even if we were to secure the divine life, to live like gods on earth, for today, there would always be an alternative possibility - and not merely a logical possibility - for tomorrow. We cannot, in fact, secure our perfection.

Now we have already noticed that Plato also seems to need external pressures to compel us, even from the very beginning of our lives, to live well. Only the educational system of an ideal society can even hope for success in the production of perfect individuals, for only in such a society can we learn and acquire the right constitution in our souls. In other societies we become free too early; we get off the lead before knowing what is right. So that without that society, as Plato allows, no-one, except in freak cases, can become good in the strict sense.

But the situation is even worse; the difficulties are not only at the level of society. Since in this life our bestial urges can only be controlled or suppressed or driven into our dream life, there also remains the possibility everz in a perfect society that they will elude control. We have already noted in the Republic that Plato seems comparatively unconcerned about the methods we may need to employ to control our acquisitiveness; in the Phaedrus he will express himself more frankly. We can read a brutal description of the cr education D of the black horse (254E): he is to be humbled by violence and governed by fear. Plato seems to think (Perhaps some of his discussion in the Timaeus about wholly irrational impulses teases this out.) that in this life we will always find it hard to achieve a whole-hearted acceptance of the fact that it is in everyone's interest that acquisitiveness should be restrained by the pursuit

17. On God's not being able to *bring himself* to act incertain ways, see N. Pike, *Omnipotence and Gcd's Ability to Sin .. in P. Helm (Cdit.), Divine Comrnandr and Morality, Oxford 1981, p. 80-82.

of u moral N goals. And it also seems that even if secured. we shall only maintain it precariously. But

such total acceptance is if that is the case, and if

we have no external society to maintain the educational pressure, the probable result is not that no-one will ever decide on the best course of life, but rather that he will not be able to achieve such a life. Thus if inside the ideal society the best life will be rare, outside it we must assume its impossibility. There will be no way of diminishing the lure of improper life-styles, hence no reason to suppose that anyone will permanently reject them, hence no philosopher- king. No wonder that Plato talks of attaining a godly life only as far as possible; we should also not be surprised that he dmps the philosopher-king altogether in the Statesman and the Laws.

But Plato is compelled to go even further. The philosopher, in the sense of an all-time adviser, might remain within the domain of possibility; the king, the man who can be guaranteed to do what he ought. is outside that domain. No-one, as Plato puts it in the Lows (875AB), is capable of remaining uncorrupted by absolute power. At this point Plato becomes wistful: G If such a man adequate by nature should - by divine grace - be born... he would need no legal restriction on his behaviour. But at present such a nature exists nowhere, except to a small extent)) (875 c)l8. So that we do need law and the compulsions of law or wc become beasts.

In the Symposium Plato had already argued that a proper exprknce of the good and the beautiful can bring us (or some of us) to an inspired condition - he calls it a 6 madness x in the Phoedrus - from which noble actions will flow. As Diotima puts il (206E). when we have seen the vision of beauty, we shall beget in the beautiful. produce many noble and splendid ideas (210D). engender true virtue (212A); that is, more plainly. do guod deeds and know what we are doing and why we a n doing it. m e Phoedrus again confirms the idea: we work on our beloved as a sculptor on his statue. ~ i n g to make it better (252 D7).

But love brings its necessities and obligations. Beauty is Destiny and Goddess of the labours of childbirth, compelling its effects to be born in difficulty, as Diotirna puts it again (206D); and spalring of the relationships between his male and female guardians in the Republic, Plato refers to their coming together sexually through n the necessities of desire rather than those of geometry R (458D). In all its forms eros is a compelling force, and Diotirna's remarks about begetting in the beautiful suggest the inevitability of an orgasm when a certain stage has been passed in oui confrontation with beauty.

Such notions of inevitability and necessity and obligation (not to speak of responsibility) are also present in Republic 7. Plato is concerned with the

18. Cf Laws 691 E. but here Plato still clings to the notion that political cormption can be overcome merely by keeping the young away from absolute power.

TRIPARTITE SOULS

obligations which foUow from a knowledge of justice, itself supported, as he has a W ~ d , by love for Lady Philosophy and the Form of the Good to which she leads. Giaucon objects that by ordering the Guardians to return to the Cave we shall be mpell ing them to live a worse life instead of a better (5 19 D 8-9). Socrates first reminds him that the job of a Guardian is not to pursue any immediate g m d of his own, but to promote the good of the whole community, and then adds that the Guardian will be faced with a just demand D go back into the Cave. The Guardian will be obligated, and feel obligated. to obey. As is emphasized again later (540B), he will rule because he must, not because office-holding is worthwhile in and of itself, not because it is inspiring ( x a h b ) . But if a man xknows r the really good, he will be obligated by his love of justice ro promote it: he could do no olher. Will he disobey a just command? That is impossible, Glaucon agrees, for he is a just man and these are just injunctions (520E).

We can recognize the sort of claim ?hat Plato is making, with its strengths and weaknesses. The claim, broadly, is that if I am good, if, that is, I have seen and known the form of the Good, as the bride of Lady Philosophy (495BC) and of the Goodness and Beuty to which she leads, I will act for the &st. Now in one sense this is a powerful comparison: for if I say that I am in love with someone and hen add that I would feel no obligation to do the right thing for her, it would be natural to klieve that I am not in Iove at all. But Plato's claim is expressed in a very strong form. Love of the good. the source of my sense of obligation. will impel me to feel and fulfii my obligations (as far as possible within my available capacities) noi once or even usually, but whenever necessary. Seeing good entails being good. which leads to doing g c d - always, That is what Plato tells us is the case; the more interesting question is why he ever believed that men and women could achieve such perfection. As we have seen, the erotic language of the Symposrum - in some ways the most illuminating text for PIato's ethical and political claims at their most fundamental - and of the Phcredr-us, echoed, as we have suggested, especially in book 6 of the Republic (490A 7 ff., 495 3 8 ff., 496A 5 ff.), provides an explanation. Plato's model for the action of the Guardians is that of the inspired lover. But the more cynical, or wise, may ask: how long will the strength of love endure? Can a man or woman maintain throughout life that readiness to act welt that slate in which they have lost the ((capacity w not to pour out their good deeds, despite all the travail, in the way which Diotirna suggests. We, and Plato, have reason to become sceptical about <<perseverance to the end>>.

The model of inspiration, for a human being, may account for a number of good actions; is it enough to account for perpetual success in what the Phoedrus suggests is the unending task (for man in this life) of controlling the black horse, not to speak of the white one as well from time to time (248A)? Surely that <<as far as possible* indicates that Plato is compelled to admit that in this life at least perpetual success in morality is impossible. There will some

times in which we all for almost all - perhaps Plato thought that Socrates was for a11 practical purposes an exception) will fail. And if we all fail, then we can see why, inexplicably at first sight, Plato was right to suggest that even in an ideal society, or what looks like one, at some point the Guardians will get things seriously, perhaps even morally, wrong. <<As for the persons you have trained as Ieaders of the sfate*, says Socrates in Repub[ic 8 (546B 1-Z), <c Wise though they are, they will slip up B.

Plato suggests here that this slip is perhaps merely a slip in calculation ; he is not yet clear that it could be a moral error, an error the inevitability of which is recognized when he insists that in incarnate life we are not and cannot f

be gods; we must still remain a bit bestial. And if this is the case in the ideal city, how much more will it be the case in the ordinary city of everyday Greece? Yet Plato's abandonment of the ideal of the philosopher-king may show a certain awareness (though I have suggested an insufficient awareness) that in terms of the psychology of the Republic itself, a continually good life, the life of the philosopher-king, is impossible. When the theory that being good derives from knowing good and leads continually to doing good next occurs in Plato's writings, it is in the Timaeus. But this time (29E 1 ff.) it is God, not human beings, who fills the bill. <<Good for Him n, one is tempted to comment, but one has also to add, KSO much the worse for us,. For in an important sense Platonic ideas about how to become good have led only to failure, indeed to a virtual denial of the possibility of Success. What, we may ask, is needed to make them work?19

19. The comments of Arthur Madigan S.J. on an earlier version of this discussion were very helpful.

THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF PLATO'S CRATYLUS

Words and their ambiguities have always interested Leonard Woodbury, so a discussion of the Cratylus is appropriate to the present volume. The ostensible subject of the dialogue is the correctness (dpB6rrls) of names (nouns, adjectives and verbs). Which is not to say or imply1 that the correctness of names is the only subject with which Plato is concerned in the Cratylus. The definition of a sophist is not the only subject of the Sophist. The Sophist is also (and primarily) concerned with negation, the CratyEus with the possibility and nature of referring in general. Various other topics have also been suggested: is it worth studying names?, does Plato advocate an ideal language?, etc. Since it still seems plausible to think that Plato wrote the CratyEus a little before the Republic? and since there are a number of themes common to the two dialogues, it secms worth trying to understand Plato's conclusions about names in the Cratylus and examining how far these conclusions are relevant to the discussion of knowledge in the Republic. If I am wrong about the date of the Cratylus, the substance of my argument is not seriously affected.

The Cratylus falls into two sections: in the first part Socrates con- vinces Hermogenes that there is a natural correctness of names; in the second he suggests to Cratylus that names, however generated, are not safe guides to things named. As the dialogue opens, Hermogenes, who believes that names arise by convention, is arguing with Cratylus, who holds that real names are correct by nature. Socrates, asked for his opinion, begins by tightening up Hermogenes' version of the convention theory: even if names are natural, they cannot be given as anyone sees fit. A number of points in the discussion may be noticed. It is agreed that statements can be true or false, that a true statement speaks of things as

1 Pace R. Robinson, "The Theory of Names in Plato's Cratylus," RIPh 9 (1955) 224. See, for example, J . V . Luce, "The Date of the Cratylus," AJP 85 (1964) 136-54;

B. Calvert, "Forms and Flux in PIato's Cratylus," Phronesis 15 (1970) 26-47. For a sum- mary of views on the date see W. K. C . Guthrie, A History of Greek Phdosophy 5 (Cam- bridge 1978) 1.

Theory and Practice of Ylato's Cratylus 209

they are and a false describes them as they are not (385b). In a true statement all the parts are said to be true and the smallest parts are the names. Therefore the names in a true statement are themselves all true, and in a false statement some at least of them are false.3 "True" and "false" are not analyzed, but they are not to be taken as applicable only to propositions, nor need they be.

Socrates wants to know whether "things" (rh l;vra) are like names (386a). Does their nature (o6aia) depend on how they seem to each one of us, as Protagoras held? Hermogenes will not agree to this. But if things are not to be thought of thus asubjectively,v argues Socrates, then actions ( q x & i s ) are not subjective, for actions are themselves "things" (rb L r a , 386e). And when Hermogenes agrees that speaking is an action and that naming is part of speaking, he feels obliged to agree that at least naming cannot be a matter of private opinion.

Socrates wants to know what names are for. They are, he suggests, instruments (388b); we do things with them. They are instruments for teaching about the world and for making distinctions within it.' They can be used well or ill, and there are people who use them well or ill. A "name-maker" or "law-maker" will use them well (389a). On this view it is the job of the name-maker to fit the proper sounds and syllables together to make names which are appropriate to the objects named. Thew is an appropriate name for each thing, and particular rrame- makers will approximate to it in proportion to their skill. And who can tell which names are the most appropriate? Obviously the best user of names, the dialcctician,Qhe man whose job it is to ask questions and answer them.

So it appears that names may be more or less appropriate, and Soc- rates even suggests that Crat~lus is right to say that appropriate names are natural (390d). Our next step, thercfore, must be to see what makes a name appropriate. Socrates interprets appropriateness and the correctness of names to refer to the ability of a name to describe its nominatum. Many names, he argues, already do so in Greek, and he tries to demonstrate this with a series of fanciful etymologies. Hermes, for example, is so called because he is an hermbneus (interpreter, 407e). It is a

3 It has sometimes been suggested that Plato says that in a false statement all the names are fake, but he seems to have particularly avoided saying this. For the correct account see C. H. Kahn, "Language and Ontology in the Cratylus," in Exegesis and Argument: Studies in Greek Philosophy Presented to Gregory Vlastos (Assen 1973) 160-61; G. Fine, "Plato on Naming," PhilosQ 27 (1977) 295.

4 Robinson objects to this suggestion, perhaps without seeing in what sense Plato is committed to it ("A Critique of Plato's Cratylus," PhR 65 [I9561 334). N. Kretzmann presses it too hard by referring it to taxonomy ("Plato on the Correctness of Names," APhQ 8 [I9711 12638). 5 For the user as guide see Rep. 601c ff.

bizarre performance. Socrates says it is inspired by Euthyphro (396d, 399a, 409d, 438c), but the irony is apparent, at times even to Her- mogenes (4092, 410e, 421c). At one point (411b) Socrates speaks of the very ancient men who introduced these appropriate names and suggests that they must be Heracliteans, but the jibe at Cratylus-Heracliteans spin round and round and then claim the world is spinning-is not developed, and the etymologies carry on to their inexorable conclusion: that each name discussed "shows" (GrlAob, 422d) what kind70f thing its nominatum is. Each name, whether new or old, is a vocal imitation of a thing (423b), or rather of the essential nature of a thing (423e). If anyone can imitate this essential nature with the appropriate letters and syllables he will show what that thing is. Such a man will be a name-maker.

Socrates holds that it is easy to test names in current use for correctness. Such names are derived from earlier names and to understand their correctness we must refer to these earlier names. How did these names arise (426a)? Perhaps they were given by the gods; perhaps they came from foreigners (cf. 410e), and foreigners are of more ancient stock than Greeks. But these answers are evasions. The real point, as we have seen, is that the law-giver who invented names imitated the nature of each thing (427~).

What are we to make of this? Socrates seems to be agreeing with - - -

Cratylus that there are naturally correct names. If present names are not naturally correct-and some apparently are not-then the earliest names were naturally correct. And even if this were not so, then theoretically there could be naturally correct names because the dialectician would be able to determine them. We need nut take the idea of a name-maker or a law-giver literally. He has certain resemblances to the Demiurge in the Tirnaeus. He is Ylato's means of describing a universal activity in temporal terms. Since Socrates wishes to argue that at any time natural names can be formed, he imagines an all-wise name-maker who in some long-past time had the ability to imitate the essential natures of things correctly.

It looks as though Cratylus' theory of natural naming has won the day, and Cratylus congratulates Socrates on his efforts. lndeed despite the obvious parody and irony in many of the etymologies, it is hard to believe that Plato would have gone to such lengths if the notion that names might imitate their nominata is quite impossible. Plato's goal, of course, is not yet clear, but that need not surprise us. In our brief survey of the discussion with Cratylus we should not forget the first part of the dialogue-even though Socrates immediately begins to disclaim it.

Cratylus accepts that a name is correct if it shows the nature of what is named (428e), and that names are given for instructional purposes; that is, he accepts what seems to be the view which Hermogenes and Socrates have worked out in the earlier discussion. He agrees also that those who give names are "law-givers." But he also holds that though law-givers are

Theory and Practice of Plato's Cruty~us 211

craftsmen, they differ from other craftsmen in that their products, that is, names and laws, are all of the same quality. All names (and laws) are equally correct. This is a new suggestion, and, of course, not discussed with Hermogenes. It is an attempt to press the notion of appropriateness much harder, and to give more specific sense to the theory of natural names. But what of the name "Hermogenes" which does not seem to fit Hermogenes' character? If it is at all inappropriate, then "Hermogenes" is not Her- mogenes' name (429~). For Cratylus, furthermore, it is impossible even to speak falsely. If someone says "Hello, Hermogenes!" to Cratylus, he is not speaking, but merely producing meaningless noises. He is not even speaking to Hermogenes, for "Hermogenes" is not Hermogenes' name.

For Cratylus names must be not merely appropriate but exactly appropriate to the things named. They are imitations, just as paintings are imitations. But paintings can be misreferred. A picture of a man can in some circumstances be said to be that of a woman. Similarly, Socrates argues, with names. They can be rightly applied, in which case they are true, and wrongly applied, when they are false. Cratylus first disagrees- perhaps names are not imitations in the same way as pictures-but quickly and rather unsatisfactorily agrees to accept the comparison (431a). If then the name-maker imitates the nature of things correctly by his combination of letters and syllables and by his grouping of words correctly together in sentences, he will do a good job. Cratylus, however, still resists. If a letter is added or taken away from the correct name, he claims, we do not have an incorrect name but no name at all (432a).

The discussion which follows is important, and riot only for undcr- standing the Cratylus. Imitations may be more or less accurate, but they are not substitutes. If they were substitutes, and if, as is agreed, names are imitations, then it would be impossible to tell which is the thing and which is its name (432d). Although Socrates does not yet come to a conclusion-Cratylus does not yet recognize what has happened to him- Cratylus' attitude to names has already been undermined. He believes, in fact, that we can know a thing by knowing its name. But in Socrates' view this would only be true if names were in fact duplicates, if the name "Cratylus" were simply a second Cratylus. Although we can learn something (more or less) about a Vermeer by looking at a Van Megeren, or about Cratylus by seeing him in a mirror, the Van Megeren is not the Vermeer and Cratylus' image is not Cratylus. The things-in-themselves, the Vermeer and Cratylus, are not likenesses or copies of the fake and the mirror-Cratylus. Rather the mirror-Cratylus and the Van Megeren are likenesses or copies of the originals.6 It is certainly not possible to

Cf. G. Ryle, "Plato's Parmenides" (reprinted in Studies in Plato's Metaphysics, ed. R. E. Allen [London 19651 105), and R. E. Allen, "Participation and Predication in Plato's Middle Dialogues," W . 50.

know Cratylus well by seeing his image in a mirror, or, as Socrates holds, by simply hearing his name, even if we know that the name is rightly given. If we wish to know Cratylus well, we must meet Cratylus, not the image of Cratylus.

But we are getting ahead of Cratylus himself. He is still thinking (434) that at least the earliest names which "show things" must be like the things which they show (434a2); that is certainly better than thinking - that "chance words" will suffice to show their nominata. Socrates' next step, therefore, is to pursue the fact that many current Greek names seem not to indicate the nature of their nominata, and that since these words are intelligible, convention must play at least a limited role in naming (435b). Socrates would like to believe that names are like things as far as they can be (435c), but he finds that in existing names the element of convention cannot be denied.

Socrates now returns (435d) to an earlier point (cf. 388bc), the purpose of names. Cratylus repeats what was agreed: the purpose of names is to teach us about the world, but now he races to destruction like a Gaderene swine, Socrates suggests (436a) that if we investigate things by enquiring into their names, we risk serious error. Cratylus does not understand. Where did the first names come from?, asks Socrates, thus reviving a question which arose in the argument with Hermogenes. If there was a first name-maker, he must have given names in accordance with his own conception of things, What if this was wrong? If the first names were wrong, then all subsequent names based on them are wrong too. Let us see whether, assuming that all things arc in flux, names are indeed sometimes wrong. And, naturally, it turns out after another series of fanciful etymologies that by no means all names indicate the flux of things.

A11 this is somewhat ad horninem, and Socrates soon moves to something else (438a). Where did the hypothetical name-maker get his names from? Obviously not from names, for there were none. He must have had knowledge before he gave names; and if we drop the notion of an historical name-maker and concentrate on our own power to know, we shall find Plato asserting that even if there are correct names, we can

I only know what they are if we j r s t know the objects to be named. We cannot learn about the world by getting to know names, even if the names are rightly given-whatever the Heracliteans might say. The truth of the matter, on the contrary, Socrates suggests (438e) is that it seems to be possible to learn things without the use of names (dvvarbv pad& &vcv 6vop6r0v rh 6vra). It is obviously risky to try to learn things through their at best uncertain name-images; and if we cannot

I learn through names, we must learn thing "through themselves" (at'

ahrc;lv 438e, a h b t( abrijv 439b). How is this possible? Not at all if all things are in flux, and Socrates now mentions that he has often dreamed

Theory and Practice of Plato's Cratylus 213

that there are such realities as beauty itself and goodness itself. If there are such, then the possibility of naming is saved. What is in flux cannot be named at all (439d), and if, as Cratylus held, naming leads to knowledge, then knowledge is impossible in a Heraclitean world (440a); but knowledge is still possible if such realities as beauty itself exist. Socrates does not commit himself on whether his dream or the Heraclitean picture (or both) are accurate representations of real it^.^ though he indicates a certain suspicion about Heracliteanism's ability to give all the answers (440~). What he is certain about is that it is unreasonable to suppose that to know X's name (even if it is, in fact, rightly given) is to know X.

When we reach the end of the Cratylus, what have we learned? First of all that the names in actual use are no sure guide to the nature of the things they name. We must investigate things in themselves without relying on their names if we want to know them. If we cannot do this, knowledge, which must be secure, is impossible. Hence for the Cratylus, since names are unsure guides, propositions (hdyoc) will be no better, for they will only be "true" if their components are "true." Of course this does not mean that current names are valueless. We use them all the time; they refer to things in the everyday world. In brief, names are philosophically useful only in the sense that the man who knows "things" can use the names to expound what he knows to other people. Names are for exposition, not for investigative enquiry. Thus, incidentally, Plato does know the difference between reference and description in the CrutyE~s.~ The man-in-the-street uses names to refer, but Plato wants to assure us that he does not know whether they describe their nominata well, ill, or not at all. The true name-maker, of course, who knows the nominata, would also know whether (or in what sense) references are descriptions.

But there is further point to the story. Neither Socrates nor the converted Hermogenes nor Cratylus claims to deny that words can "show" the nature of things. The whole thrust of the argument is that in the mouth of a good name-maker who knows the nominata, they will indeed do so in some way or other. Grote? followed by a number of ~thers ,~~supposed that Plato

7 Cf. J. V. Luce, "The Theory of Ideas in the Cratylus," Phronesis 10 (1965) 26-27. Luce observes that "the theory of Ideas is beginning to take shape in this dialogue." But a more cautious approach is required as to how far what is to be foundsin the Cratylus can helpfully be styled a "Theory of Ideas." See J. M. Rist, "Plato's 'Earlier Theory of Forms'," Phoenix 29 (1975), esp. 350-53.

8 Pace R. Robinson (above, note 4) 337. 9 G. Grote, Plato (London 1865) 2.543.

10 E.g., Robinson (above, note 4) 337; W. G. Runciman, Plato's Later Epistemology {Cambridge 1962) 20, note 4; G. Anagnostopoulos, "Plato's Cratylus: the two theories of the correctness of names," RMeta (1973-74) 327.

at least toyed with the notion of an ideal language, but both supporters and opponents of this view have missed some important distinctions, It is certainly clear that Plato has ruled out an ideal Ianguage as a tool for research; what is less clear is his view on the possibility of such a language as an instrument for exposition. Let us be clear what such a Ianguage would be like. Plato would not be advocating that all the words in such a language would be "like" their nominata in the sense of being descriptive, though some might be. What he would be after wodd be a clear and unambiguous technical version of Greek which would give him the instrument of clear exposition he believed he needed. Such a proposal is not necessarily anachronistic for Greek times; Epicurus believed that his "philosophical" Greek showed such characteristics, and probably more. I want to argue that in the Republic Plato talks at times as though such an expository instrument might be at the disposal of the philosopher-king, not as a means of getting to know the Forms, but as a means of "giving and receiving" an account of them. For, of course, if the names to be used in philosophical Greek are "appropriate" and known to be so by someone who knows the nominata, then propositions composed of those names will also be philosophically satisfactory."

In the Republic Plato is in no doubt that Forms exist and are the proper objects of knowledge; they are the concern of the dialectician. What the dialectician actually does is discussed in over-commented but still baffling sections of Books 6 and 7, which deserve to be looked at again with the Cratylus in our minds. The first distinction drawn between the dialectician and the man of the second section of the Divided Line, the man of dianoia (510d), is that whereas the latter makes deductions from hypotheses ( ( v ~ ~ T v c?E hoedarwv), the dialectician leaves hypotheses or assumptions behind (Z[ ~ P O ~ ~ U C W S ioGua). The dialectician comes to know Forms through Forms themselves (a;roTs ~ig ra i 61' ah i j v ) . He acts, it seems, as the Craty- lus has prescribed, knowing "things" not through their names but through themselves. That c?[ &aoB&rtos loirua means "leaves hypotheses (assumptions) behind" is made clear when Socrates, describing the man of dianoia (5f 1b5), indicates that he is unable to go above the hypotheses; the dialectician, on the contrary, goes above the hypotheses and operates by Forms alone.

What sort of activity is thii? Plato calls it "the power of dialectic" (75 TOG 8 t a h i y ~ u 6 ~ 1 B v ~ t & ~ ~ i ) . But there is a problem. Reason grasps the Forms by the power of dialectic, yet to do this it might seem to be using assumptions until the Form of the Good is reached. Now the Form of the Good is not an assumption, it is non-hypothetical. That does not

11 Kahn (above, note 3) 167 sees that a language 'as natural as possible" might be used to express the truth, but could not be used to discover it, and thinks that Plat0 might have wanted to point this out in the Cratylus.


mean that nothing can be said of it; it does, as we shall see, imply that it cannot be fully described or defined (despite popular renderings of Gropr'cracrOat 1534~1). The Form of the Good is grasped, intuited; when it has been grasped, propositions can be uttered about it.I2 But we have not explained the stages of the dialectical process. What does the dialectician actually do? If he passes above the hypotheses, are we not saying that all the Forms, not merely the Form of the Good, are non-hypothetical? The man of dianoia uses hypotheses or assumptions as his first-principles and as bases for deductions. In the ascent to the Good, however, the dialectician does not deduce anything. He comes to know the Forms themselves: not to assume their existence as hypotheses but to know them. But getting to know them leads to knowing their cause. Hence the Forms may be called "non-hypothetical" in that the dialectician does not assume their existence as a truth, but they are not "non-hypothetical" in tbat knowledge of them involves some higher knowledge, some knowledge of the ground of their being. It is in this sense that they are to be understood as stepping-off points and stepping-stones (511b6) on the way to the Good. You don't step on a proposition, you step on an object. But that does not mean that the Forms cannot be subjects of propositions. At this stage of his progression, therefore, the dialectician finds the Forms to be secondary realities, realities dependent on something else. If this were not so, then the dialectician would know nothing until he knows the Good itself. There is nothing in the Republic (or elsewhere in Plato) to suggest that this is the case. The dialectician can be- said to know the Forms as long as his mind, while meeting and contemplating a particular Form, is conscious of the need to progress beyond.

A crucial question is posed by the word G ~ a h ~ ~ ~ o % a r (511b4), which must be translated as "reasoning." But this reasoning must be carried on with whatever names are available, and cannot be assumed to involve the use of propositions formed by the use of any names known to be "naturally" correct. Reasoning apparently leads us to grasp the reality of the Forms themselves, but the actual names used must be unimportant to the success of the enterprise, which is not merely propositional but a meeting with reality. Indeed if we accept the suggestion that the contents of the second section of the Divided Line are word-pictures of Forms (or Forms seen through logoi),13 it is certain'that the first section

12 R. Sorabji is right to point out that the Form of the Good is both apprehended as a kind of union and that knowledge of it is propositional ("Myths about non-propositional thought," in Languuge and Logos: Studies in ancient Greek Philosophy presented to C. E. L. Owen [Cambridge 19821 300). But details of the dialectician's progress need further development than Sorabji provides.

13 D. Gallop, "Image and Reality in Plato's Republic," AGPh 47 (1965) esp. 121-23. If this is true, then the philosopher of the Phaedo who works only through hypotheses is a man of dionoiu.

must propose seeing Forms without such ~ictorial logoi. We no longer have to assume that Forms exist or that they are what they are; rather we know them and meet them.

One of the reasons why the latter part of Book 6 of the Republic is so difficult to comprehend is that Plato does not yet come to grips with the vital difference within the process of dialectic between the upward and downward movements. This difference becomes clearer, however, when dialectic is discussed in more detail as forming the coping-stone of the sciences in Book 7. Here we read (533ab) that it is the power of dialectic (or reasoning)-the phrase is repeated from 51lb4-which "reveals" the Forms. It enables us to see them (533c1), whereas the propaedeutic sciences are unable to give a logos of their hypotheses. Dialectic "destroys"l4 the hypotheses of the special sciences and estab- lishes the mind firmly in the truth. So far then there is nothing about the verbalization of knowledge except the phrase "give a logos" at 533~2- and we do not yet know at what stage of his progress the dialectician will give this logos. Nor need we assume that this logos is the sort of proposition about Forms which is employed as an assumption within section 2 of the Divided Line. The Theaetetus tells us, should we forget, that there is more than one sense of logos.

We come to 534bc. The dialectician is first defined as the man able to "take the logos of the essence of each thing." He is also able to give the logos to others. In so far as he cannot, he is not a dialectician. This looks easy to understand, misleadingly easy. The illusion is dispelled when we read that the same applies to the Good. The man who cannot "mark off" (?5topbea6a~) the Good by logos and proceed through a series of refutations with the help not of opinion but of reality will not be a dialectician but will only be dreaming of the Good. What does "marking off" the Good by a logos mean? Hardly to define it in terms of other things, for it is supposed to be separated by the dialectician from other things (&+EA&V T ~ U 70s bya80G 26E'av). Indeed everything other than itself must be "another thing" and an inferior thing. Every definition will fail to express its uniqueness. If Plato is to be allowed sense at all, he cannot be saying that the Good can be defined by a logos; it is worth seeing whether sense is possible before reverting to the other alternative.

Certainly Gtopr'rarrOa~ cannot mean "define." It must bear the sense of "mark off ," "distinguish," "recognize as distinct by reason." The dialectician must be able to distinguish the Good from all else by a logos. The only "explanation" he can give of the Good is that it is separate from all other things and their cause-a partially negative description. This is precisely what Socrates gives (509b): the Good is "beyond Being

. '4 The normally accepted reading iuatpoQua is to be preferred to hvciyovua, especially if our interpretation of 26 irno8iurws i o b a at 510b'i is correct.


and essence." But what about the other Forms? Here the dialectician is supposed to be able to give and take a logos also. It will not do to say that negative description will suffice here too, for Forms must be related to the Good and cannot be separated from it. Now apparently the difference between the procedures in the ascent and descent of the first section of the Line becomes relevant. Before the Good is reached, it is clear that no logos could be given which would not be a mere word-picture, an ungrounded hypothesis of the type which Plato specifically excludes. After the Good has been reached, however, the situation is changed. Previously we grasped the Forms and felt some intimation of their ground and cause; now we can do more: we can relate them to their cause. That is what giving a logos of them must involve.

There appears to be a further difficulty. As soon as we give a logos, are we not back to names and their combinations? Are we not back to images and imitations and representations? Has Plato forgotten the careful argumentation in the Cratylus which he designed to show that it is unsatisfactory to try to know things through "true" names and hence true propositions rather than "through themselves"? And in the Republic too we have found the dialectician proceeding by the use of Forms alone. Yet the puzzle is soon resolved. After reaching the "non- hypothetical," the prime cause, the Form of the Good, the dialectician's perspectives are altered. He is no longer learning, but he is teaching and expounding. He knows the Forms, hence he will be able to name them satisfactorily and thus construct correct propositions about them with which he can give a logos to others.15 Of course, the dialectician will employ concepts which may be unintelligible to non-dialecticians; or perhaps he will use words with sense and reference obscure to non- dialecticians, or perhaps he will do both. According to the Cratylus the man who has learned from things themselves is the man who knows whether verbal images are properly made (439b), and by "properly made" must be understood "as informative-even descriptive if necessary-as possible." Now in the Republic we have grasped the Forms which are the proper objects of description. Hence the dialectician's logoi will not merely name the Forms but will describe as satisfactorily as possible their relationship with the Good. Clearly in the Republic PIato did not envisage a whole new philosophical language, but a philosophical and technical use of the Greek language (for which the Cratylus has paved the way). The technical terms could be "true" in the sense that, where appropriate, they would afford the best possible reference and/or description of what is; they would be the nearest equivalent to the correct names which Cratylus desired. Yet the purpose of this

15 There is no evidence that PIato's view of the relationship between names and propositions has changed from the Cratylus to the Republic.

language would not be to learn about Forms. It would be something more modest than Cratylus would have wished: to describe what we have seen. The distinction between the upward and downward paths of dialectic makes this possible.

At Republic 553e1 we are told that if we agree about things the particular names we give them are unimportant, a view repeated, for example, in the Politicus (261e). Yet names will become "negatively" important if their misuse leads to confusion about things. That being so, what are we to make of a famous passage of Republic 10 (596a6-7): "For we are accustomed to posit a single Form for each plurality of things 0:s r a ~ r o u GvoPa I T L + ~ ~ o ~ E V . ' ' If these Greek words are to be rendered, with most commentators, as "to which we give the same name," we are driven back to the Cratyltss, to the supposition that the names of particulars are always important, since the number of common names governs the number of Forms. Admittedly, this is not the same problem as the Cratylus raises, but it seems alien to the spirit of the conclusions of that dialogue to suppose that any group of particulars which can be named will have a corresponding Form. So there will be Forms of deck-chairs as well as chairs, injustice as well as justice, and perhaps even of chimaeras. It is possible to resist this conclusion if Republic 10 is interpreted in the light of other evidence. In the Phedo (102bl-2) Socrates says that particulars are named in virtue of their participation in Forms (cf. Parm. 133d2), and in the Metaphysics (987b8 ff.) Aristotle observes (probably with the Phuedo in mind) that particulars take their names from the Forms in which they partake. It is the Forms which are named and the particulars are homonymous with them. Thus naming is again posterjor to knowing. We recognize the Form, name it and then name particulars. Naturally, false concepts will arise if we name ~articulars, or imagined particulars, without reference to a Form. Returning then to Republic 10, we see that the words 019 ~ a f r b v b o p bn@ipoPcv refer to the same idea; they mean "to which we give the same name (as the Form)." If we take it this way, the difficulties which the passage seemed to present disappear. We do not know Forms from their names, but where we observe a plurality, we consider the possibility of a Form; if that possibility is realized, we give the Form a name. This name will then be shared by the particulars which have the Form as a common characteristic.

The hypothetical but desired philosophical Greek of which Cratylus perhaps had an inkling can only be employed by the man who has grasped the Form of the Good. It is, as we have seen, not an instrument for getting to know, but for explaining what we know as far as we can. As for getting to know, this must be achieved by direct contact with things themselves, by a sort of acquaintance-as has long been recognized. This presumably applies to particulars as well, in so far as they are knowable: the man who in the Meno has been along the road to Larissa "really knows" the road; the

eyewitness to a crime has knowledge of that crime which h e cannot com- municate to those who were not present (except in the form of true opinion) in the Theaetetus (201bc). Yet although all true knowledge is by direct contact or acquaintance, there is a difference between the knowledge of ~ar t iculars and the knowledge of Forms. Experience of particular events is inexplicable and indefinable. Plato, like Aristotle (Met. 1036a5), appears to have emphasized that no definition of the particular is possible. With the Forms, however, (though not the Good), some sort of definition can be achieved by the dialectician which will be intelligible to other dialecticians. It is intelligible because it does not point to each man's individual and unique experiences, but to the common human experience of the Forln of the Good-and it employs names which are grounded in that reality.

Plato is clear in the Republic that the essential feature of the man who knows is not his ability to discuss (though he will be able to d o that), bqt the fact of his experience. For experience of Form there is no substitute, neither names (in the Cratylus) nor particulars in the Republic itself; though, as we have seen, Plato is at times prepared to think of our experience of particulars as analogous to our experience of Form. But, as for words, we need to be able to talk about something. Dialectic cannot be purely formal; there must be something of which we can give an account. We cannot deduce what there is; we can only find what there is. When we have found the Good, we can, however, purify our philosophical language the better to expound it-and the Cratylus clears away various misconceptions, thus allowing us to see what can be done with words if we want to "show" things.

As we realize so often when we scratch beneath the surface of Plato's thinking, he is far from the straw-man who tries to deduce what is to be found in the world. For Plato, dialectic is the means of experiencing what is basic and most important. If Plato thought, as he seems to have done, that writing philosophy is no substitute for debate, that is because in the concrete situation of debate, we can be stimulated and provoked (as Socrates shows in the Symposium) until we meet the Good that is there.16

16 A mueh earlier version of this paper was greatly improved by David Gallop; a subsequent edition benefitted from discussion at a seminar in the University of Toronto in 1979. Various further readers have contributed improvements which are incorporated in the present version.

P A R M E N I D E S AND PLATO'S P A R M E N I D E S

IN two of his dialogues especially, the Sophist and the Parmenides, Plato concerns himself at length with problems presented by the EIeatics. Despite difficulties in the interpretation ofindividual passages, the Sophis6 has in general proved the less difficult to understand, and since some of the problems at issue in the two works indicate the same or similar preoccupations in Plato's mind, it is worth considering how far an interpretation of the 'easier' dialogue can be used to forward an interpretation of the more difficult. First, therefore,we must identify problems common to the two works; then we must see whether we can understand what Plato understood Parmenides to have done-this may help towards an understanding of what he did in fact do; finally we can apply our findings to the Pamenides itself, particularly to the problem of the unity of the dialogue, in the hope that Plato's intentions may become clearer.

An aim of the Sophist Whatever other purposes were in Plato's mind when he wrote the Sophist,

there is no doubt that he intended to study the interrelations of what he calls y&.r) (or c i t i t l ) . The yr'y discussed in the Sophist include Being, Non-Being, Rest, Motion, Sameness, Otherness, Logos (Speech), and Doxa (Opinion).I Plato's intention is to show that some of these yky combine with one another while others do not, and in particular that both Being and Non-Being combine with Logos. When this is established, there is established a framework within which significant true and false statements (and beliefs) are pa~sible.~ Now the arguments about the meaning of the Sophbt have been to some extent vitiated by attempts to determine whether the various y i q , Being, Same, Other, and the rest, are Platonic Forms-and in general this discussion has been carried on with insufficient reference to the fact that the same problems might arise and need solution whether the yiv? are Platonic Forms or not. The fact is that no explicit attempt is made in the Sophlft to show that any of the problems about Being and Non-Being would be any the easier to solve whether the ydy are Forms or not. There is also no clear basis in the text for the view of Peck that Plato's problems arise solely through sophistic attempts to generate Forms in cases where no Forms exist.3 Indeed, as the discussion of the various schools in the Sophist would suggest, and as will be argued in the course of this paper, problems about $q, whatever the status of a yivos, were in Plato's opinion endemic in Greek philosophy from the time of Parmenides himself.

Plato argues in Sophirt 259 e that if the y i q are to be separated from one another all possibility of discourse (Adyo$) taking place is ruled out. At two earlier stages of the dialogue (251 bc, 252 bc) he has alluded to vadous thinkers (whom he regards as contemptible) who claim that only tautologous

I For the list see A. L. Peck, 'Plato's Insf. of C h . Stud. of the Uniu. of London i i Sophisf, the oupnAox$ t;SGv', Phrowsis vii [rgyJ, 31-5). For a convincing explanation (1962!, 56. of the ouFnXox4 rrjv €;6& passage at 259 e

J . L. Ackrill was the first to suggest that 4 ff. see A. L. Peck, op. cit. 46-66. Plato's combination of r 3 ~ ( y i v ~ ) is de- 3 A. L. Peck, 'The pdyrora ylvq of the signed to establish pre-conditions for signifi- Sophist: a Reinterpretation', CQ N.S. i i cant discourse ( 'ZU~~AOK< cQOV', Bdl , of the (rg52), 32-56.

222

statements are possible. He suggests that those who claim that only such statements as 'man is man' and 'good is good' are possible are not themselves radical enough in their scepticism about the possibility of intelligible speech if their own principles are to be carried to logical conclusions. For in fact to say 'man is man' involves combining 'man' and 'being', and this means that in some sense 'man is man' must entail, for example, 'man is not horse'. Yet this .cvould be puzding if the ~ i v q Non-Being and Logos could not be combined.

Without the combination of yiv7, therefore, even tautologies are ruled out and, as the Eleatic Visitor puts it, complete separation of the yivll is the most complete destruction of intelligible speech ( T F / \ E W T ~ T ~ ~ ) + w L s ) . Ob'i.iousIy, therefore, when arguing in the Sophist that certain y i q can in fact be combined Plato thinks that he is performing a task of considerable, indeed of fi~r:da- menta1 importance.

Tiq and Categories It should not be forgotten, even when discussing Plato's yiv?, that in the

Calegories Aristotle is prepared to describe his .categories as yiv7 ( I I a3Si. I:or Aristotle, therefore, at a comparatively early stage in his philosophical career Being, Quality, Quantity, and the rest are ykq. It has been much debated how Aristotle arrived at the particular set of yCv7 which he has produced, I ~ u t there seems to be no objection to the view advanced by Ross that the list was compiled as a set of broadest possible answers to 'What is it?' questions;' for example, What i s this? A man . . . an animal . . . a substance. The y&.? thercfore are the widest possible predicates which will appear when the question 'What is it?' is asked of a representative variety ofphenomena. 'That is why the term uaqyopia (predicate) can be used as a synonym of ylvos.

There is no reason for believing that Aristotle was the first to cornpilc lists of the broadest possibleanswers to 'What is it ?' questions. A tradition (adn~itledly late) has it that Plato introduced the ten categories of Aristotle.2 V'hile this is undoubtedly mistaken as it stands--so far as we know, Plato never madc use of the ten Aristotelian y&-it has a basis in fact in that Plato (and probably others in the Academy) regularly talked about y k q ; and the fact that not only in the Sojhist but also in the Theaetelus Plato is interested in 'greatest yCtT' may indicate that he too had an interest in the probleni of the broadest possible answers to 'What is it?' questions. I t should perhaps be noticed that when in the Physics Aristotle takes up problems about non-being which he finds Plato to have mishandled, his first attempt to refute the positions of Parrnenides depends on his doctrines of categories (Physics 1851).

TivT and Pamenides Aristotle is obviously correct when he argues (I'hyhys. 186.) that in the view of

Parmenides the word ZOTL has only one meaning and that that meaning must be in part existential. According to Parmenides' way ofTruth the true premiss -the oriiy possible starting-point for the philosopher-is this word ZUTL. Truth can only be obtained by reasoning based on i m r as an axiom. But how are such reasonings based? Or, as the question has normally been raised by modern scholars, what is the subject of &ri ? Three basic views have appeared here (not in the order I notice them) : the first, that ~ U T L is impersonal, that is, has no

W. D. Ross, Aristotle's Metaphysics (Oxford, 1924)~ p. Ixxxiv. ' Albinus, Didask. 10. 6.

PARMENIDES AND PLATO'S P A R A W N I D E S 223

subject, is rejected by Owen on the grounds that Parmenides proceeds to argue for various characteristics of the subject ;l the second view, that of Owen himself, is that the subject is 'what can be thought of or spoken of'. Owen prefers this to the third (and rather traditional) view that the subject is being or what is (& &) on the grounds that this would make Parmenides' premiss a tautology. The difficulty of Owen's position is that there must be some sense in the word in1 in fragment 2, line 3, whereas on his view the reader of the poem would have no idea what the subject of the verb is until he reaches fragment 6, or at the very least until he reaches fragment 2, line 7 (O{TE yip 2 v yvolqs 76 ye pj &v). But this is very difficult and it would apparently make it impossible even for Parmenidesf to translate his own premiss into another language. He would have to say something like 'The true way is iur~' , thus leaving the ambiguous Greek incapable of reformulation until later in the poem.

Owen seems to be misled by supposing that Parmenides was basically concerned with the question 'Does it exist or not?'3 He thinks that this can be answered, for Parmenides, by the answer to a further question, 'Can it be thought of or spoken of?' If the answer to this second question is affirmative then 'it' exists. But there are no words of Pamenides which would lead us to believe that the question is 'Does it exist?' After all, what could 'it' be? The question is more likely to have been themore naturally pre-Socratic one, 'What is there?' (i.e. 'What are things-& h a ? ' ) . And this question had, before Parmenides, been answered in various ways : there is water, there is fire, there is the indeterminate. I n other words, what noun or adjective does Parmenides think can logically be uttered after &TL?

On this view, therefore, it would follow-if we give Parmenides the credit of not smuggling in premisscs-that. the only possible 'filler' for &TL would be the tautoiogous ri, 2dv ('There is what there is'). We assume, therefore, that his procedure is purely by inspection of the word &TI. He asks himself what could there be. And the tautologous subject T A Gv is the only subject he could legitimately propose.

Parmenides presents his thoughts in fragment 2 as follows : A. (The true premiss :) There is ; it is not possible for there not to be. B. (The false prerniss:) There is not; it is necessary that there not be. C. (Demonstration of the falsity of the hlse premiss :) You cannot think or

show what does not exist (76 pj idv).+

1 G. E. L. Owen, 'Eleatic Questions', CQ N.S. x (1g6o), 93.

2 Raven remarks 'If it is necessary to translate the sentence . . .' in The h o c r a i i c Philosophrrs f Cambridge, r 957), 269.

3 G . E . L . O w e n , l o c . c i t . g ~ . Cf. W. K. C. Guthrie, A History of

Grcck Philosophy ii. ao (Cambridge, 1965) on the meaning of +p&rv. However, despite this discussion and that on the meaning of htysrv, Guthrie (following Owen and others) is still unjust to Parmenides (p. 17). Owen claims (loc. cit. gq n. I ) that w h m Par- menides is mistaken is his claim that wc

cannot think of the non-existent. Owen and

Guthrie agree (rightly) that of course we can talk and think about mermaids or unicorns. But it should be emphasized that Par- menides did not deny we could talk about non-being-after all, he does so himself. In the Greek idiom what Parmenides denies is that we can think or speak non-being, not that we can think or speak about non-being. If knowing is envisaged as a kind of seeing and speaking as a kind of pointing, then i t is not hard to see why . Parmenides says we cannot 'see' or 'point to' what docs not exist. It is possible to write X ~ y i r v nrpi rcvds in Greek as well as Aiyerv TI, but the two arc not always identical in sense. What has puzzled

224

From this it follows in fragment 6 that what you can think and speak is what is (76 Mv). And in fragment 7. I we learn that p3 2dwa (what does not exist) cannot be. The conclusion, therefore, is that what can be (i.e. what x must represent in the proposition 'There is x ' ) must be what is (rd idv).

Parmenides has now argued that from the premiss 'There is' the next and only next step must be to say 'There is what is'. From this point on, however, his troubles begin, for in fragment 8 he assumes that he can go from 'There is what is' to a search for the possible predicates of being (i.e. of 'what is').I I n other words he assumes that 'There is what is' entails 'What is is x, y, and e'. This process of conversion was apparently accepted and extended by his Eleatic successors, as we shall see. Let us, however, now consider the next move in fragment 8. Parmenides first claims that there are many sign-posts (-'para) indicating that what is is uncreated and imperishable. Later, still more predicates are attached to it, notably that which supports the notorious proposition 'Ring is one'.

We shall now concentrate on the proposition 'Being is one', not because it is the only interesting suggestion Parmenides made about being but because it came to be regarded as the most important. So much did it dominate the attitude, if not of Parmenides himself, at least of those who have been interested in him both in ancient and in modern times that a contemporary interpreter finds it necessary to remind us that Parmenides is not concerned with any such notion as 'the one itself' but with being.2

Historically there are a t least three reasons why people have talked as though Parmenides' thesis was about a one (or unity) rather than about being: the activities of the Eleatics themselves, in particular of Zeno; the belief (whether ill- or well-founded) that Parrnenides is concerned with a Pythagorean One or One Being;' and in general the. writings of Plato (especially the Sophid and Parmmides) and of Aristotle. Plato remarks in the Sophtit that beginning with Xenophanes the Eleatic tribe have held that all things are one. This is a curious statement. What Plato says is that all things, as they are called, are one (A& &os rcjv rrdvrwv ~ ' d o v ~ t ' v w v , 242 d), I n his poem, however, Parmenides says nothing of that sort, but rather that being is one.

In the ParmcnidGs Plato offers a version of what Parmenides says in his poem which is nearer to what we find in the poem itself. Parmenides is said to have argued that 'The all is one' (& rtvai rd miv I 28 ab) whereas Zeno had tried to achieve the same result by arguing against plurality. If we assume, as is reasonabIe, that rd na"v here stands for 76 idv, we have reached Parmenides' positiofi: or at least one of his positions, for the startling thing is that Plato thinks that 'Being is one' is the most important, indeed the fundamental Parmenidean position, and attributes the same view to Zeno. The Platonic interpretation is supported, a t least for Zeno, by the fact that we know from elsewhere that Zeno mustered forty arguments against the concept of plurality.+

the commentators is that 'thinking a thing' of Forms', Monist 1 (1966)' 408. (accusative) is to be undentood as 'recog- 3 This attitude, deriving presumably nizing that it is there'. from Plato or Aristotle, is to be found (among

76 & means both 'what is' and 'being', other places) in F. M. Cornford's Plato and just as so often in Plato 76 S i ~ a r o v means P a m i d e s (London, 1939). both 'what is just' and 'justice'. 4 Proclus, in Pan. 694. 23 ; Simplicius, in

G. E. M. Anscombc, 'The Ncw Theory Phys. 139.8; 141. I .

P A R M E N I D E S A N D PLATO'S PARMENIDES 225

We can lake it, therefore, that the principal deduction of Parmenides from his premiss 'There is' is 'Being is one3.

Now in the second part of the Pamenides Plato makes Parmenides carry out a dialectical examination of a hypothesis, which he says is his own, namely c; Zv &mi. Since in the original version the contrary of this is said to be €1 r"v r'mi,

the hypothesis must in the first instance be construed as 'If a/the one exists'. What could enable Plato to present this hypothesis as the basic hypothesis of

Parmenides? We suggested earlier that both in the Parmenides and in Par- menides' poem Parmenides seems to have regarded his basic tenet as 'Being is one'. Now we have 'One is'. Is there any light in which we can view the two theses as identical? The most obvious difference between the two of them is that 'being' is the subject of one, 'one' of the other. Hence for them to be regarded as saying the same thing some kind of conversion must have taken place. Plato must have supposed Parmenides to have thought that 'is' can be treated not only existentially but as an identity sign. If that were so, the only further assumption required would be that the two propositions, 'One is' and 'One is being' are logically indistinguishable-and that is not too remarkable an assumption Tor Parmenides. Thus 'Being is one' and 'One is being' are two ways of saying the same thing; 'one' and 'being' are mwely two names for the same thing. That this was Plato's view of what Patinenides was about is shown by the section of the Sophist where the Eleatic Visitor concludes by suggesting that i t is rather ridiculous to assert that two names exist in the same breath in which it is claimed that what exists is one (244 c ) . IVhat does Parmenides Part I1 a&&nq+t lo $how?

Bearing in mind these remarks on Parmenides' thesis and on Plato's attitude to that thesis, let u? return to the I'armenides. Perhaps we can now see more clearly what Plato is doing. We know from the Sophist (244 c) that according to Plato even if 'One is being' and 'Being is one' are to be viewed as tautologies of identical meaning, the fact that there exist the two words 'one' and 'being' is itself puzzling and in need of further explanation. That the words 'one' and 'being' are possible predicates even oftautologous sentences would, as we have argued above, provide sufficient justification for calling them yiv?. But ydvq means 'kinds of things' as well as 'predicates', and in this sense can be more or less synonymous with ~ i 6 ~ . Hence there would be nothing odd if a discussion about the uses of terms like 'one' and 'being' were to be described as a discussion of y b r l or of ~ i S q . But cL"6t7 of course is also for Plato (before the Parmenides) a term used for the Forms; so that in so far as an inquiry into ~ c " 6 ~ (predicates) h an inquiry into the correct use of the term &as, it can easily and naturally he linked to an inquiry into tllc F o m s themselves. And indeed it is one of the functions of the Forms themselves to provide the pre-conditions for predication. Plato several times observes that the particulars take their names from the Forms in which they participate (Phaedo r 02 b 1-2, P a m . I 33 d 2). From this it follows that to say A is x, that is, to predicate x of ,4, is to name the Form x-ness. Thus when we say that x is beautiful we name the Form which is ~ahdv.

Let us now consider in outline what happens in the Parmenides. The dialogue may be summarized as follows:

(a) Introduction. The thesis oTZeno: E E mhXd ZOTL 7d &a. (b) Socrates introduces the Forms (in his first speech they are called ~1'677

throughout ( I 2 8 e 5-1 30 a 2), except at I 29 c 2 where yivl is used. The ~3~ are from the first described as a376 ~ a 0 ' ai-rd).

P A R M E N I D E S A N D PLATO'S P A R A l E h ' l D E S 227

( c ) I'arrucnidcs brings up arguments against the ci'67 a 6 ~ & ~ a 8 ' a ; ~ d which Socratcs cannot answer (130 a 3-134 e).

i clj Iliicussion on the prerequisites for philosophical dialogue ( I 35 a - 1 36 c) (c.f Exa~rlinarion of the Par~nenidean hypothesis: €1 Sv &TL (136 c-end).

Fro111 the point of vicw of understanding the purport of the dialogue as a whole, section (d) is the most irnportar~t.' Before considering it, however, a brief rliscrlssion oS the words used by Socrates for F o r m may be helpful. In the sectiort of the dialogue from I 29 a to I 34 c the rnos~ corn~non word for F O ~ I I I is rc'Sor. I'iuos occurs twice, a t 129 c 2 (&T& T& ydvq T C ~ a l &'ST), where it seems to mean sirnply more 'all-embracing' Forms, and a t 134 b 7, where, pres~tnlal)Iy assimilating h i languagc to ordinary Cheek, Socrates admits the mold rldor fi)r Form and yivos for class of k'orn~. 'The status of the classes is here fd'i cluile irnl)~~cc~irc and does not afkct the argument.

'I l:c word ;SCrr, which is perhaps I'lato's nearest equivalent to a tecl~nical

' p d i c ~ a t c ' - - t I ~ ~ ~ . c is no evidence for its use in the latter sense-occurs three ti111rs in tlrc cliwt~\Grn : 132 a 2, 133 c 8, and 134 c 1. These arc worth exarnin- in: in urn : (a) 1 3 2 a 2 . 'When a ~ i u ~ n b e r of things appear to you to be great, perhaps therc scenrs to you when you have looked at them to be one and the same choracteri~tic { tSiu) in all of them. Hence you think that the great is one.' Here t11r word ;&'a. which obviously d e r s to the Form, seems to allude to the 'loo!i' of thc i h i n p or to the 'sliapc' o r to a characteristic appearance. I t would I ) ( : grotcwluc in tllis c:ontcxt to translate. it as 'class'. ( b ) 133 c 8, I fcl-c the Forms are called E a t and it is argued by Parmenides t l l i ~ t if thcy are 'in us' they cannot be 'absolute' ( ~ a 8 ' nth+, K ~ O ' a&&)--

a Li~~r i~ \ t i c argunlcnt liwn Plaro's point of vicw, and made (deliberately?) to look tlrc Illore lil~lti~stic by thr use, tmusual in the Parmenide.~, of I6ia for Form. I:or of a11 possil)lc words Ibr Form X a Ixst conveys the sense of what a thing, a jm.tiwlnr, 'lot>ks like' csscntially. TI' the %a of' bcanty were not visible in a Ixn~~tiSul partictllar, it could not conceivably be drsignatcd 'beautiful'. (c.j 134 c 1 . t lcrc Ilearlty, Goc~tlncss? and otlles l'orn~s are referred to as ;SE'al.

Again tllc paradox of our being unable to know the Forrns (on Parmenides' argu~ncnt) is c~nphasized as in (b) above by the use of X a . An unambiguous word li11 Form is r~eedetl to make the paradox clearer. A word which (like r:Soqj could nwatr 'class' would not be as effcctive in this context.

We can conclude konl this brief consideration of terminology that in desrt-ibing the theory of Fornis and defending it against Parmenides' criticism Socra~cs nornially describes (and accepts descriptions of) his Forms as ~ i 6 ~ . Orcasionally y&vi and 16iar are used, but tile reason for the preference of ~ 1 6 0 ~ is obviut~.;: the word ran naturally mean both 'Form' and 'class'. I n other wt,rcls Plain is ol)liqucly pointing out that his theory of Forrns tclls us some- thir~q l~ritl. al)out thc 'cssencc' of a n individual -;Sin nlight get this sense best-- anti ~ ~ I I ~ I ~ I I its 'cli~ss' (and tllerefore what ca11 l)c p ld ic i~ te t i of it). 'I'lle latter senw wo~iltl Iwst I)c i ~ ~ d i r a t e d by yhpos.

, I l y lllc Ir;inning of 135 a Sorratrs Iins I)cen corr~pletely confwsed, and

1 As I a l -q~~ed i n an earlivl- paprl-, " l ' l~c I I V cvrrytl~ing in tl~is pnprr, rsprrially parts I'mmrnidc~ Again', I'hornix xvi (1962), I - 14 IIC the matvrial on pagcs 2 ti concrrning I t will ire cvideut from my discussion helow. /'arm. 135-( i however. tliat I YO&^ not now ~vis11 to stand

dramatically at Icast his puzzlement is important. ,4t the very least it enables Parmenides to explain exactly what importance the existence or non-existence of ST^ (of some kind) has for philosophy. Parmenides summarizes the problem as follows :

A. I T ( I ) Forms (iGCar rwv &wu) exist and i f (2) Each Form ( ~ 1 6 0 s ) is a thing in itself[This seems to mean that each

Form is a thing in itseIf unrelated both to particulars, as Par- rncnidc.; had argucd in 133 c ff., and also to other Forms (cf. I'hoenix xvi [I$P), 3)j

tl te:~ (3) People deny Forms or (-1) they ctaim that they cannot be known to man.

A ' . 'l'!~erefore we need a n amazing man to understand and explain that ( I j Particulars can be classified : there are ydvV (& & J ~ L y i ~ ~ c rr

~K&JTOU) ;' a ~ r d j2) Particulars must have a n essence ( o i o i a a6r4 KQ%' a 6 ~ i j v ) .

B. If I I ) Forms d o not exist (&'&,I rrSv 6 ~ 7 ~ ) and if (2) (a fortiori) Forms [ r Z ~ o s ) are not separate things ( 7 1 )

B'. then discussion and philosophy are impossible.j

At f 1.51 it might seem that the conclusion that if c;b? are abolished philosophy is at an cnd is peculiar. Aficr all, pcoplc have philosophized without bringing i11

Plat!)nic Forms. \Yhy the abolition or evert the misunderstanding of c;61 will ill fk,.i destroy the possibility of'philosophy is clear from the explanation offered in 13.5 11c t l m there will bc nowhere For the mind to turn if it is not accepted that tl?c X n c of pal-ticulars remain the same. In other words, il'the 'character' of pnrriculars is Iial~te to any and every change, then all discussion of particulars will c tm~c to a n end : You can't step in the same river twice; you can't step in the same river once; ihc word 'river' has no point of reference.

l ' l x point Parrncnides (and Plato) is making is that, whatever the ontological status of this character of particulars, whether there is an csscnce of river apart from particular rivers or not, a t least there must I J ~ a class ofthings called rivcrs. Philosophy, in other words, operates with general propositions, and if' partinllars cannot be classed, cannot be rariked under d67j and y i q (whether or not classes are Platonic Forms), then thought is a t an end. This is made clearer 1)). a comparison of the language of A' (2 ) and B (2 j above. A' ( 2 ) reads : d p ~ i ~ a ; is a676 TL ;K~IO+OIJ c i h r (135 a 2 ) ; B (2) has pv6i rr ciptrr^+ar r l G o ~ &ds &C&UTOU (135 b 7 4 ) . Both refer to the status of ai'61. The first, however, is concerned with whetller each r&s is a n a;& ~1~ the second with whether each is 71. 'I'he word a&d matters. In B Parmenides is arguing that unless cCS7 have some 3ignificance pltilosoplly is impossible, whereas in A he is concerned with whether these rZ67j are each an adrd T L , i.e, a Platonic Form. There is no

1 'I'licrr a t i l l S C C I ~ I F 1 1 0 con\~i~icing reason to suppose that I'latr~ regarded Parrnenidrs' argu!:irnts as valid against a cnrrectly br~nulatrd ~Lcory of Fmnr argurd by a compvtrllt dialrctician. I.'or tllr: ~nrlliods of argu:nrnt I'armenit1r.s is matie to employ sco csprc ially A . I.. Prck, 'I'Iato rrrsus I'ar- nlenich'. PR lxxi (1rjG2). r59-8+

I I ~ ~ i t i ~ d r a w thr sux~rsrion made in

Plr~rrzx x\pi (1g62), 4 that si6ous must be understood with ylvos rt txdarov while re- affirming (against Cornford) that yivor and o & h are not here synonymous.

3 It s e e m likely that the phrase r j v 70;

S~ohiyr r rk t G 6 v a p v refers to both philosophical and non-philosophical talk. That it rcfrrs partially to philosophical talk is suggested by its echo of Rep. 51 I b 4.

228

assertion by Parmenides that philosophy is impossible without separate Platonic Forms; there is an assertion that philosophy is impossible without cQrl And thc reason is obvjous. One of the purposes to which Plato puts his Forms is to solve problems of predication. But if Forms will not do, the problems remain. Even ifaTS? are not Forms, we still need to be able to say ' x is one', ' x is good', if philosophy is to be carried on. If certain cis1 are annihilated, and even if they are viewed as absolutely KQB' aid-unrelated to particulars-discussion stops. I t would seem to follow from this that Parmenides would go on to inquire into the status of various ri'87 further.

I t is obvious that Plato's Parmenides holds different views from his historical prototype, but their opinions are not entirely unrelated. I t was a major claim of Parmenides himself that the objects recognized by voGg or XdYos are different from the objects of sense. Thus it is entirely appropriate for Plato's Parmenides to compliment Socrates on this point in 135 e. But Plato's Parmenides does not proceed as the historical figure would have done ; he goes beyond the historical figure to what Plato thinks the historical figure should have said. His words are : 'I was pleased that you would not allow the problem to be discussed in terms of visible objects (& +ois dpwPLvors) but in terms of what one could grasp entirely by reason (Adyv) and u~hal one would consider to be ~;6q.' The last part of this is a developlnentof the historical Parmenides' position; but, as we have argued, it is appropriate for him to be developed along these lines. Plato's view is that Parrnenides, without realizing entirely what hc is doing, discusses what \\.e may call predicates (<;ST, YCqj such as 'being' and 'one'. So Plato's Parmenides is made to say that arguing about these predicates is important. From the point of view of Plato as critic oTEleaticism the discussion of these el&? is irnpu~,tant, both if thev can be identified with Formsand ifthey cannot. And in fact it is h e relations of the EL*&? which al-e of most importance lo the 'new Parmenidcs' with which the rest of [he dialogueisconcerned.The subject of the 'second part' is the sensc, ifany, or statements involving Parmenidean yCv7 in their simplest interrelations. And the simplcst possible interrelation is in the hypothesis c; 211 tux.

Befbrc praising Socrates for doing philosophy with ct'S7 recognized by reason, Parmenides chides him for his inexperience. He attempts to define the beautif111 iisclf, the good itself! and the other C Z ~ ~ before he has a proper grasp of dialectical techniques, \2'hat he has failed to do is inquire what the consequences will be, not only if a proposition is true, but also if it is false. But at this point we should not forgrt I'armenidcs' previous remarks : philosophy cannot I K carried on unlcss the ri'S1 arc interrelated. Hence it seems not unrcasonable to propose that what he now sets out to do is to show what the conclusions will be both if ciSr) aye ir~tc~relatcd and if they are not. Nor is it surprising that he is concerned with d ~ a t he calls elsewhere the 'greatest yivq', the widest possible predicates. The concepts which Parmenides suggests in I 36 ab as first of all desening of discussion arc 'onc', 'many', 'like', 'unlike', 'niotion', 'rest', 'generation', 'destruction', 'being', 'non-being'. The concepts he actually discusses in the Par- ??Lt'~idf~ itself are 'one' and 'being'. Some ofthe othersareexaminedin the Sophist.

It is beyond the scope of this paper to examine the second part of the dialogue in detail. I have considered something of its methodology elsewhere.' It is suficient for our present purpose only to recall the results of hypotheses one and tbvo. In hypothesis one the conclusion is that if the hypothesis € I E"v &rr is understood to suggest that bare unity is the only object of philosopl~ical

I J. hl. Rist, loc. cit. 7-12.

PARMENIDES AND PLATO'S P A R M E N I D E S 229

thought, then that thought is paradoxical, for such a unity can neither exist nor be thought of. In fact, if the historical Parmenides had posited a One of this kind it could not meet his most basic requirement, that what can be thought must be. In fact, of course, we have argued that PIato at least supposes Par- menides' hypothesis to be about an existent One, since 76 $& is his starting- point. Thus hypothesis two, which considers the consequences if 'the One exists', is directly concerned with what Plato argues to be the real burden of Parmenides' thesis, that is, the interrelation of the first (and tautologous) subjective compIetion of &I and the most important of the other possible completions which can be 'deduced' from the first. The result of hypothesis two is that when 76 ZV is related to ZbTt and both 'unity' and 'existence' are allowed to be meaningful terms, then Zv must admit every possible predicate. In other words, all kinds of statements are possible and in some way significant.

The Others Various suggestions have been made about what 'the others' (rd ;Aha) in the

second part of the dialogue are. If our hypothesis about the nature of Plato's activity is correct, 'the others' must be other theoretically possible fillers of the verb-form 'there is'. The thesis of Parmenides argues that unity exists; the supporting thesis of Zeno argues that plurality (the many) cannot exist. 'The others' are to be construed as Zeno's many, viewed not only as a group, as plurality, but also as a set of possible further predicates of IUTL. Thus, when in hypothesis three the consequences of the interrelation of 'one' and 'being' are drawn for 'the others', it is found that 'the others' also can admit all possible predicates. Zeno's denial of plurality is inconsistent, in that plurality is implied by any meaningful reading of the proposition r; ;v &I. What is worse (from Zeno's point of view) is that once 'one' and 'being' are recognized as distinct, every other possible predicate must be admitted as well.

'Essmces' and 'Classes' I t has been one of the main objectives of this paper to establish that, accord-

ing to Parmenides, whatever the fact may be about Platonic Forms, there will always be a problem about universals if discourse is to be carried on a t all. Hence it is important to be dear about the precise difference in sense between the words yivos and oh 'a ad4 K ( z ~ ' a h j v in 135 a 8. Philosophy, Plato argues, can only be carried on with the help of universals, but, so that we may avoid talking without reference to particulars in the world, these universals must be predicable of individuals which have something permanent and enduring in common. It is of course Plato's view that this common factor is the immanent Form (76 i v ?jpiv p4ycBos, Phaeh 102 dj but this view of the status of the common factor need not be accepted by the man who is only willing to concede that there is a common factor; and the common factor is what Plato calls an o j d a a+ KQB' a6q'v. If these factors were not common in a significant sense then no cIasses ( ~ i r q ) could be formed, and predication and the formulation of meaningful groups ofwords would be impossible. I t goes without saying that on this analysis a yc'vos is not the same as an otiaka. I t is in virtue of a common o h l a that individuals can be placed within a y b ~ v . ~

It is worth observing that, although in are the objects of knowledge, in the Ihcocte- the Phacdo and Symp&n the adjective povo- W (205 d) what is povcrrS+ is held to be ptr rrSjs is regularly applied to Forms, which sc unknowable.

Aristotle: The Value of Man and the Origin of ~ o r u l i t ~ *

One of the purposes of this paper i s to explore a number of questions which-to judge from what he assumes-Aristotfe might well have asked, but which he apparently did not ask. It i s often informative in the history of philosophy to point out the {apparently obvious) questions which are not raised; it sets those which are raised in a more precise frame.

ft can be argued that Aristotle implies that it is possible to look like a human being-and indeed be called a human being-without "really" or "fully" being one. Leaving aside the status of females (who for Aristotle are males rnanquP~,~ analogous to the blind or deaf, and of children, we cannot be certain that all adult males o f the class whose members look like men "really" are men. The matter can be expressed differently: "man" may have a broader or anarrower sense. In the broad sense i t refers to women, slaves, etc., as well as adult males-but in the narrower sense many "hominids" are excluded. It seems as though only those are men in the narrow sense whoare naturally constituted in such a way as to be suited to form and to live as citizens in a city-state. This apparently is a significant description of man in the narrow sense: he i s a human being with the important characteristic that he i s naturally suited to live as a citizen in a city-state.2 But this

* Parts of this were read at a meeting of the Canadian Philosophical Association in June 1972. 1 should like to thank those who discussed i t at that time, and in particular the Commentator, Professor Norman Brown. It wasalso discussed at McMaster University in November 1972.

1 De Gem An. 737A27,775A15, cf. N.E. 1 148832-33. At N.E. 11 6OB34 a husband is said to rule his wife because of his greater value. At Met, 1058A29ff., however, Aristotle insists that women are of the same species as men-the difference arises from matter, not form. Thesameseed can turn into male or female offspring.

Aristotle: The Value of Man

/caves a numbcr of points to bc clarified: for cxamplc, the problem of what kind of city-state. Aristotle cannot mean that a "real" man i s one who is naturally suited to live in the worst kind of city-state, a tyranny. He believes that those who live under the rule of a tyrant arevirtually slaves. Hecertainly does not mean that "real" men are creatures with a natural aptitude for slavery, for he argues that only a certain class of human beings, and those not naturally suited to form city-states, are naturaily slaves.

Clearly Aristotle does not mean that a "real" man i s a creature suited to live in any city-state when he says that he i s a creature suited to live in a city-state. What he means i s either that man is a creature suited to live as a citizen in adecent typeof city-state, or, more generally, that he is a social being who likes the company of his fellows and needs their company for his fullest de~e lo~ rnen t .~ It i s certain, however, that he means more than that man is a gregarious animal for his type of sociability is o f a different kind from that of such creatures as bees.' In contrast to bees the associations o f men in city-states, or in their precursors, that i s in human families, are governed by the use of language. Man alone is able to speak and, as Aristotle rather curiously puts it, language declares what is advantageous and what is not, and therefore also what i s just and what i s not. The associations of men in families and city-states are therefore based on a certain recognition o f "moral" values. The possibility-indeed the impulse-for "real" men to form city-states of a desirable kind will always be there (Pol, 1253A29), despite the fact that any decent state may be perverted, at worst, into a tyranny.

"Man i s a creature that is suited to live in a city-state" can be interpreted to imply that, although a sense of justice and moral order may appear widely among men, justice and virtue can only be fully achieved in a city-state. Accordingly we may assume that, if human beings haveno citizen potential, they are in some sense non-moral, and indeed cannot be called men in the narrow sense at all. Apart from women and children, there are three types o f individual who cannot strictly be said to be fitted to live in city-states as citizens: natural slaves, who in the "ideal" situation only live in city-states as slaves, not as ordinary members of thesociety; "gods," that is, in this context, those whose natural gifts are superior to those o f city-dwellers-Aristotle usually leads his reader to assume that i t i s impossible for anyone to exist permanently at this level, though there i s at least one passage where such superhuman excellence i s mentioned as a distinct possibility;5 and finally the group of-humans he calls beasts or savagcs, that is, humans who live at a subhuman level and thus, like the Cyclops, cannot be fitted into any ordered society.6

2 Pol. 1253A2, 1278019, cf. N.E. 1169B20. There are other m k ~ w c i f ~ , e.g. bees, ants,etc., cf. Hist. an. 1.1.12.

3 Pol. 1278B21.

4 Poi, 1253A8.

S N.E. 1145A26.

According to Aristotlc men in the narrow sense possess a divine element, but are only able to live qua god for brief periods o f their lives.7 Indeed it may be that o f men in the broad sense only a very small number are able to achieve such a life at any time. For these few, however, every provision must be made so that the intellect, which when engaged in certain kinds of activity (by no means clearly explained) i s living a "divine" life, may pursue i t s activity without unnecessary hindrance. Since the demands o f the intellect are thus recognized as taking precedence over activities at the "human," that i s the moral and political level, it i s to be expected that the importance o f every human being will depend on the possession o f at least minimal powers o f intellectas thus understood. Indeed these powers will need consideration if we want to determine whether any particular human being i s a man in the narrower sense or not. If a certain minimal power o f intellect i s lacking, the person concerned may turn out to be a natural slave. The natural slave, it seems, has none of the god-like powers o f the intellect at all and i s scarcely above the animal level in other areas o f intelligence. He is able to perceive reason in his masters but not to emptoy it himself.' It is noteworthy that Aristotle uses the word "perceive" in this context;' perception i s the highest faculty o f animals and is not a distinguishing feature o f human beings in the narrower sense.

It would seem to follow from Aristotle's arguments that slaves are very similar to tame animals, and indeed he points out that they are used in the same way.' O just as such tame dnimals benefit from their subservience-presumably in that they are protected from the exigencies of life in the fierce world outside-so the natural slave benefits from his servile condition and tends 1.0 fall into it. Aristotle does not hold that those who are in fact slaves are in their just and proper place in the order of things, for he recognizes that it IS pos4ble to be enslaved "unnaturally,"' but i t seems that if some people are ndturally slavish, this nature will out dnd they will tend to become slaves.

But natural slaves are not, in Aristotle's opinion, simply animals. They are men in the broad sense dnd possess at least two important characteristics of "real" men; but apparently these characteristics by themselves do not indicate the presence o f a man in the narrow sense. Slaves, though wholly deprived o f the power o f deliberating for themselves, are able to see reason and should thus be reasoned with and not merely commanded. Furthermore they are in some way capable o f

6 Poi. 1253A29.

7 Cf.N.E. 11778. 8 Poi t260A12, 126065-7. Aristotle admits that natural slaves are humans (wpm)

at 1259B27-28. 9 Pol. 1254822.

11 Pob 1255A4ff.


friendship. Here an informative distinction i s drawn.' Qua slave, Aristotle argues, friendship i s impossible, but qua man i t i s possible. Since it seems that Aristotle is thinking of natural slaves, he cannot be emphasizing that the legal position of an individual as a slave may not reflect his "natural" rank. In the state Aristotle envisages all legal slaves will be natural slaves. Hence Aristotle i s saying that i t i s natural that a master can befriend his slave qua man but not qua slave-that is, qua man in the broad sense, not in the narrow. Of course i f a man is naturally a slave, a distinction between his humanity and his being a slave has no meaning.'

So far one important element o f the slave has not been mentioned: his being capable o f belonging wholly to somebody else.14 And this element must be set alongside his weakness of intellect and his deficiency of moral judgment. I t is, however, a more fateful characteristic, and examination of it will reveal various consequences which Aristotle may not necessarily have intended. In particular it seems to suggest the possibility that almost everybody is a natural slave. Obviously everyone has the capacity o f belonging to somebody else in so far as he may be captured and enslaved in war. But Aristotle does not seem to mean simply that. What he suggests, though he does not say so explicitly, i s that when the natural slave i s "lucky enough" tobe captured and thus put into someone else's power, he will surrender his freedom completely and absolutely. We can presumably identify such a man by the way he behaves in captivity. I f he performs what a citizen would regard as degrading or vicious acts at his master's command, he is a natural ddve. But the ground i s unstable here. All kinds of pressures can be brought to bear on slaves to make them behave like natural slaves, pressures ranging from promises of freedom to threats of torture or death. Aristotlc would presumably have to say that the man who i s not a natural slave would draw the line somewhere, for there will always be some things the good man would never do. But he can only take this line if he limits the number of those who are not naturally slaves to the heroically couragbous, and i f he neglects the personality changes which masters can induce in their victims-a fact of which he should be more aware, since he regards the soul not as a separate entity but as the form of a particular body.

Be that as it may, the general picture i s clear. Men in the narrow sense, that is, human animals capable of living as citizens in decent city-states, are to be determined by a consideration of the moral and intellectual powers of the individual specimens. These powers are reflected in bodily form, but Aristotle wisely avoids too much emphasis on bodily characteristics. But i f we cannot tell by looking at bodies, by what precise powers do we look at the character, and who is capable o f making the judgment? Presumably the man of practical wisdom, though

13 Aristotle's position is nearer t o this and hence more logical if less humanitarian at N.E. 1241 019.

14 Pol. 1254B21.

he can only act on the basis of his judgment i f he happens to be in a position of authority in the state-so that again we find Aristotle thinking of an ideal city-state. Only in ideal city-states will natural slaves necessarily be found in their proper situations.

Natural slaves, however, are not the only type of adult human males who are not men in the narrow sense. The second group, to which allusion has already been made, are called by Aristotle "beasts" or "savages." They mostly occur among barbarians, but Aristotle does not exclude the possibilit indeed he Gems to imply the likelihood-of "beasts" arising in any society!' At any rate when "beasts" occur, they can be divided into three classes. Apparently the habitual evildoer can be transformed into a beast by continual repetition o f his crimes.16 (This i s in line with Aristotle's normal view that, for example, by runping a man becomes a runner and by acting evil man.17) Such bestiality is therefore the responsibility of the individual beast, and he should be punished for it like any other wrongdoer. A second class is made up of those whose bestiality arises through madness or pathological illness, or some defect in the make-up of the individual, a defect which Aristotle seems to think of as analogous to, though more serious than lameness (or being a woman!). He would say that the form had inadequately mastered the matter in such cases. He seems to think that homosexuals should sometimes be viewed in this light: if they submit to penetration like women, this means that they have incompletely developed. They are, so to speak, defective in character.'

But there i s a third and immediately more important class, the class of those who are "naturally" bestial. Here Aristotle envisages men who are neither corrupted by evil example, nor examples of stunted growth, but who are wholly and naturally developed specimens of their own type---and thus outside the bounds of morality; men who will commit what in "vicious" men we should call crimes, but on a monstrous and horrifying scale.' Such people have no moral sense and cannot be judged according to moral laws. It i s true that Aristotle speaks of bestiality as something to be shunnedf2' but he seems to mean that it is loathsome to ordinary men, not that a man can avoid i t i f he isanatural beast.

It would seem from the discussion in the first book of the Politics that natural beasts are not capable of living in city-states. They are like the Cyclops. They live alone, taking no notice of the moral norms which affect humanity in general, ruling

15 N.E. lf45A31,cf.Pol. 1253A29.

16 N.E. 1148817.

17 N.E. llO3B.

18 N.E. 1148631.

19 N.E. 1150A.

20 N.E. 1145A16.

Aristot le: The Value of Man

as patriarchs over their wives and children. But even the Cyclops is a benevolent beast in Aristotle's opinion. Other beasts may not, for example, exclude their own families from the area in which their bestiality i s allowed free play.21 More important, however, i s that other beasts are not content to leave other people alone and to live by themselves; they wish to live among ordinary men for the express purpose of preying upon them. They will try to live in city-states as tyrants. So again we see that when Aristotle says that a man i s fitted to live in a city-state, he means a decent city-state and "man" in the narrow sense-beasts are no t fitted to such a life, even when they try it. Certainly not all tyrants, indeed for Aristotle probably only few tyrants, are beasts; most are simply evil men. But some tyrants, Phalaris, for example, are beastsand live by design in city-states.

A number of excesses o f vice may be thou h t o f as bestialities: excess of folly, of cowardice, of licentiourness, o f harshness.?' Aristotle seems to find a common feature of irrationality in all these states. Speaking o f folly he describes those who are bestial in this regard as devoid of reason, as men who live wholly by ensa at ion.^^^^ That does not mean that they are wholly unable to think. They would presumabl have the use o f what Aristotle in the De Anima calls the "common sense,"Y4 so that, for example, they could identify the white object in the distance as a human being. In all this they resemble the Aristotelian slave. He, it should be recalled, i s a man capable of taking things in but not of initiatingaction. What the beastcannotdo isabstract the intelligible form. He has no ability to make universal judgments or moral judgments, nor does he possess the power to curb instinct by reflection. He i s a man who lives for the moment and for the moment's gratification of his instincts,

Aristotle thinks that normally, given the chance, the strong will oppress the weak without regard for equality or justice.25 It is the function of law to protect the weak from outrage and to ensure that within the city-state all the citizens have the opportunity for the fullest development of which their individual personalities are capable. Such legal protection would naturally not be respected by beasts, for taw, which i s in a sense the representative o f reason and order, isof its very nature anathema to them. The beast makes his own "laws" and these laws depend on caprice. He is essentially an irrational being, and even if at some stage he refrains from bestiality, his restraint is not due to virtue but to instinct, almost, one might say, to chance.26 There is, of course, no suggestion in Aristotle that beasts are

21 N.E. 1148B23. 22 N.E. 1149A5. 23 N.E. i 149A10.

24 De An. 41 8A.

25 Poi. 131884-5. 26 Cf. Met. 1075A18-22.

superhuman or that their behaviour i s in accordance with a higher naturalness. They are what they are by nature, but "political" men are also natural; indeed "political" men stand higher in the natural scale. The reason they stand higher is that they possess a higher power of intellect.

Natural slaves and beasts then are only human in the broader sense, for they lack the important power of practical reason, as well as the higher mental faculties. It is by the possession of these faculties that "real" men must be distinguished from other humans ("beasts" and slaves), as well as from animals. But these mental powers maik not merely a "political" man; we think again of creatures capable o f living together in city-states and recall that Aristotlespecifically excludes not only "beasts" from such life, but also gods. And what are gods? They are simply examples (or an example?) o f mind by itself, i t s operations untrammelled by time and place, body and the cares o f daily life. The Aristotle of the treatises never denies that the mind is divine. A t those times if any, when man i s concentrated entirely on mental life he is living a divine life.25 This thesis, well known in various forms before Aristotle, won acceptance in later ages to such an extent that the words "mind" and "god" could be used

Aristotle seems not to have been quite certain of the status o f "higher" mortals. He suggests in the Politics at least the possibility that there might be a man-god who i s not suitable for life in a p o k Z 9 He certainly must have recognized that menidl distinction often made i t hpossible, as in the case of Socrates, to exist in actual city-states, but here the question o f the ideal and the actual again arises-as it did in his own case when near the end o f his life he left Aihens for Chalcis in Euboea, saying, i t isalleged, that he would not allow the Athenians to sin against philosophy a second time by executing him.30

Strictly speaking the heroic virtues, the virtues beyond the ordinarily human level, are reserved for heroes and not for gods; and in one place at least Aristotle denies that gods have virtues a t virtue being a relative term, relative to vice, and Aways associated with human beings who live in city-states. But although perhaps it is at best only heroes who walk the earth, a man is only a man in the narrow sense if he possesses something of the godlike quality o f reason. Without this reason male human beings are beasts or slaves. Hence the question arises-for us, i f not for Aristotle: where, if anywhere, does a man's value as an individual lie? Human beasts seem to have no intrinsic value at all; slaves very little-they are merely useful. It i s true that Aristotle rejects the notion that there i s nothing wrong

27 N.E. 11 778. 28 E.g. by the Middle Platonists; cf. Plotinus, Enneod6.9.6.12-15.

29 Pol. 1253A29.

30 Cf. I. Diiring, Aristotle in the Ancient Biographical Tradition (Gb'teborg, 1957), pp. 341 -342.

31 N.E. 11 788; in 1 145A there is a "virtue" for gods, bu t of a much more exalted kind.


with abusing one's slaves;32 but his reasons for this are not clear. Are they utilitarian, or has a faint note of benevolence clouded the "ralional" approach which Aristotle normally adopts? I s this benevolence something implied by the friendship o f the master with his slavequa man, but not qua slave? The relationship between benevolence and friendship is important but must be left aside until we have examined the basis for friendship itself.

It i s axiomatic for Aristotle that friendships cannot exist if the social status of the friends i s too widely divergent.33 This might seem to rule out friendships between natural masters and natural slaves, and illuminates the notion o f friendship itself. Friendship cannot be based on the worth of a human beingperse. Now the fundamental weakness o f slaves or beasts is that they do not have adequate minds, and without adequate minds cannot enjoy value and rank in society. This would suggest that what i s o f most value in friendship is the mind of the would-be "friend," not anything which we might call his personality or character-or even his "humanity." Hence it would be ideally desirable to befriend men o f the highest mental powers, men who are in fact the most godlike. Such men, however, would be far from certain to reciprocate the friendship, since they are, so to speak, looking down on their admirers, and can feel at most a higher degree o f benevolence for them than for slaves or animals. In fact it would seem that friendship in its best sense, that is, avaluingof an individual for his own sake,34 can only occur between mental equals; and in such cases it i s not strictly one person befriending another, but one mind recognizingand being recognized as an equal by another.

Aristotle believes that the virtuous man treats his virtuous friend as a second self.35 This is not a merely selfish ideal, as has often been supposed, nor is it self-absorption.36 Loving one's neighbour as oneself indicates a very high regard for one's neighbour. I f the virtuous man treats his friend asa second self, he will try to protect him from any of the misfortunes from which he would wish himself to be protected. But that is by the way. What i s important to recognize is that what such a friend will primarily value in his friend will be his mind. This no doubt isone o f the implications of those assdges in the Ethics where the individual i s primarily identified with his intellect. 3 P

In the De Anima Aristolle thinks of the individual man as a "composite" of form and matter. In the Ethics, as we have recalled, the intellect i s said to be the

32 Pol. 1255B9.

33 N. E. 1 lS9A.

34 N.E. 1156310ff. 35 N+E. 11 7087.

36 N.E. 1168Bff.

37 N.E. 1166A17,'I 169A2-3,1178A1-8.

peculiarly human factor. No conflict need be assumed, but we should look at the passages from the Ethics in more detail.

(a) 11 66A16ff. Here Aristotle says that the good man tries to achieve the good for his own sake (kw~oi , eve~a), since he acts on behalf o f his 61av~rut6v, "which seems to be the individual" (bir~p k'~auroc &at &OK&) . . . "the thinking part ( 6 voofiv) would seem to be the individual, or to be so more than anything else" (6oEeie a'.& g~auroe e T w j ~.ldhora).

(b) 11 68B35ff. Here the concept of self-restraint i s said to implyJhat voOc i s the self (ij~aoroc), while voluntary acts are said to be both our own and primarily governed by reason (Clmh hb~ov); hence our reason i s or i s primarily ourself (?KUUTOC ~ U T W $ ~ A ~ C J T U ) .

(c) 1178Alff. That which i s ~dptov and ' C L ~ E W O V would seem to be the individual (2~auroc) . . . ; this (voiisj i s primarily a man (pdhiora tiveponoc). There i s no need to make difficulties about whether volic is primarily an individual ( ~ K ~ U T O F ) or a man (uv13pono~). The meaning i s the same. Iivepwnoc merely means a particular man. But a real difficulty seems to lie in the ambiguity Aristotle has left. I s voik the self or only primarily the self (,u&Aiura)? What could &oripiLXiora mean here? Only one explanation is possible: YoZlc i s that without which an animal cannot be a man-at least in the "narrower" sense. Obviously such men are not only Y O ~ C , but voik i s a sine qua non.

Having now considered some varieties of humanity we may be able to consider whether an individual has any intrinsic value. Obviously we should consider "men') narrowly understood first; then we shall be better equipped to determine thc status of others. I t might seem to be necessary for Aristotle that the value of every individual should be understood by reference to his proper place in the order of the cosmos or of society. It i s goad, both in the sense of beneficial and in the sense of just, for the natura! slave to be a slave and for the natural freeman to be the citizen o f a city-state. The slave will in some sense be behaving wrongly if he resents his slavery; the freeman will have degenerated morally if he becomes dissatisfied with the life o f a citizen-provided that we neglect, as we may, the possibility that he has become godlike. Thus it seems that the free man's value is related to his social potentialities. He is not valuable qua man; for Aristotle that would be absurd, as if we were to say that being a "beast" i s valuablequa man. And we must insist on this even though Aristotle distinguishes the stave qua man from the slavegua slave. Similarly with the political animal; he is valuable not qua human being, but qua man-as-member-of-a-city-state. Indeed unless he sets in motion the process o f associations which will lead, if not perverted, to the formation of city-states, he will not be able to fulfil himself. Men assembleand form city-states for the sake o f mere existence, but the ultimate purpose of a city-state i s to enable i t s members to live properly and fully as men in the narrower sense.38

Aristotle was well aware that philosophy i s a generalizing art; hence we find

38 Pol. 1252830.


little in his writings about individuals. Because of this lack of evidence, all sorts of surprising questions are asked about the cause of individuality in Aristotle: how is it the matter, not the form, that makes jack different from Joe? If Joe were manifestly identical with jack, it would be easy to grasp the sense of some rather cavalier remarks in the ~ e t a ~ h ~ s i c s , ~ ~ but their patent differences compel us to wonder whether Aristotle really assumed that they are identical. For Aristotle, indeed, the difference between jack and Joe is due not merely to their matter but to their informed matter, but the point that concerns us here i s whether he thought that in a particular case Joe and Jack are desirable as citizens of a city-state, or whether Dick and Harry would do as well. In other words has Jack any value qua Jack? i

I t would seem as though usually anyone else would do. The only problem would be whether anyone else could do Jack's job. I f no one could, then Jack would be indispensabte and derive a personal value from his usefulness. Has he any I

other source of value? Aristotle's world is ordered on teleological principles; God and nature (God, that is, nature) do nothing entirely at random. Everything is directed towards a purpose, and therefore, it might seem, Jack has his indisputable and vital part to play in the world and hence his indisputable and irreducible value. But in fact everything is not directly for a purpose; there are things in the world which are not required in order that the teleological infra-structure can be maintained. I t i s necessary that men should have eyes structured as they are in order to see; it i s not necessary that any particular eye be grey rather than brown.40 I

Such occurrences are, in Aristotle's terminology, accidents of final causation. I t i s sometimes difficult in fact to discover from Aristotle's writings which features of the cosmos are teleologically necessary and which are mere accidents of the teleological structure. I t might be supposed that the existence of each human being I

i s teleologically necessary, but Aristotle would not say that, After all Jack might be I

1

a product of chance, understood as Aristotle understands it.41 Let us suppose that 1 Mike goes down to the river to catch fish. While fishing, he meets J ill, whom he does not know, and rapes her. The result i s Jack, who i s thus produced, in Aristotle's language, "by chance," not as the result of the direct interaction of final causes. Now it might be objected that in a well-organized city-state this kind of thing would not happen, but Aristotle's well-organized city-state is certainly not said or even assumed to be free of crime. So we shall have to conclude that the existence of particular individuals i s not in any sense providentially arranged, and, to put it more generally, that things could have happened in other ways than the way in which they happen in fact. Since therefore we cannot understand Aristotle as meaning that even every "real" man has a fixed and determined place, and hence a

39 E.g. Met. 1 O74A34.

40 Cf.DeGen. An. 778A16ff. 41 Cf. Phys. 196B.

fixed and determined value in the cosmos, we cannot argue from the nature of things that Aristotle would agree that the individual has a value in himself and is by providential decree irreplaceable.

tt seems then that the Aristotelian "real" man has no "cosmic" value; his value is related to his particular situation as a member of a particular city-state. It i s the community which enables him to developandacquirevalue, not the other way round. Aristotle i s not a state-worshipper, a man who holds that the morality of politics is different from the morality of private life. His position i s a subtlerone. As a hand can only be useful when part of a living body,42 so the individual can only develop, be useful and hence acquire value within the right political framework. And in such conditions alone can he live thegood life, that is, develop the power of his mind.

It might be objected that the presentation of this problem iri'the form man qua man versus man qua political animal is anachronistic and unfair to Aristotle. An objector might say that the notion of thevalueof manquo man is unintelligible in Aristotelian terms, even though Aristotle says that it is possible to befriend a slave qua man. But the objection brings us close toour basic point about Aristotle's position. The questions to be put to Aristotle will be: Has man no value except in so far as he i s capable of being a citizen of a city-state? Could any other assertion of human value be intelligible?

When Aristotle comes to evaluate the man of practical wisdom, the statesman, and to compare him with the contemplative or meditator, he i s in no doubt which is the higher type. In a city the magistrates look after the templesand supervise the religious observances, but it would be absurd to think of them as supervising the gods.43 Similarly the magistrates are responsible for the temporal government of all their citizens, including the contemplatives if there are any. However, such government will be exercised not over the contemplatives but in their interest. They are in this respect like gods, and gods do not live in city-states. In the case of the contemplatives who do live in city-states, they are to be regarded as outside the normal political structure; they are in the city-state but not of it. Aristotle's own position in Athens may, in his own mind at least, have been of this kind.

There is then in the contemplatives something of value for its own sake, namely the intellect. And in so far as all men in the narrow sense will have developed this to some degree-otherwise they would not be citizen-quality-they too may be said to have value. But since their power of intellect is limited, Aristotle does not regard i t as sufficient to warrant privileged treatment. Obviously there is a practical problem: When does a man possess sufficient intellect to deserve liberation from normal social responsibilities? There must, in the nature of things,


be no clear answer, but naturally this does not prevent Aristotle from assumingan answer in practice. Indeed such problems, though logically puzzling, hardly ever cause much concern in ordinary life. If Caesar has ten hairs on his head, we are likely to call him "bald," because when the word "bald" i s used, we think of a man with only a few hairs in contrast to his mop-headed brother. SimiZarly for Aristotle it might be said, albeit exaggeratedly, that the average man has no right tospecial treatment, while Socrates and Plato have minds valuable enough to warrant it.

There are then two ways of accounting for the value of individual human beings: their possible membership in a particular type of society and their possession of certain kinds of intellectual power. These sources, however, are not on all fours. Possession of intellectual power is more important and gives a man his citizen potential: i t may more or less deify him, and Aristotle would like to identify it with his essential character. The latter point i s worth further thought. Aristotle seems to hold that the intellect is "what matters"; other aspects of what we should call the personality are comparatively unimportant. What is the reason for this? I s i t that they are more or less epiphenomena of the body and perish at death? If so, we are on Platonic ground. Value i s starting to turn into "ultimate value." Against this kind of explanation i t may be pointed out that Aristotle urges against Plato that nothing is whiter for lasting a long time;44 presumably therefore nothing is necessarily more valuable for lasting a long time. Value, like pleasure, should on this schema be a concomitant of the activity of any individual object. A human being, if he has value, should have i t however long he lives.

And in a sense he has. Aristotle would obviously deny that, i f Socrates had not been executed, he would have lived on and had more value, but, iffaced with the question, What makes Socrates valuable? he would get on to tricky ground i f he answered, as i t seems he would have answered, His intellect. For once he has made that answer, i t would have been almost impossible for him not to think of the intellect as valuable because in some sense and in some aspect it i s eternal.

Aristotle's vaunting of the intellect has further implications. Pure mind will always seek out the highest possible objects of contemplation. In the case of God, the mind will be self-contemplating; all else is trivial. Even an unfeeling benevolence i s ultimately excluded; God is causal only in a teleological sense, as the object of desire.45 The notion of valuing a human being only enters the Aristotelian world at the level of citizen virtue, and i s morc or lessconfined to that level. Men of "heroic virtue" who live above that level must find valuing other people increasingly unimportant as they proceed in their attainment of likeness to God. Since God i s ultimately shut in upon himself, the noblest man will be similarly isolated as far as possible. If the value of man in the Aristotelian cosmos depended on what value God put on him, it would be nil. As we have seen, hisexistence i s in

no sense providentially arranged. The Aristotelian universe i s impersonal; all that we call personal is for Aristotle transitory, relative to society and valuableonly in so far as i t enables man to fulfil his function as a society-animal.

The notion that a friend i s a second self might have modified this, but Aristotle himself does not develop any such modification. I t would appear that the better a man becomes, the fewer friends he will have, while the number of those to whom he i s benevolent will increase. This i s because friends must preferably be valued by the friend for their excellence, and as a man becomes better, th'e number of those worthy of his friendship will decline. To be agood man is to be on a lonely eminence, and the best man of all might find only himself to be of adequate value; there would be no possibility of "another self." Aristotle seems to recognize the strangeness of this, even if he is thinking of man at the "political" rather than the "divine" level, when he suggests that no one can be happy i f he i s isolated.46 However successful he will be, he will need objects for his benevolence. If he cannot be a friend, he can at least be a benefactor. I t i s hard to find the kind of benefactor Aristotle depicts an attractive fi ure; his benefits seem to flow at least in part from a desire to feel good as a g i v e r ~ ~ l t i s satisfactory to him to be on the giving end, to be a patron; but patronage does little toenhance one's opinion of those patronized. They are patronized not because they are valuable, but because the patron i s valuable.

What can we conclude? That it i s primarily the degree of intellect which determines human value, and that the value thus placed on intellect itself i s self-evident-which i t i s not. Aristotle remarks in theMetaphysics that theactivity of intellect is life, but in this context life can only mean eternal life, and he never explains why eternal life i s more valuable than any other kind. I t seems that Aristotle thought that men with less intellect should value those with more, but the converse does not hold. Throughout his writings Aristotle assumes (and states) that some things, some men, are more valuable than others. To act is "better" than to be acted upon; s i ht is not merely more useful but more valuable of itself than the other senses$' the wise man i s "better" than the natural slave. Do any of these value words mean more than that what i s more developed, more complex, in the scale of nature is "better" than what i s less developed? Hencefleasare better than amoebas, Socrates is better than Simmias. What Aristotle offers i s an ethic of superiority, not an ethic of value. And the judge of status i s the assumedly most developed individual, the man with the "divine" mind. His judgments are presented as absolute.

It i s sometimes asserted that Aristotle, in contrast to Plato, separated Value from Being: the root of his problem about value is that he has abandoned the theory of forms. But although it i s true that some of Aristotle's philosophical difficulties are generated by looking for a Platonic ethic without a Platonic

44 N.E. 109663-5.

45 Met. 107284. 48 Met. 980A23-24.

Aristot le: The Value of Man

metaphysics, this does not seem to be the case with our present problem. In fact Aristotle's theory about the value, or rather the superiority, of the intellect i s blood-brother to the doctrine of intellect as adoimon in the Timaeus.

Now that Aristotle's account o f the sources o f value, at least o f the value o f human beings, is somewhat clearer, we may be able to progress to a closely related and equally fundamental problem, that o f the source of morality, that source in virtue o f which moral principles are valid. If this could be determined, we might be able to understand the significance of Aristotle's emphasis on the nature of moral obligation in such passagesas Nicomachean Ethics, 1106621ff., where we read that moral virtue i s exhibited by various emotional states which, in the virtuous man, occur at the right time (;re 6 4 and generally in the circumstances when they ought to be felt.

As we all know, Aristotle says that happiness, the end for man, i s an activity opthe soul in accordance with virtue, that is, an activity o f the soul when it i s virtuous. And we know that virtue i s a disposition of the soul which makes choices. This disposition is such that it avoids extreme patterns of behaviour, takes due account of the particular weaknesses of each individual, and follows a middle path which is rationally determined. If we ask who knows Ghat i s rationally determined, Aristotle's answer is, "The man o f practical wisdom."49 He, in effect, determines ( b p i a ~ ~ e v ) the mean. Or, as Aristotle puts it elsewhere, there i s a standard (Gpoc which determines the mean: i t i s the standard of right reason (bpddc Xbyoc). 5 d There are obvious difficulties in this. How are we to recognize the man o f practical wisdom unless we have practical wisdom ourselves? The answer i s that we recognize him when we are trained to, and we certainly need training, for, as Aristotle emphasizes in the Politics, men always act unjustly when they geta chance, and to act unjustly is either to fail to recognize the wisdom o f the man o f right reason or ignorantly to disregard it." But this can be dismissed as a merely practical difficulty. What we are concerned about now i s the way in which the man o f practical wisdom determines the mean, that is, what standard he uses.

Perhaps the answer is obvious. The man of practical wisdom makes a rational I

choice. The mean he determines i s rational, hence good. And who knows it i s rational? Obviously he does. The rational man can fix the rational course. Since, as we havealready seen, his rationality is itself the mark o f his goodness, we have to

46 N.E. 1169818. 47 N.E. 1170810. 49 N.E. 1 lO6B36.l lO7A2.

50 1138B25.

51 Pol. 131 884-5;cf. Rhet. 138284.

conclude that the good for man i s itself recognized by the rational man in so far as he is rationaLS2 But what does the rational man recognize as the good? Conduct originating from rational choices. The only question that remains is, What i s a rational choice?

The problem quickly involves the question of advantage. Isa rational choice going to be to anyone's advantage? If-so, i s it going to be to the advantage of the chooser alone, or may i t also be advantageous to other people? And if it i s advantageous to other people, is it so advantageous accidentally or necessarily? Let us look at this problem as i t involves a virtue which obviously relates the doer to other people, the virtue of justice.53 In the Politics Aristotle states baldly, but with a cross-reference to the Ethics, that justice i s what i s for the common advantage (76 KOG OLI/.I$I~~OV),~~ and in the same way he distinguishes the "right" forms o f constitutions as those which aim at what i s for the common advantage, that is, what is in accordance with "what is simply just" ( ~ a r d rd a ~ h c j c GiKaiov), from the deviant forms (nape~@dow) which are designed only to promote the advantage of the ruling group. 5 5

Aristotle holds that justice i s to the advantage both o f the just man and o f those among whom he acts. At the same time he thinks that just conduct, which is obviously a variety of virtuous conduct, i s rational. How can he believe this, or rather, the more important question, how can he persuade anyone else of the intelligibility o f his belief? Why should anyone accept that rational conduct i s necessarily not merely self-centred? Aristotle remarkselsewhere in the Politics that insatiable greed is endemic in most human beings. Those who are "by nature" reasonable in this regard should be encouraged to moderation so that they shall not want to go on grabbing, those who arc inferior (@.blouc)-presumably also by nature-should be compelled to avoid acts o f i n j ~ s t i c e . ~ ~ We must conclude from this that both restraint and unrestraint are in some way natural, and that there isa higher naturalness and a lower one. And again we can assume that one form o f naturalness i s higher than the other because i t is the naturalness of that part o f man which is superior, the practical reason.

Justice, Aristotle agrees in both the Ethics and Politics, i s the according o f equality to equals and o f inequality to unequals. And the test o f equality i s a test for the existence o f a man's "higher faculties." Thus the possession of these higher faculties entails the right to recognition as a superior human being. That at least is

52 D. j . Allan ("Aristotle's Account of the Origin of Moral Principles," International Congress of Philosophy, Vol. XI1 [Brussels, 19531, p. 123) comments that Aristotle does not say that the man of practical wisdom "determines" the good, but that he "determines" the mean.Thegood is inherent in rationality itself.

53 N.E. 1130A3-5.

54 Pol. 1282817.

5 5 Pol. 1278A16-21. 56 Pol. 126781-9.


the theory; our task is to consider the grounds on which the theory is based. At least this much is clear: that justice i s supposed to be to the advantage of everyone, hence that rational conduct i s to the advantage of everyone. But why does Aristotle think that this i s so? Obviously he might argue that rational conduct i s to the advantage o f the man who i s rational, but why is it also to everyone else's advantage? And conversely why does Aristotle believe, as he obviously does, that rational unscrupufousness, rational injustice for personal gain, i s a contradiction in terms? In short why does Aristotle think that unscrupulous self-seeking cannot be rational?

In order to proceed we must look briefly at a hackneyed enough subject, Aristotle's discussion o f the varieties o f law. It comes up in the Rhetoric and in the Ethics, with minor divergencies o f treatment," but from our point o f view a clear enough doctrine emerges. Justice i s either conventional or natural. The obscurities in Aristotle's conception o f conventional justice are not our concern. What we are interested in i s what Aristotle calls "naturally just." To say that something i s naturally just, Aristotle argues, i s not to suppose that it is always just. Natural justice indicates the normal situation. Just as the right hand is "naturally" stronger than the left, but not always, sox (which i s called naturally just) i s normally right though not invariably. But the Ethics does not give us examples o f what i s naturally just, and in the first discussion in the Rhetoric Aristotle i s content to say that the unwritten laws (which seem here to speak of universal and natural justice) are obvious to everyonc. Later he goes a little further, but not far enough to give us what we want. "There is, hc says, "a common just and unjust by nature, and everyone has some inkling of it." But we do not hear what this inkling is-and perhaps we should not expect to-for if it is a matter where our own practical wisdom has to make a judgment, that judgment i s only made in particular circumstances. Individual judgments, however, will in fact form a pattern if we do indeed posscss the power of practical reasoning at all.

Nevertheless the existence o f the "naturally just" means that there are in fact some behaviourpatterns which are always right and others which are always wrong. And those which are.always right must be rational or ~ a r a rbv bpObv kiyov, as well as natural, while those which are wrong, and hence in some sense napu$vow, must be irrational. And from what we have seen already, Aristotle must somehow believe that the unscrupulous search for advantage at the expense of others must be both irrational and therefore in some sense rap& $vaw.

A t this point we should notice an interesting text from the De Caelo. The subject of the passage i s eternal motion.'* If any movement i s to be eternal, Aristotle argues, i t cannot be napa @voiv, for what i s contrary to nature is both

57 N.E. 113481 8-35; Rhet. 136887ff., 137384ff.

58 De Coelo 286AT 7-20.

posterior to what i s according to nature and also an aberration (boraoic) from it. Obviously both what i s natural and what is contrary to nature exist in the world of becoming (6v 75 yivveovei). This is o f some assistance. It helps to bear out what we have seen already, namely that what i s natural (e.g. being right-handed) can only be recognized as such if it i s the normal pattern. Furthermore it would seem that if any types o f behaviour are to be called natural. (while other acts are to be unnatural or contrary to nature), then they must not only occur regularly, but must be permanently susceprible o f repetition. And obviously no individud can act either naturally or unnaturally for longer than the period o f his "natural" life; the species, however-man in general-can do so. So perhaps natural acts have something to do with the continuation of the species man. The point i s at least worth pursuing.

In Plato's Laws there is a fairly lengthy discussion of sexual mora~ity. '~ Plato i s loo king for ways to eliminate pederasty and extra-marital sex, and to permit only "natural" intercourse. There i s no doubt why he regards both fornication and pederasty as unnatural. Pederasty i s specifically called "contrary to nature" in 841 D because the seed should not be sown where there is no prospect of offspring. In this passage intercourse with concubines i s only condemned as "sowing unholy and bastard seed," but in 839A i t i s certainly implied that, while intercourse with one's wife i s "natural," pederasty and intercourse with any woman whom one does not wis.h to conceive i s unnatural. Thus i t i s an unnatural act to use one's sexual powers without the intention (or at least the willingness) to produce offspring. A "natural" use of sex must imply at least a preparedness to promote the biological continuation of the species.

It does not, of course, follow that the only acts which Plato would call unnatural are those which invotve the "misuse" o f the genitals-obviously parricide would fit the bill well enough-but he thinks that a good example o f an unnatural act i s an act which involves the spilling o f semen without the possibility of birth. It is clear why he takes this view: semen has a function; i t i s the means by which the human race continues. That i s what it i s for; hence pederasty i s unnatural.

Our passage from the Laws seems to suggest that natural behaviour can be measured only if we refer to the interest of the species as a whole, to i t s continuation, and in some sense to i t s well-being. If we now shift back to Aristotle some clear parallels appear. The polis, we recall from the beginning o f the Politics, is a natural growth. It comes into existence for the sake o f life, and allows the good life to develop. Again there is clear reference to the species as well as to the individual. Indeed it is not the individual citizen's existence which the polis maintains primarily; his life may have to be laid down for the sake o f the polis and its citizenry in general. The polis, rather, is natural, because it

59 Plato, Lows 839Aff. For "unnatural" acts cf. Phoedr. 25481.

enables the species man to flourish. Obviously any individual man might survive, and even live a civilized life outside the normal rules of the polis. But the species man cannot obtain the opportunity for the best l i fe outside the polis framework. Thus again the naturalness of the polis must be connected with the good of the species.

Let us now return to the question of "right" and "deviantJ' constitutions. Right constitutions, as defined by Aristotle, are those which promote the advantage both of the rulers and of the subjects; deviant constitutions are arranged only in the interests of the rulers. I t would now seem to follow from this thht, since in a deviant form the interests of a large body of people who are not even natural slaves are disregarded, such constitutions must in some sense be unnatural. lndeed the very language, the very term "deviant form," reminds us of the De Caelo passage considered above: "What i s contrary to nature i s an aberration (k'~oraoic) from what i s natural." Things contrary to nature in physics are the products of force. Constitutions which are deviant are manipulated by the force of the ruling group.

Let us pick up a few threads. It looks as though when the man of practical wisdom "determines" the mean in conduct, the norm he applies i s that of his own rationality. And his rationality i s part of his nature as a man. And nature seeks the gaod of the species primarily; above all i t seeks the survival of the species. Details, however, await clarification. Granted that i t would be "unnatural" not to act to one's own advantage, there are many, and indeed "higher" forms of exploitation which do not seek the extinction of human beings but their use in the interest of the exploiter. Indeed Aristotle says, as we have noticed, that the stronger will, given the chance, oppress the weak. I s not this then in some way "natural" too?

But at this point we must return to Aristotle's theory of psychological faculties. If a human being's l i f e were only a matter of survival, then the survival o f the species would be the only criterion by which we could determine what i s natural and what i s unnatural. But that is to assimilate the nature of a human being to that of a plant or animal. For the human race to survive as human in the narrower sense, we must consider not only i t s continued power to reproduce itself, but i t s continued power of sensation and of thought. The activity of thought is life, says Aristotle in the ~ e t a ~ h ~ s i c s , ~ ~ and it is in virtue of this kind of life that men are "fully" human. The l i fe of pure thought i s the divine life. So i t must follow that the concept of unnatural behaviour must be extended to cover acts which prevent human beings from living a life in accordance with as much reason as they possess. And it i s precisely this life that the deviant forms of constitution inhibit. Hence i t seems to follow that natural law prescribes for men whatever principles will enable a "fully" human life to survive.


A second route leads in the same direction. According to the Metaphysics thought, the " l i fe" of God, at its highest thinks only of itself. Hence the man of practical wisdom, whose job it i s to arrange for the "theoretical" man to live in the city, perhaps even undisturbed by ordinary civic duties like the gods in their templesl6"ill be aiming to achieve the maximum of rational conduct in all of his fellow-citizens. And rational conduct at its highest, though perhaps self-centred, i s only self-interested in an unusual sense. What is really fine, says the Metaphysics, i s the object of the rational and in the highest example of rational will, that is God, this object must be himself. Obviously if reason aims a t what is highest and what i s highest i s reason, then reason must aim at and be concerned with itself. And, as Aristotle says, i t is the best form of living creature (3.60~ d 8 m v i i p ~ r o v } . ~ ~ From our present point of view a greater degree of rationality will therefore be the aim of that which i s rational or possessed of some rationality. No other kind of self-interest will be given more importance than this. Hence to suppose that the man of practical wisdom will use his wisdom for any other purposes than the construction of rational structures and the encouragement of rationality in general is to deny that he is possessed of practical wisdom in the first place. Hence the man of practical wisdom will conceive i t to be his duty not to allow petty self-seeking to get in his way and sway his actions. Hence the mere exploitation of human beings would for the man of practical wisdom be as unnatural as arranging their destruction.

But the second question s t i l l remains. Granted that i t is natural for the man of practical wisdom to make laws for the advantage of others as well as for himself-it i s indeed in accordance with his rational nature to do so-what about the other point that Aristotle insists upon, that the strong regularly oppress the weak? Could this too not be recognized as natural action, since "natural" seems to have some reference to what i s usually done in the circumstances? So if it i s natural for animals of the same species to fight among themselves for leadership, why should not a ruler rule despotically but still naturally? Here we are back to higher and lower naturalness and to the question of what is pecuiiarly natural for men in the narrow sense. Aristotle does nor think that moral laws apply to children or animals because the former have undeveloped powers of reflection and the latter have no such powers a t all. But adult males, in so far as they have such powers, are different, and such powers are also natural. The standard i s clearly likeness to god, the ultimate goal according to the tenth book o f the Nicomachean Ethics. The nearer to god one is, the higher one's natural powers are. Hence to judge human naturalness by what animals do is to imply that

61 Cf.h:E. 1145A10-11.

62 Met. 1072A28.

63 Met. 1072B30. 60 Met , 1072B28ff.

18

because humans have some resemblance to animals, they are altogether like animals. So if i t i s right for the man of practical wisdom to determine the mean in conduct, i t i s also right for all men, in so far as they are men, to attempt to live up to it.

The theory that Aristotle offers makes a number of good points against ideas current in his day. By emphasizing the peculiarly human in conduct, he is able to avoid sophistic claims that, for example, since pleasure i s natural, i t s claims are overriding. And since reason seems to be, at i t s highest, potentially identical in all men, Aristotfe can argue that the man of practical wisdom will act without taking "personal considerations" into account when he makes his laws and regulations, for "his" reason is not more valuable because it i s his but because i t is his reason. Indeed reason seems to play the role in Aristotle's world that Providence plays in the worlds of theodicy; and in this he i s a forerunner of the Stoics. I t i s interesting to notice that Aristotle comments that practical wisdom of a sort i s predicated even of some of the lower animals. This practical wisdom, an ability in fact to perceive their own advantages, i s said to be a foreseeing (providential) faculty (6Livapw ~ ~ o v ~ T w T ~ v ) . ~ ~ AS we have seen, the practical wisdom of man i s able to transcend the advantage of the individual, and act, in a conscious way, as the proponent of rationality as such. Here i s the justification for scientific and philosophical enquiry, as well as for moral rectitude.

Man then i s the conscious agent in morals of what Ross has referred to as the unconscious teleology of nature.65 When I say, "I ought to do this," I imply, "It is rational to do this and it i s peculiarly human for men to do what is rational." Indeed a really rational being could do no more and no less. And that is where the difficulties seem to arise. For although the man of practical wisdom may be more or less fully rational in his conduct of day-to-day affairs, most people are not. Problems arise, too, because Aristotle wants to say not only that the possession of reason enables men to be distinguished as men in the narrow sense, but that because men are (primarily) reasoning beings they ought to act rationally. For even if reason i s the most valuable faculty of man, Aristotle knows that a man and his reason are not identical. Yet instead of even considering whether the whole man (including his reason) i s "greater" than reason alone, Aristotle, as we have seen, assumes the contrary. This also means that a number o f qualities which are often regarded as moral are ruled out, not as irrational but as non-rational, not as contrary to reason but because not specifically prescribed by reason. It might be argued, for example, that there are occasions on which forgiveness i s a virtue, even if one's enemy does not "deserve" to be forgiven. Aristotle would have to reject this: strict justice would


not prescribe forgiveness. It i s true that Aristotle thinks that strict justice has to be tempered by considerations of equity,66 but equity i s specifically said not to be superior to what i s simply just (h?rX&c Gkatov) but only to what can be prescribed as just by a general rule. For generid rules cannot take into account individual circumstances; hence the judge has to exercise discretion. But equity thus understood has nothing to do with forgiving, which would have to be condemned as non-rational, arbitrary, and therefore undesirable. For Aristotle forgiveness has to be sentimentality.

The part (reason) i s greater than the whole (man); that is the assumption behind the superiority of the Aristotelian life of contemplation. The function of the word "ought" i s to te l l us what reason prescribes, and the prescriptions of reason take no account of our "localized" individual concerns and demands. The practical reason judges, as Aristotle says, in individual cases16' but in the interest of what i s natural not for the individual but for the species. And from our own point of view a further difficulty arises here, for although Aristotle realizes that the circumstances in which men live may change and therefore that the judgments of the practical reason may vary in individual cases, what i s natural for the species i s thought to be unchanging because the species itself i s unchanging. And the species i s unchanging because reason itself i s unchanging and its powers are finite in a finite world. The man of practical wisdom is assumed to exist; his moral powers are complete.

The man with pure motives is the man with rational motives. Man is perfectible now. The theory is seductive, optimistic, and of service to authoritarians: there are reasons to doubt whether i t i s true.

64 N.E. 1141A28. 65 W. D. Ross,Aristotlc (London, 1949), p. 186.

66 N.E. 1137A31-f 138A3.

67 Cf.N.E. 1141015.

O N GREEK BIOLOGY, GREEK COSMOLOGY A N D SOME SOURCES O F THEOLOGICAL PNEUMA

In his masterly study of Stoic cosmology, Michael Lapidge, an adven- turous scholar, wrote that 'it has been necessary to consider Chrysippus' theory of cosmic pneuma at some Iength because this theory, more than any other Stoic cosmological conception, commended itself to a long posterity, and numbered among its descendents the Holy Ghost itself.' ' Lapidge does not work out the implications of this remark, but some of them I hope will become more apparent after the present paper; though if one of his implications is that there is a descent in the direct line from Chrysippus' pneuma to the Holy Ghost, he is, I think, misleading.' Yet there is an important element of truth in this comment, and I would certainly agree that an inspection of Stoic pneurna is of interest not only to the student of Stoicism, but to those who seek for the roots of Christian theology. To see that this is at least very likely to be true we have only to recall that Philo Judaeus is full of Stoicism - and a major patristic source - and that both Clement of Alexandria and Origen, in their different ways, knew the Stoics well; to see why Stoic, and particulariy Chrysippean ideas about pneuma, despite their often exotic flavour and occasionally even raunchy formulation, may have been attractive to Christian theologians is one of the aims of the present discussion.

When we study the history and growth of an idea, it is always a bit arbitrary where we pick o u ~ starting-point. In the present case it will do to begin with Aristotle, not because none of his predecessors contributed to the growth of the concept of pneurna, but because the texts of Aristotle may be conveniently used as a vantage-point to look forwards, and if necessary backwards as well: backwards towards the Presocratic philosophers and the medical writers where appropriate, and forwards to a later generation of doctors and to the Stoics themselves and beyond. As a theological concept - in some sense of the word 'theological' - pneunta is primarily the construction of Chrysippus, but Chrysippus cannot be understood without reference to the history and origin of Stoicism itself.

For our purposes pneuma originates as a concept in physiology. It originally means 'breath' or 'wind', and Philistion, a Sicilian medical writer influenced by Empedocles and present in Athens about 365 B.C., was in-

1. M. Lapidge, 'Stoic Cosmology', in The Stoics (ed. J. M . Rist, California 1978) 176. 2. For an earlier detailed study o f the fortunes of pneuma(especially among the early Chris-

tians) see G . Verbeke, L 'kvoltrtion de la doctrine du pnetrma d u stoicisme a S. Augustin (Paris-Louvain 1945). Interesting things call 41: he found in F . Riische, Blut, Leben und Seek (Paderhorn 1930).

GREEK BIOLOGY, GREEK COSMOLOGY 29

terested in the role of breathing in the physiology of animals.' Aristotle, probably following Diocles of C a r y ~ t u s , ~ and influenced by Diogenes of Apollonia in pa r t i c~ l a r ,~ developed such ideas for his own purposes, emphasizing the distinction between external air and 'connate' or 'inborn' ~ n e u r n a , ~ which he identified as 'hot air' (GA 2.736A1), and whose origin he located in the heart. But one of the most important features of Aristotte's thought about pneuma is that it developed as an attempt to bridge the apparent gap between soul and body. Now we might suppose that in Aristotle's mature thought there is no real gap to be bridged, for, as the Ile Anima has it (412B5), soul is the actuality (or form) of a natural body equipped with organs. But the phrase 'equipped with organs' conceals the problem which concerned Aristotle. Since the soul is form, and in a sense immaterial - indeed there is at least one Aristotelian form which has no body at all - then how can an immaterial soul effect, or, in Aristotle's language 'move', a material body? In fact it moves it through the agency of 'organs', 'instruments', and the most important of these instruments is the inborn pneuma.' Thus in determining the functions of thepneuma, Aristotle is guided by what he believes to be the capabilities of the soul. Generally speaking, he identifies three: that of generation and nutrition - which he usually treats as a single powera - that of sensation, and that of thought. The latter does not require 'instruments' and its performance is not connected by Aristotle with pneuma; indeed nous, or at least some part of nous, is not innate (symphyton) as pneuma is; rather it comes 'from outside' ( th~ra then) .~ In brief, then, the role of pneuma in animals is to enable

3. M. Wellmann, Die Fragrnente der Sikelischen ~ r z t e Akron, Philisrlon und des Diokles von Karystos (Berlin 1901) fr.4.

4. The relation of Diocles to Aristotle is disputed. W. Jaeger argued that he was Aristotle's pupil (Diokles von Karystos: Die griechische Medezin und die Schule des Aristoreles (Berlin 1938). His arguments are disposed of by L. Edelstein's review of Diokles in AJP61 (1940) 483-489 (=Ancient Medicine (Baltimore 1967) 145-152). See recently S. Byl, Recherches sur les grands traitks biologiques d'Aristote: sources kcrites et pr&jugb (Acad. Roy. de Belgique. MPm. de la Classe des Lettres, 2nd ser. 64, 3, Brussels 1980).

5. According to Simplicius, Diogenes thought that the seed of animals is pneumat6des (Byl, note 4 , 144).

6. GA 2.737A9ff. For surveys of Aristotle's treatment of connate pneuma (in addition to Verbeke (note 2) and Byl (note 4) above) see especially A. L. Peck's Loeb edition of GA (LondonKambridge, Mass. 1943, rev. 1953) 576-593 and G. Verbeke, 'Doctrine du Pneuma et Ent6lkhisme chez Aristote' in Aristotle on Mind and the Senses (ed. G . E. R. Lloyd and G. E. L. Owen, Cambridge 1978) 191-214; also C. Lefkvre, Sur I'&volurion d8Arisfote en psychologie (Louvain 1972) and W. Jaeger, Diokles (note 4). 1. Diking, in Aristoteles (Heidelberg 1966) 343, thinks that Aristotle's account is incoherent.

7. GA 5.789B9. cf. De An. 433B18. 8. De An. 436A19; though GA 744B33, which distinguishes the rhreptikon, responsible for

the 'being', from the auxitikon, which causes growth in size, may point towards future (Stoic) developments.

the 'directions' of the soul to be carried out in the areas of growth in the widest sense (that is, embracing generation and nutrition), of sensation, and of what is connected in Aristotle with animal responses to sensory stimuli, the ability to move. 1 do not propose to examine all these functions of Aristotelian pneuma here. Much of the information about movement is to be found in the De Mofu, chapter 10, and has been well treated elsewhere, for example by Peck and Nussbaum.'* Satisfactory discussions of pneuma and sensation are also readily available." For our present purposes it is the generative role of pneurna which is more important, not least because consideration of how soul is transmitted to a new individual brings us easily to the basic question of what pneuma is.

There are many reasons for thinking that Aristotle's doctrine of pneuma is largely a product of the latest period of his thought. Certainly it is only in the latest biological treatises that it is treated extensively, and especially in the latest major text, De Generatione Animalium. Perhaps that is not in itself surprising: the subject-matter is appropriate. More significant is the fact that in the early works, such as the Eudemus, where Aristotle taught a Platonic theory of soul and body as separate substances, there is no trace of any theory of pneurna. The theory in fact seems to have been developed specifically in connection with Aristotle's mature theory of soul as form of the body," and, as we have seen, in connection with the organs or instruments of the soul, but also as a solution to those more general problems about how the immaterial moves the material which Aristotle raises in the eighth book of the Physics. For, as we shall see, the oether, the special substance of the heavens which is involved in the development of the theoty of the Unmoved Mover, is connected, in the De Generatione Anirnalium, with the pneuma which is necessary for animal reproduction, growth, sensation and movement. 1 do not think that the specificalty Aristotelian theory of pneuma could have developed until Aristotle had developed both his entelechy-theory of the soul and his theory of the first body, the aether whose circular movements are visible in the heavens."

Pneuma then is an instrument of the soul, and to perform its functions it

9. GA 2.736B27ff.; cf. De An. 413A4ff. 10. Peck (note 6) 576-578; M. Nussbaum, Aristotle's De Motu Anirnalium (Princeton 1978)

143-164; also W. Jaeger, 'Das Pneuma irn Lykeion', Hermes 48 (1913) 29-74 =Scripla Minora 1 (Rome 1960) 57-102.

11. Peck (note 5 ) 589-593. 12. Lefbre (note 6) has demonstrated that there are no good reasans for maintaining the

famous thesis of F. Nuyens ( L Yvolurion de lapsychologie d4Aristore (Paris-Louvain 1948) that there is an intermediate 'instrumentalist' phase in Aristotle's psychology.

13. That an important section of GA dealing with pneuma is very late is well argued by F. Solmsen, 'The Vital Heat, the Inborn Pneumaand the Aether', JHS 77 (1957) 119-123. In fact, the whole GA is very Iate.


is necessarily a physical substance. Of what, then, is it composed? Originally, as we noted, the word means air or breath, and this gives us part of its meaning for Aristotle. In fact, as he tells us, in De Generatione Animalium, pneuma is hot air (2.736A2); it contains 'soul-heat' (3.762A21). Heat, one of the traditional 'powers' (dynameis) of Greek medicine, is its most active element, but Aristotle, in searching for an instrument of the soul by which the reproduction of animals can be explained, is anxious to make clear that fire alone is inadequate for this purpose (GA 2.737Al; cf. PA 652A). To identify soul and fire is like identifying a craftsman and his tool. Fire, says Aristotle, does not generate any animal. On the other hand, he believes, the sun's heat is generative, as is the heat in animals. What we are looking for, then, is a hot product of the body which is present in animals and which is also present in their semen, so that the male can impregnate the female. Semen, in fact, is pneuma plus water - a proposal with an important future. The role of the semen is to provide the form which will 'set' (syn- histgsi, 2.737Al2-16,2.739A8) the matter produced in females as menstrual blood, as fig-juice or rennet sets milk." Now to understand a later part of our story it is important to notice various features of Aristotle's theory of conception. First, he specifically rejects an idea current among philosophers and doctors that vaginal secretions produced by women when sexually aroused are essential for conception (GA 1.728A1, 2.739A21ff.).I5 Such

14. The 'setting' metaphor (cf. Empedocles, fr.33) has its difficulties. Since (in the GA) Aristotle does not intend the male to provide matter for the embryo, the question arises: What happens to the semen after intercourse (2.736A23)? The answer is that the water evaporates (2.737A12) while the pneuma .structures the menses, functioning as a heater. Sometimes Aristotle prefers to compare the semen to a carpenter. The carpenter leaves his mark, not himself, on his product (GA 723828, 730B6, 740B25, 743A25). Cf. A. Preus, 'Science and Philosophy in Aristotle's Genemion of Animals', JHBiol. 3 (1970) 27.

15. That such secretions were so connected was the view of Democritus (GA 5.764A10), who held that women emitted semen (cf. Alcmaeon, A14) and perhaps Empedocles (GA 3.722B10, but perhaps contrast 4.764192). The Epicureans took the same view (Lucr. I

4.1257, cf. 1229, 1247). The atomists, according to Aristotle, apparently argued that vaginal fluids must be semen because their emission coincides (sometimes) with sexual pleasure in women (GA 1.727B34ff., 2.739A27ff.). According to the Democritean theory of 'pangenesis' (Semen comes from every part of the body), it was the bodies of both I

parents (male and female) which provided it (See G. E. R. Lloyd, Science, Folklore and Ideology (Cambridge 1983) 88). The Hippocratic treatise On the Seed (ch.4) - possibly satirized in Aristophanes' speech in the Symposium - and other Hipprocratic texts, especially On Regimen, promote similar views, On the Seed claiming that sometimes the male emits 'stronger' (i.e. male) seed and sometimes the female, since both males and females emit both male and female seed (cf. Lloyd, op.cit. 89; I. M . Lonie, The Hippocratic Treatises 'On GeneraZion: 'On the Nature of the Child', 'Disease W', Ars Medica, Abt 2, Bd. 7, (Berlin 1981); and more generally E. Lesky, Die Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehre der Antike und ihr Nachwirken. Akad. der Wiss und der Lit. in Mainz, Abh. der geisfes- und sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse, Wiesbaden 1950 no. 19, 1225-1425). The position of Anaxagoras, who may have held (but possibly did not hold) a

secretions are not semen, he says; femafes are only able to produce semen in an impure form in ,their menstrual blood (2.737A28ff., cf. 1.729A22ff.); and 'impure' means, among other things, imperfect.16 On the other hand Aristotle also rejects the extreme version of the 'male-superiority' view (reflected in Aeschylus' Eumenzdes (658ff.), Euripides' Orestes (582), and Plato's Symposium (208E ff.), Phaedrus and Timaeus, where men 'preg- nant in body' go to women to produce their chiIdren;17 in these and parallel medical texts the 'passivity' of women is apparent in that they only provide the location (topos) where the seed grows (GA 4.763B). Views of this sort,

I Aristotle knows, were held by Anaxagoras (763B32) and other 'physiologers'; perhaps he refers again to Diogenes of Apollonia;" they were later adopted in part by the Stoic Zeno. In contrast to all this Aristotle

I holds that semen in pure form is produced by males and is a mixture of pneuma and water; a weaker version of the same mix, incapable of an active role in generation, is produced by women. We shall return to Aristotle's 'balanced' interpretation when we consider the nature of the 'setting' process which he identifies as conception.

As for the pneuma itself, as we have seen, it is heated air, and it is produced from blood. Sincepneuma contains 'soul-heat' (GA 3.762A17) and is

I thus the bearer of the soul, at least the reproductive and sensitive soul which 'subsist' in it (PA 652B8-133, it must be connected with the heart, the organ which is first produced, according to Aristotle, in the embryo, whose nature

position like that of Democritus, is harder to determine; see 0. Kember, 'Anaxagoras' Theory of Sex Differentiation and Heredity,' Phronesis 18 (1973) 1-15. Aristotle's view that it is menstrual bload, not vaginal secretions, which forms the matter of the embryo, is intelligible, although he recognizes the frequent association of vaginal secretions with female sexual pleasure (739A33ff.), for pleasure, as he also observes, is not necessary for conception even when both partners: 'run the same pace' (727B7), and in any case, women feel pleasure 'in the same place as men' through being touched (he seems to refer to the clitoris), while the secretions are emitted from elsewhere (1.728A32ffe, cf+ xyomeriob (1.72gA14). Aristotle was also, of course, well aware that women who did not menstruate - and menstrual blood, the 'counterpart' of semen, comes similarly at puberty (727ASff.) - could not conceive. Uncertainty whether vaginal fluid or menstrual blood or some third secretion may be the female contribution to conception persisted after Herophilus' identification of the ovaries and is apparent in Galen's book 2 On Seed (See A. Preus, 'Galen's Criticism of Aristotle's Conception Theory', JHBior! 10 (1977) 84) for Herophilus' 'discovery' of the ovaries see H. von Staden, The Art of Medicine in Ptolemaic Alexandria: Herophilos and his School (Cambridge, forthcoming), ch.6.

16. L. Moulinier, t epur ei /'impur donslapens& des Grecsd'Homire a Aristore (Paris 1952) 150.

17. Lesky (note 15) 54; Lloyd (note 15) 97. For Plato see J . S. Morrison, 'Four Notes on Plato's Symposium', CQ 14 (1964) 42-55, esp. 54-55.

18. Diogenes A27 (Censorinus 9.2). For further discussion of the often conflicting evidence about the Presocratics see Lesky (note 15) 52, Lloyd (note 15) 87, By1 (note 4) passim.


seems to indicate the sex of the embryo,I9 (Do men and women have different shaped hearts?), whose size and shape affect our dispositions (PA 667A), and which is, of course, the centre of sensation.20 Pneuma itself is produced by the heart from the blood. Blood, as Aristotle puts it, is pneumatized, and pneumatization is a process like boiling. As fluid from the nourishments of the body passes from the stomach and is heated in the heart, it is boiled into blood, and some, beyond blood, into pneuma (De Resp. 480A). Blood and pneuma are carried through the body by the veins ( p h l e b e ~ ) . ~ ~ More blood is produced than is necessary to maintain the life and growth of the animal, and the remainder is developed further in appropriate parts of the body. It becomes milk, menstrual fluid (GA 2.738A36ffq), or, if it is able, in the male, to receive sufficient heating, it becomes semen (GA 3.7261926). Note that only 'pneumatized' blood is sufficiently hot (PA 649B21ff.) to support life and thus be the bearer of 'soubheat'.

There is a further development of Aristotle's concept of pneuma, touched upon only briefly in his own writings, but notoriously important for the future. As we have seen, Aristotle distinguished pneuma from fire, not simply from the hot. This means, in the terms of his own system, that it is not to be identified with any of his four terrestrial elements. We may object to this that it is still identified as hot air, and that fire and air are two of the elements we find around us. But on one occasion at least Aristotle goes further, appropriately in De Generatione Anirnaliurn which may be identified as one of the very latest samples of his Soul, he begins (GA 2.736B230ff.). is 'connected' with some bodily substance different from, and more divine than, the so-called (four) elements. This special substance is present in varying degrees in the various bearers of soul. It is not fire or anything like that, but pneuma. Pneuma, he says is in semen, and then, reasonably, he speaks of a 'nature' which is in the pneum; - by which he must mean the nature of the pneuma, not merely the material fact of its being hot air, if that means fire plus air, or any other combination or arrangement of the terrestrial elements. It is in virtue of this 'nature' that pneuma is a 'counterpart' of that element which elsewhere he calls the first (or primary) element; that which composes the stars. Such an element is

19. P. Manuli observes ('Fisiologia e patologia del feniminile negli scritti ippocratici dell' antica ginecologia greca', in M. D. Grmek (ed.), Hippocratica (Actes du colloque hip- pocratique de Paris) (Paris 1980) 393) that Greek has no term for sex in the sense that modern languages have when they deploy the word to express 'una nozione unificata di "maschio" e di "fernmina".' Words to translate such English as 'the male sex' are rare enough: see genos IV, phylon 1 2 and physis in LSJ.

20. PA 656B24; GA 2.743B26. 21. Blood 'nourishes' the body (PA 647B5, cf. 666A8). 22. Solmsen (note 13).

generative, as we have seen, like the sun and the heat of animals, while fire does not generate.

This theory seems to go beyond what we have seen before in that the nature in the pneuma appears to be not merely a mixture or arrangement or concoction or end-product or epiphenomenon of the heating of the elements, but something over and above the combination or chemistry of its parts. Presumably we must say that at this stage, if not before, ~ i i s t o t l e thought that the process of pneurnatization involved the heating of air in a context where pneuma already exists. Existing (connate) pneuma, as it were, infects the boiling blood. That is presumably why only living beings, being already possessed of soul, can pneumatize. But Aristotle neither takes nor would wish to take the further step of saying that the pneuma in fact is the soul.

At one period of his life, I would argue elsewhere, Aristotle believed in an immanent god, a kind of world-soul. Later, he replaced that world-soul on the one hand by an Unmoved Mover, on the other by aether and its souls in the heavens and its counterpart, pneuma, on earth.'' But there is one respect in which the claim that pneuma is the counterpart of the element of the stars, elsewhere called the aerher, is of the greatest importance to us now. It identifies the aetker as alive. In fact the aether must be the 'instrument' of the souls of the heavenly bodies, just as pneuma is the instrument of the animal soul. A step has been taken towards, or back to, what must be called 'cosmobiology', and the aether, like thepneuma, must be the bearer of the design of the soul. Aristotle does not say that it is the seed of th,e universe, nor does he imply it, but the path to that conclusion is being prepared here and elsewhere. We recall that for Aristotle since earth contains water and water contains pneuma andpneuma contains soul-heat, all things in a sense are full of soul (GA 3.762A18-21); hence the possibility of spontaneous generation.

Aristotle does not actually identify aether and pneuma. The relationship is left uncertain: pneuma is the 'counterpart' of the aether. What does this mean? Aristotle's answer can only be guessed at from other 'counterparts': feathers of birds are the counterpart of scales of fish, menstrual discharge is the counterpart of semen, e t ~ . ~ ' Thus i t seems that pneuma is probably a weaker form of aether as menstrual blood is a weaker form of semen; certainly that it is a substance which plays the same role in terrestrial life as

23. Speusippus spoke of a 'vis animalis' (= Svvap~q n v ~ u ~ a r t ~ i ) as administering all things, according to Cicero (N.D. 1.32 = fr.39 Lang). Xenocrates too had a fifth element - which he called ailher and attributed to the Timaeus (fr. 56 Heinze).

24. Peck, introduction to GA, lxviii. Cf. M. D. Phillipe, 'Analogon and Analogia in the Philosophy of Aristotle', The Thomisr 33 (1969) 1-74; P. Moraux, 'Quinta Essentia', RE 14, esp. cols. 1196ff.; A. Preus, Science and Phiiosophv in Arktotie's Biological Works (Hildesheirn/New York 1975) 87.


aether plays in the heavens. A possible development, whereby in a sense pneurna is not a fifth but a sixth element (as feathers are not scales), was neglected. For pneuma might not need similar movements to those of aefher, viz, circular; pneuma and aether both, however, must transmit the decrees of the soul, and where appropriate convert them into the movements of physical objects.

Before leaving Aristotle, we must return briefly to the counterpart of semen, the menstrual discharge in women, which, according to Aristotle, supplies the matter for the embryo. This substance is also a residue of

I

blood; it is pneumatized to a degree: insufficiently so, however, to be capable of developing to more than a very limited extent.'' In one place Aristotle says it lacks the 'principle of soul' - meaning, I take it, sentient soul (2.737A29): in another, more helpfully, that it can develop up to the level of nutritive soul, but not to sensation (2.736B11 ff.):26 in another that itS nature is to be regarded as 'prime matter' (1.729A32). This last must not be taken in the technical sense of the Physics: in all living creatures matter has some form, however indeterminate. In this case i t is plant-like. And with that we will leave the semi-pneumatized matter in females until we see what the Stoics can do. Remember that already for Aristotle it is neither semen nor logos: its only logos ('rationale') is to be potential (cf.

I

1.729A26), to be the receiver of definition. Where then do we find ourselves withpneuma at Aristotle's death? It is a

physical substance found throughout the bodies of living beings and is the instrument of their souls in respect of generation, nutrition, sensation and movement. It is the counterpart of the heavenly nether. Though spoken of as 'hot air', it is neither fire nor air, but a special substance with its own movements produced by the heating and aerating of blood in beings which already possess it. Since species have always been as they are, we assume that there has always been pneuma in the world.

Pneuma then in late Aristotle plays an important role, though one that is I

limited and undeveloped. My main subject in this paper, however, is not Aristot!e, but Chrysippus, third head of the Stoic school. In Chrysippus the theory of pneuma in its original form reached its fullest development, and i

when we have outlined what it was, we can pause and survey whence pneuma had arisen and where it was destined to go. For even many of these who rejected certain features of Chrysippus' pneuwa, such as its apparent materialism, made use of specifically Chrysippean developments in forming their more spiritual version of this original phenomenon of hot air. Because

The failure of females adequately to pneumatize the blood is a distinguishing feature of their inferiority (cf. GA 716A17, 728A13ff.. 765B8ff., 766A32ff.). They are a 'natural deformity' (GA 4.775A16). Cf. Preus (note 14) 32.

Chrysippus was not the first Stoic, and to understand how his expanded pneuma grew from that of Aristotle, we must pause, however, briefly, on his Stoic (and even on his medical) predecessors.

Werner Jaeger was not the first to point out how short a step there might be between Stoic and Aristotelian pneurna." Going behind Aristotle, we know that pneuma originated in the vitalist world of Greek medicine and medically influenced writers like Diogenes of Apollonia. Matters became more complicated when Aristotle distinguished pneuma from the soul as one of its instruments, but Aristotle was still prepared to think of pneuma as the bearer of soul-heat. Hence the obvious question: what is the true relationship between the human soul and its pneuma? Where Aristotle separated them as form (logos) and its instrument, others united them.28 Thus the Coan doctor Praxagoras, a contemporary of Zeno, seems to have identified the soul as the 'psychic pneuma' which is nourished by breathing.29 According to Praxagoras pneuma, flowing along the arteries from the heart, sets the sinews in motion and hence produces bodily movements (fr. 9, 11, 75, 85). It is also, it seems, the cause of thought, which is a function of the heart (fr. 62, 72). Here then we have two expan- sions on the Aristotelian view, both in the 'upward' direction: pneuma is soul, and it is the cause of thought: the latter as well as the former having been undubitably denied by Aristotle. I t is not clear how far pneuma is the cause of sensation too, but i t is hard to see how Praxagoras could have denied it . On the other hand blood flows through the veins, thus being kept distinct from pneuma, and pneuma is not involved in digestion, nutrition or growth (fr. 79).

We do not know whether Zeno, the founder of Stoicism, knew of the work of Praxagoras, though later on Chrysippus certainly did.'O But in Zeno we can see that the relation between pneuma and the soul is a problem. There is a special difficulty in that the evidence of Cicero might seem to indicate that for Zeno the soul is not pneuma but fire,31 but the weight of other evidence tells us that to draw such a conclusion would be a mistake. Zeno in fact identified the soul with connate pneuma,'* and a

Jaeger, Diokles 203. For Aristotelian logos in Stoicism see J . Moreau, L'cime du monde (Paris 1939), SVF I 1 442, 448, 471. For Praxagoras see F. Steckerl, The Fragments of Praxagoras of Cos and his School (Phil. Ant, 8 , Leiden 1958). On soul and pneuma see fr.32. Cf. D. E. Hahm, The Origins of Sloic Cosmology (Ohio 1977) 160. For Chrysippus' use of Praxagoras on the importance of the heart see SVF I1 897. But Chrysippus' pneuma i s innate, like AristotIe's, no( acquired like that of Praxagoras (and later doctors such as Herophilus and Erasistratus); cf. Hahm (note 29) 162 and Steckerl (note 29) 19. SVF 1 134. SVF 1 135-140.

v 36

precious text of Rufus of Ephesus tells us that he also identified pneuma as heat,j3 thus showing how Cicero might casually call the soul fire. Zeno's basic argument appears to have been that when pneuma (i.e. breath) leaves the body, the animal dies; therefore pneuma is the soul. (Chrysippus' more sophisticated variant was that death is the separation of soul and body; nothing incorporeal separates from the corporeal; therefore the soul is corporeal). Pneuma then is the soul for Zeno, and presumably it performs all the functions of soul, but our existing fragments afford little concrete evidence except, apparently, in the case of sensation (SVF 1. 151).

It is possible that these ideas of Zeno's are influenced by Aristotle, but if so there is another important difference to be set alongside the Zenonian identvication of soul and connatepneuma. Zeno apparently makes nothing of Aristotle's claim in that late text of De Generatione Animalium where pneuma is said to be some sort of counterpart of the element of the heavens. In view of Chrysippus' later development of pneuma, it is necessary to be clear on this point. As is well known, all the Stoics believed that the Reason of the universe is what they call a creative fire @yr technikon). All things derive from that fire and all return to it. It was never argued by Stoics that all things return to pneuma. In view of this, and in view of Aristotle's identification of pneirma as a counterpart of the aeihcr, the special 'first element' of the heavens, we should observe that for Zeno, the founder of Stoicism, pneuma appears to have no connection with the world-soul as aelher. For Zeno the world-soul is fire,'"ot pneuma; not, of course, the common or garden variety we burn in our grates, but the divine, creative variety."

But although Zeno does not identify the world-soul, or God, with pneuma, he made some limited use, in his cosmology, of Aristotle's theories of sexual generation - or of theories like Aristotle's - and in particular of the account of semen which we find in the R e Generatione Animalium. God, says Zeno, transformed the whole of substance through air into water. Just as in sexual generation the semen is embraced in the womb,'6 so God, the seminal Reason of the universe, is left behind in the moisture, adapting matter to himself with a view to sequential developments. He then created 33. SVF 1 127. 34. SVF 1 157. 35. See especially M. Lapidge, ''Apxai and a s o ~ ~ ~ i a : A Problem in Stoic Cosmology',

Phronesis 18 (1973) 267-270. On two kinds of fire in Theophrastus, ibid. 269, Hahm (note 29), 93, and J . Longrigg, 'Elementary Physics in the Lyceum and Stoa', Isis66 (1975) 219, 222. The distinction is Aristotelian in origin (GA 2.736B33ff).

36. D. L. 7.135 (SVF I 102). Mistranslations of gone in this passage seem to exist (seminal fluid, Hahm (note 29) 60; embryo, R. B. Todd, 'Monism and Immanence: The Founda- tions of Stoic Physics', in Stoic Philosophy (ed. J . M . Rist, California 1978) 142). 'Menstrual fluid' is possible, but Zeno is certainly thinking of substance contained in the female body. 'Womb' is safe.

GREEK BIOLOGY. GREEK COSMOLOGY 37

first the four elements.37 Some of this is unclear, and I do not propose to elucidate it, but we can at least notice that God is identified as 'seminal Reason' (logos), that is, God plays the part of an Aristotelian form.38 But we should not overplay the influence of A~istotle; '~ there is nothing in Zeno's account which must be Aristotelian, and there are a number of ideas which Aristotle specifically rejected, and where Zeno does not appear to take account of Aristotle's view. Rather he employs the notions ofkarlier writers, holding both that semen comes from all parts of the parent's body - but only the male parent - and that the embryo is a complete miniature of the adult.'' The role of the female is different in Aristotle's and in Zeno's account of generation. In Aristotle conception results from the informing of the female matter. In Zeno conception has, as it were, already occurred in the production of semen; the role of the female, as in the Eumenides, in Anaxagoras, and elsewhere, is to nourish the embryo it has been given. At this point, as we shall see later, the difference between Aristotle and Zeno will come to have 'theological' significance. Naturally since Zeno wants all in the cosmos to derive from his creative fire, and the creative fire is somehow analogous to the male partner in sexual generation, it is clear that the male partner must have a role even larger than that ascribed to him by Aristotle. It may be wondered, in fact, whether for his purposes Zeno has even given him enough. Perhaps he should have reverted to the extreme version of the theory rejected by Aristotle, namely that the female supplies only the space for growth at the time of 'conception'. But apparently Zeno does not do this: in the womb, he says, the semen is grasped by other pneuma, part of the female soul; and as a result it grows." But what, on the cosmic plane, could grasp the creative fire at the beginning of each world cycle? Such are the problems of cosrnobiology. We shall leave Zeno aside and revert to such questions when they become more important in understanding the development of the idea of cosmic pneuma.

For Zeno then pneuma is restricted to the human domain, but it is the human soul. There is IittIe further to interest us at present in Cleanthes who, partly because of his reading in Hera~litus, '~ rather conservatively emphasized heat more than pneuma.*' In the cosmos it seems to have been

37. D . L. 7.136 (cf. generally SVF I 102). 38. On spermatikos logos see further below. 39. As seems to be done by Todd {note 36) 144, who speaks of Zeno's cosmogony as 'an adap-

tation of this account' (viz., Aristotle's account of sexual generation). 40. For Zeno on generation see SVF I 128. Semen is precisely an a p o s p m a of all the parts of

the male (material) sou1, which is o f course, 'wholly mixed' with the body. 41. SVF I 102. For semen as pneuma meth' hygrou see also I 128, I1 741, 742. 42. See A. A. Long, 'HeracIitus and Stoicism'. @IAOEO@IA 5-6 (1975-6) 133-156 and

Hahm (note 29) 144-156. 43. For Cleanthes generally see Hahm (note 29) 144-156.


Cleanthes rather than Zeno who claimed that the 'ruling part' (hggemonikon) is to be identified with the sun." In the cosmos too, however, it has been observed that Cleanthes identified the functions of the Aristotelian sou1 (nutrition, sensation, thinking) as functions of the vital heat." So there is some validity in the view that Cleanthes' cosmobiology depends heavily on Aristotle's biology and psychology; but it must not be forgotten that the Aristotelian soul functions through the instrumentality of pneuma, while Cleanthes, though apparently following the lead of Zeno in teaching that the soul is hot p n e ~ r n a , ~ ~ placed his emphasis on the heat, thus tending to assimilate the human soul to the soul of the cosmos rather than the other way round. Cleanthes, like Zeno, had little (or perhaps even nothing) to say about pneuma in the cosmos." Unlike Zeno, however, he even seems to have tried to reduce its role in the explanation of human behaviour, though he felt unable to eliminate it altogether. By now it was too firmly rooted in both philosophical and medical psychology.

In contrast, at least to some extent, to Cleanthes, his successor Chrysip- pus, the Stoic who played the major role in developing those aspects of the doctrine ofpneuma which I want to draw especially to your attention, was a stickler for logical rigour. The principal dialectician of his School, in the eyes of most in antiquity the logician par excellence, Chrysippus could not be expected to tolerate the ambiguities left by his predecessors about the respective roles of pneuma and of heat in man and in the cosmos. To resolve the problems, he moved largely in the opposite direction from Cleanthes. Pneuma in the cosmos was to reflect exactly pneuma in the individual; the doctrine of man the microcosm was to be worked out as far as it would go without infringing on the ultimate supremacy within the Stoic system of creative fire.

There is one fragment of Cleanthes which I have left aside: Tertullian tells us that the spirilus (that is, the pneuma) which permeates the cosmos has creative force." There is no doubt that this conflicts with Cleanthes' general view of the role of heat, and perhaps, as has been suggested, Clean-

44. Hahm (note 29) 150; cf. F. Adorno, 'Sul significato del terme ~ ~ Y E K O V L K O V in Zenone stoico', PP 14 (1959) 31-33; SVF 1 499. Some scholars have claimed that Zeno did not apply the word h2gemonikon even to some parts of the human soul; this is an error. (SVF I 151).

45. Hahm (note 29) 146-149. 46. SVF I 521. 525. 47. Lapidge (note 35) 274-275 demolishes the claim that Cleanthes developed a theory of

cosmic pneuma. That he did had been argued by Verbeke (note 2) 55, largely on the basis of the weak authority of Tertullian (SVF 1 533). As Lapidge says, if Cleanthes did move in this direction, it was probably under pressure from his pupil Chrysippus, but i t ir more likely that he did not.

48. SVF 1533; Hahm (note 29) 159.

thes made this move after Chrysippus had joined the school. Be that as it may, this is where the future lay: pneuma is to be the spirit of creativity both in man and in the.cosmos. Let us sketch briefly how it was worked out, agreeing with Hahm that the various disagreements between Cleanthes and Chrysippus may have been particularly acute on the subject of pneuma, where real ambiguities in Stoic theory were apparent,49 and where the developing theories of medical writers (Praxagoras, Herophilus, Erasistratus) to which we have alIuded, made it all the more imperative that these ambiguities be resolved.5D

Pneuma began its history as a feature of animate as opposed to inanimate beings. Its role in Aristotle is largely limited to psychology and biology, though it has its counterpart in the heavenly aether, the first element. Chrysippus must first confirm that parallel and strengthen it: pneuma is once again the counterpart of aether, but now their definition is the same, the latter point, of course, being a massive advance on Aristotle. Not only does Chrysippus' pneuma in this world correspond to, and perform the same function as, the aefher, it seems to be actually identical to it in nature - though the apparently circular movement of aerher does not correspond with the 'tensional', that is vibrating, movement of pneuma in the lower world.J1

But for Chrysippus, as a Stoic, pneuma is not an Aristotelian 'fifth' element; it is said to be a mixture of air and fire,'l presumably the basic creative fire. It is a mixture which can be watered down or cooled down in the different circumstances where it may appear.$' As Galen puts it, pneuma composes both the soul and 'nature', that of nature being wetter and colder, that of the soul being hotter and drier. Since, apparently, pneuma itself is ultimately derived wholly from the basic creative fire, Chrysippus seems to have retained the view that its 'purest' part will be the hottest part. This hottest part is not the sun, as in Cleanthes, but either the heavens as a whole, the Aristotelian aether, or merely the purest part of the aether.j4 This is the ruling part of the world soul. It is not pure fire, however, as recent scholars seem to believes5 - and as it was, it seems, for

49. SVF 1 525 alludes to a dispute about the role of pneuma in human action, in the case of walking. Antipater of Tarsus later wrote a book on The Differences between Cleanthes and Chrysippus (SVF 111 Antipater 66).

50. Hahm (note 29) 160-161. 51. SVF I 1 471. For the circular movement of aether see SVF I 101, I1 579; cf. Todd (note 36)

150 and SVF 11 442, 448. 52. SVF 11 422.3 10,786; Lapidge (note 1) 174, Todd (note 36) 149, on the role of creative fire. 53. SVF 11 787, 841. 54. D. L. 7.139 (SVF II 644) says that both these views were to be found in a book of Chrysippus

On Providence. 55. Wrongly Hahm (note 29) 159, Lapidge (note 1) 167.

Zeno (SVF I 154) - but only what Chrysippus called the 'purest part'. I would argue that this means that it is as 'firelike' as pneuma can be while remaining pneuma. For remain pneuma it must until the cosmic cataclysm at the end of each world-cycle when the universe is purified and returns to creative fire. Chrysippus seems t o have had a technical term for the eventual translation even of pneuma itself (fire plus air) back to its source. The word is exauchmoutai; the pneuma is 'dried out'.s6 At this stage it should also be clear that not only is the fire in pneuma not the elemental fire of our created world, but that the 'air' too is some sort of earlier version. Exactly what it is will appear later.

The point I want to make is that pneuma is to be found everywhere in the cosmos, but it is never to be found alone as nothing but a creative principle. Thus though pneuma may be described as the creative principle at work at all levels of the cosmos, it is always working, in some way or another, with an inert partner. If it were not, it would not bepneuma; it would be creative fire itself. In the world around us it has, in fact, four functions, which correspond to the three functions of soul in Aristotle and to vital heat in Clean- thes, plus the most basic capacity of holding things in being, of giving them a hexis. Hexis is a Stoic technical term, but it names a developed version of the Aristotelian capacity for generation and nutrition; it is applied not only to the realm of the animate (man, animals, plants), but to the whole range of contents of the universe." I t seems to be especially the 'aerial' aspects of pneurna which has this constitutive function, for the qualities of particular things are in fact pneurnata or 'air-tensions' (tonous aerodeis) in the words of Chrysippus h im~e l f .~ ' Pneuma, as a binding force, has a special movement or 'tension' of its own, and this tension provides the basis for the notorious Stoic theory of the 'sympathy' or 'fellow-feeling' of the different parts of the universe, earthly and heavenly, for one another.s9 It is hard to see how the doctrine of cosmic sympathy, which is the indication of the universal presence of pneuma, could have developed significantly before Chrysippus had worked out his view that pneuma in man is to be defined in the same way as pneurna in the cosmos as a whole. It was the logical conclusion of themes worked out by Zeno and Cleanthes, but it had not been logically and universally developed. Yet only with the doctrines of pneuma and of cosmic sympathy can the Stoic version df the ethical theme of 'follow nature' be given its final rationale.

In addition to being constitutive of matter, to holding things together,

56. D. L. 7.141 (SVF I1 589); cf. Lapidge (note 1) 183. 57. For the origin of this idea in Aristotle see Hahm (note 29) 166; for hexis and physis in

general. ibid. 163. 58. SVF I1 389,449; Lapidge (note 1) 174 and SVF 11 444, 473. 59. SVF If 546; Lapidge (note 1) 175-176, (note 34) 275; S. Sambursky, Physics of [he Stoics

(London 1959) 21 -48.

GREEK BIOLOGY, GREEK COSMOLOGY 4 1

Chrysippus' pneuma performs the various other functions of the Aristotelian soul both in the individual and in the cosmos. It is responsible as 'nature' for growth and nutrition, as soul for sensation and movement, as reason (nous, logos) for thinking. These capacities are distinguished as in Aristotle; plants have 'nature' alone, animals have soul for sensation and movement, man has reason in addition. All this, of course, is Chrysippus' transference of the powers of vital heat unambiguously to the pneuma, and need not detain us here. It is in its role as the sustainer of existenci of all specific objects that pneurna has extended itself throughout the universe, so as to become the bearer of the ordering power of creative fire.

Even more interesting - if less clear in the minds of scholars - is the relationship between pneuma and the creative fire itself, particularly at the times of generation and destruction for the universe. We have already argued that in the ordered cosmos pneuma, according to Chrysippus, is the agent of creative fire, and we shall later show how this agency is described in terms of a semen-like reason. Before that, however, it is, I think, possible to understand the new role and nature of pneuma better by considering two themes in Stoic cosmology in a little more detail: the origin of a particular world-cycle, for we know that the Stoics taught that the world is born and dies in monotonous regularity, each cosmos being identical with its predecessors and its successors; and we may also consider the close of each cycle, the periodic conflagration which at regular intervals marks the end of the &velopment and deciine of each particular world-cycle.

In the beginning was creative fire; but then there was a world. How did the development occur? Since it is only with Chrysippus that Stoics developed the theory of cosmic pneuma, I shall deal with the development in the Chrysippean version, shedding only occasional and incidental light on the views of Zeno and Cleanthes. Chrysippus was fond of allegorizing, and some of his achievements in this area were startling and shocking, but - though the fact has been largely neglected - immensely informative. The difficulty in interpreting the Stoic stories or myths is that they use the name of Zeus to signify two different cosmic phenomena, first the creative fire, and then the agent of that fire, namely the pneurna. Dio of Prusa preserves one version of Stoic cosmic mythology as follows:60 'Zeus, remembering Aphrodite and genesis, softened himself and relaxed himself, and having quenched much of his changed into fiery air (Le. pneuma) of gentler fire. Then having had intercourse with Hera . . . he ejected the entire seminat fluid of the universe . . . he made the whole of being wet, etc.'

60. SVF I1 622. 61. I t was Chrysippus who spoke of dissolution into light @h& or augc) at the conflagration.

Hence light is 'quenched' at the death of the cosmos. Cleanthes preferred to talk of flame (SVF I1 61 1).

CREEK BIOLOGY, CREEK COSMOLOGY 43

Interpreting this, we see that Zeus (scil. creative fire) is converted into pneurno, which is in some sense a mixture of primal air and fire. We thus have two 'super-elements'. of which the air, mythologically named Hera, is passive and serves as a sex-object for whose sake Zeus produces water (or 'the wet') in the form of seminal fluid.

The myth is still far from clear; more needs to be said about Hera, whose name the Stoics derived from the word 'air'.62 She is ultimately the product of Zeus himself as creative fire, for Zeus originally changes himself into fiery air. Thus, not being an independent being or cause in the cosmos, she contributes nothing material in the cosmogonical process; she is, as Diogenes Laertius puts it, simply the extension of the ruling part of the divinity into air (7.147). Strictly speaking, in periods between the world cycles, we find no air, no Hera, only Zeus as creative fire. Beyond Zeus there is void, empty space. Thus the production of a world system involves Zeus softening himself into proto-fire and air and generating the seminal &etness into the now air-filled portion of what was previously empty space. It is probable that, mythologizing again, the Stoics, following Hesiod and influenced by the Timaeus, called the wettened air C h a ~ s . ~ ' Already according to Zeno the name Chaos derives 'from being liquid' (apo tou ~heesthai').~' But returning to Hera, we may guess that the Stoics were willing to speak of their empty space as being air (Hera) after the cosmogonical process has begun, so long as it was understood that the 'air-filled' space only had such positive content as derived originally from Zeus the creative fire. Void of course will include the space in which God transforms himself into pneuma and then performs his sexually cosmogonical act. But to make the mythology work, the Stoics need an account of sexual generation (at least for God) in which the male provides not only the form, the logos, but also the matter of the growing embryo. Such an account, where the female merely provides, in the first instance, the location in which the seed can grow, and later the food on. which it is nourished, was available, as we remarked, in Greek biology. Athene, born without a mother, was a popular figure in Stoic circles. She stands for Wisdom and is 'the extension of God's ruling principle into the ether.'^'

As we have seen, Chrysippus was an allegorizer. One of his most famous efforts in this genre was the treatment of a number of erotic paintings of Zeus and Hera. The most well known reference to this subject, which may refer to the original (humorous) version in the fourteenth book of the Iliad, is that of Diogenes L a e r t i ~ s . ~ ~ Some people, we read, condemn Chrysippus 62. D. L. 7.147 (SVF I1 1021). 63. Theog. 116; cf. Lapidge (note 1) 165, (note 35) 259-261; Hahm (note 29) 79. 64. SVF I 103, 104. 65. D. L. 7.147 (SVF I1 1021); cf.111 33 Diogenes. 66. D. L. 7.187 (SVF I1 1071).

for the fact that he wrote much that is obscene and unprintable. In his book On Ancient Physicists he interprets the material about Hera and Zeus obscenely . . . saying what no one would soil his lips by repeating . . . he fashions a tale more appropriate to whores than to gods. Christian writers are Iess reticent: it is oral sex that Chrysippus has in mind. Clement of Rome observes that Chrysippus in his Erotic Letters speaks of a picture in Argos where Hera rubs her face against Zeus' penis,6' and Theophilus speaks without circumlocution of Hera receiving Zeus 'with her foul At first sight further problems are introduced by a passage of Origen on the

I same subject.69 This time the erotic picture is in Samos: Hera is depicted as acting in an unspeakable manner with Zeus. Now Origen says that Hera represents the matter, while Zeus is god (i.e. form) who introduces semen-

I like principles into his partner. This could be interpreted as an allegory according to the AristoteIian pattern of generation, but Origen's reference to 'unspeakable acts' gives us the true reading. Zeus and Hera are depicted (according to Chrysippus) as engaged in oral sex rather than in purely genital activity precisely because with oral sex there is no question of the female's providing any possible genital fluids which might be thought to contribute towards the actual conception. Hera is impregnated, but without contributing anything but a place for the male semen. We can see, of course, why Diogenes Laertius' informant says that the activities of Zeus and Hera arc more appropriate to whores than to gods. Whores traditionally engaged in oral sex to avoid conception. But from the cosmogonical point of view, Zeus' semen is adequate in itself. Dio of Prusa speaks of the 'sons of the wise in unspeakable (!) rituals singing hymns of the blessed (eudaimona) marriage of Hera and Zeus'.

Let us sum i t up. Zeus, creative fire, becomes pneuma, Pneuma generates a cosmos, beginning with the four elements, by the emission of sperm-like reason-principles. If this interpretation of the relation of creative fire and pneuma is correct - and I should add in parenthesis that if we are to trust Origen, as we should, pneuma too was sometimes referred to as Zeus - we should expect to find the reverse process, or something like it, occurring at the end of each world cycle. Now what happens on such occasions is hard to understand, and the world conflagrations were much mocked by opponents of Stoicism in antiquity, but it is clear that if the relationship between pneurna and creative fire is as we suggest, some at least of the difficulties disappear. It has been claimed from time to time, and it is still claimed occasionally, that Zeno took over the idea of conflagrations from Heraclitus, presumably seeing a similarity of outlook in that Heraclitus

67. SVF I 1 1072. 68. SVF I 1 1073. 69. SVF 11 1074.


gave fire the primacy among his elements. But it is most unlikely that Heraclitus taught a doctrine of conflagration^,^^ and the notion that Zeno and the Stoics merely took it over becomes less plausible if it can be shown that the logic of their own system needs such an event in any case. There is no doubt that creative fire generates the universe in a fatherlike way through the agency of pneuma and hls semen-like reason-principles. But if the model is biological and the cosmos is 'begotten', one might expect it also t o die. And at its death it is subsumed in its maker.

The Stoics held that at that point in time when the planets reach the relative positions they occupied at the beginning of the universe, a conflagration will occur," for, it seems, at that moment the aether has consum- ed all the water in the universe. Then the universe will catch fire.72 The original version of this theory, due to Zeno and not involving pneuma, had an obvious difficulty. According to Zeno the sun and the moon and the aether are themselves creative fire," and creative fire does not destroy; obviously it creates. But the theory of Chrysippus avoids this; for him the aether is the 'purest' physical phenomenon, but it is not identical with creative fire itself, Thus it can still (without contradiction) be nourished by the sea," so long as there is water left. But when there is no water left, conflagration ensues, pneuma is changed back into creative fire, and creative fire, beginning to create, starts the cycle again. We are not told how long the state of conflagration lasts, but logically it should be merely the turning point between the processes of destruction and reconstruction.

Plutarch has a difficult text which sums up the matter well, though at one point his language is misleading." According to Chrysippus, Zeus (in the form of the universe) has a body and soul - that we can now see to be the pneuma and quality-less matter or C h a o ~ . ' ~ At the conflagration Zeus, alone of the gods being immortal. withdraws 'into providence', that is, into his soul. Both these then come together and persist in the single substance of the aether. Only the word aether distracts us here. Plutarch refers, of course, not t o the aether we see in the heavens, but to the creative fire itself, which for Chrysippus, if not for Zeno, is distinct, and to which ordinary aether most approximates. The idea is conveyed more clearly in a passage of Arius Didymus who speaks of 'aether-like fire'.77

A recent and influential denial o f Heraclitean cqnflagration is G . S. Kirk, 'Ecpyrosis in Heraclitus: Some Comments', Phronesis 5 (1959) 73-76. Fire is prime in importance, not in time. SVF 11 625. SVF 11 593. SVF 1 120; Lapidge (note 1) 178. SVF 11 656, 652. Plut., CN 1077E (SVF I1 1064). For apoios ousia Todd (note 36) 140 and 141 with 159, note 5 . SVF 11 596; cf. SVF I1 619.

That the dissolution of the cosmos involves the retranslation of pneuma into something more primal is further demonstrated by the parallel language used for the death of an individual and the death (scil, conflagration) of the c o s m ~ s . ' ~ According to Chrysippus death is the slackening (anesis) of the sensible pneuma in the body." That means that the tension (ronos) of the pneuma is relaxed and the organism, no longer bound together, begins to disintegrate. Now we remember that it is specifically the 'element' of air within the pneuma which binds particulars togethei. Thus we may assume that when the tension is slackened and the body disinte- grates, the air ceases to blend with the fire within the pneuma; in other words, if the process could be carried far enough, the pneuma would revert to its original condition o f pure creative fire. Such total dissolution, of course, is what happens at the conflagration; hence it is only to be expected that this too should be described as a slackening or dissolution ( d i a l y ~ i s ) . ~ ~ It is, of course, the pneuma whose tension is slackened, and we can see now at least one reason why Chrysippus rejected Cleanthes' description of 'tension' as 'a blow o f fire'." Cleanthes thinks of the universe as a lyre plucked by God as fire; Chrysippus thinks in terms of the cohesiveness of the whole body, bound together, as it were, by its sinews ( n e ~ r a ) . ' ~ The basic function of Chrysippean pneuma is to bind, to constitute a finite whole.

As Lapidge has ob~erved ,~ ' Christian critics of Stoicism mocked Chrysippus' idea that God (Dia) as pneuma permeates every part of the universe, just as in the human beingpneumn permeates (dihgker) every part of the body. Their mockery was misplaced. A Stoic theologian could reply that the pneuma is the 'ground of being' of each and every physical objeqt, and that if it were removed, the object would cease to exist. Pneuma wholly permeates all bodies;'* i t is the seed and the breath of God which gives life and existence and takes them away.

Pneurna is not itself Providence, but it is the instrument of Providence, for it is through the operations of pneurna that God's plan is realized. This plan in fact is incarnated in the semen-like reason-principles of the universe, which are first ejected when Zeus, when God, as we have seen, thinks of Aphrodite and genesis. Let us then look briefly at these coded regulators, these genes, one might almost say, of the living cosmos, these generators which will, in the end work out all for the best, for the accomplishment of the dictates of reason. What then is a semen-like reason-principle and

78. The matter is we11 discussed by Lapidge (note 1 ) 182. 79. SVF I! 767. 80. SVF I1 609, 610, 618. 619. 81. SVF 1 563. 82. Hahm (note 29) 170; SVF 11 634. 83. Lapidge (note 1 ) 170; SVF I 1 1039, 1040.

84. SVF I1 463-481.


whence does it come? To the latter question the answer is clear. It comes from God, from the creative fire, just as semen comes from the male animal. So in Chrysippus' language it is in fact to be identified, more or less, with pneuma. In a man semen is, according to Zeno and Chrysippus, pneuma plus l i q ~ i d , ~ ' an Aristotelian-sounding description; and the same situation can be identified at the cosmic level. (Strictly speaking, of course, we can distinguish between the two principles, the pneuma and the wetness, which together make up the semen). At the cosmic level, as we have seen, both elements, the form-matter, as it were, and the identifiable place for particular created objects, derive originally from the creative fire; but it is in virtue of their being fiery pneuma that the semen-like reason-principles are the bearers of the decrees of Providence. The semen-like reason-principles convey, a little like genes, the encoded messages which are the decrees of God and Reason for the development of the universe. As Chrysippus seems to have put it, 'The Creative Fire, when it goes forth to create, has embraced ail the semen-fike reasons, the seeds in accordance with which everything comes to be as is ~rda ined ' . '~

The Aristotelico-Stoic phase of the history ofpneuma, as we have outlined it, is remarkable; pneuma grows from a component of living terrestrial beings, via being a counterpart of the aerher, the sphere of the fixed stars, in the hands of Chrysippus, into God in his creative capacity. In Chrysippus' theory pneurna is the logos of God working actively throughout man, living beings and indeed the cosmos as a whole. Pneuma not only creates all things, or rather, perhaps, projects itself as all things, it holds them in existence and governs their nature and destiny. If I may use the term God, in the Christian sense, of the Creative Fire, then pneuma is the logos of God, God in his active role. But pneuma is not itself God - not yet; ultimately it too is reduced to Creative Fire.

Let me do a bit of speculating - speculating which may help us to understand certain features of early Christian theology in the light of this well developed and well known concept of pneuma. Pneuma is, in these terms, the spirit of God, but a material object and subordinate to God; Macedonius, the fourth century Arian of the Spirit, would have approved, at leasiin part. Stoic pneuma is in a sense nlaterial, but the Stoic God is material too, for Stoicism is a pantheism. So in some respects, though I hope to have at least suggested not in all, Stoic pneuma looks, from the Christian point of view, to contribute to unorthodox theology: pantheism, subordinationism. Morally its sexual roots and associations have funny and disreputable descendents too. Groups of Gnostics, known to Epiphanius,

were in the habit of drinking human semen as a communion." Is this merely a dressed-up fertility cult? Our study of pneuma would suggest that it is

I more. Gnosticpneuma has many roots, far beyond mere Stoicism. But, as it wiggled its way through times and theories, the Stoic association of divine pneuma with semen, coupled with the belief that pneuma is God's agent, could help stimulate the literal-minded to bizarre behaviour. Applied metaphysics often makes strange ethics.

Pneuma, in Christian and Gnostic theology, comes from above: Stoic pneuma is revealed par excellence in the aether. But Stoic pneuma, unlike

I

Gnostic pneuma, is not selective. We all share in the pneuma, in concrete and material form. Yet the fact that we share it means that there is no special 'pneumatic' class of people, whether predestined or otherwise; and no contrast between men who are 'pneumatic' and others who are merely 'moral' is possible in Stoicism. The pneuma is the abiding mark of God's presence. Pneuma began as an instrument of the soul by which human actions are accomplished; it finished as the agent of God by which the successive worlds are generated and held in being.

Of course the Stoic version of pneuma carried with it the problem of determinism in two forms - so long as it was encapsulated within the

I theory that the cosmos is a living organism. For if pneuma is to be identified as the seed of the cosmos, and if the character of pneuma is unchanging, it follows both that the course of events within the total universe is wholly predictable (not merely that it is knowable from God's point of view), and that with every new creation the same course of events is inevitable. Thus in Stoic language Fate operates both throughout the whole of time and within the time-span of each generated cosmos. The compensation which we have been paid for this, however, is that Stoic attempts to find free will compatible with determinism have an interest which is not only philosophical but, quite independently of their historical roots in theories of pneuma, theological as well.

85. SVF 1 178, I1 741, 742. 86. SVF I1 1027. 87. Epiph., Pan Hoer. 26.4.7.

Zeno and Stoic Consisteny*

"G reek ethics is eudaimonistic", observed Max Pohlenz a t the beginning of his account of the ethical theories of the Stoa;l and it is certainly true that, as Aristotle said,2 ~b8a~povfu is

regularly regarded by the Greeks as the moral good. But the Stoic version is rather complicated, and although some of the complications of their theory of the telos and skopos of the moral life have been sorted out, in particular by Beths and Lone, many problems remain, perhaps less in the work of Diogenes of Babylon and Antipater of Tarsus than among the earliest members of the school, indeed in Zeno himself. Part of the difficulty lies in the relation in the thought of Zeno be- &ween virtue and happiness, and an investigation of this relationship may conveniently begin with a passage which deals not with %no in particular, but with the Stoics in general. According to S tobaeu~ ,~ the Stoics were in the habit of saying that the W o s is being happy ( ~ b ~ d 8 u ~ p o v ~ ' i Y ) . TO be happy is something with which we are satisfied; we do not use happiness as a means to achieving something else. Such a state consists in ( S 7 t & p X ~ n ) living virtuously, living consistently (bpoAoyou$vo~) and living naturally (xu& p 5 a ~ v ) . We are not told who specifically made these equations, though the impression we are left with is that all the Stoics would have accepted them. But the passage then goes on to say that Zeno defined happiness as a smooth flow of life ( F ~ Q O ~ U (jiou). Cleanthes, Chrysippus, and the rest accepted this definition,@ but, says Stobaeus, they called happiness the skopos, while identifying the tdos with "achieving happiness" (rb ' F U X E ~ +C

* A version of this paper was read to the Society for Ancient Greek Philosophy a t St. Louis in December 1973. I should like to thank the reader for Phromsis for his helpful comments. 1 M. Pohlenz, Die StoaS {Gottingen 1964) 111. 8 N.E. 1095 A 18-19. a 0. Rieth, "uber das Telos der Stoiker", Hermes (1934) 13-45. 4 A. A. Long, "Carneades and the Stoic Telos", Phrmsis 12 (1967) 59-90.

Stob., Ed. II 77, 16 (=SVF 111 16). Cf. Sextus Empiricus, adv. Mdh. 11.22 (SVF 111 73); 11.30 (SVF 1 554).

For e6poru as a time when the daimm in us is in harmony with the "will" of the director of the cosmos, see D.L. 7.88. But this cannot be used as evidence for Zeno himself.

~ ~ M a ~ ~ o v i u < ) . ~ The passage suggests that Cleanthes and Chrysippus (XU~TOL YE h h y ~ ~ ~ S ) but not Zeno, distinguished between the ultimate target (sko$as) of the moral life, and its immediate good or end (telos) .s Has this distinction any philosophical significance? Does it give us any clue as to what kind of moral system the Stoics offer us? There has been considerable interest in such matters r e ~ e n t l y . ~

Perhaps we should begin with Zeno's concept of ~fipotu. Happiness is a smooth flow. Presumably the man who is happy is never taken a- back, never has to recast his priorities. He is above all consistent; his intentions and motives can be viewed as forming a coherent whole. According to Stobae~s, '~ Zeno also defined the end (telos) as living consistently, by which he meant living according to a single harmonious pattern. The reason he gave was that people who live otherwise, not consistently, but in conflict (yu~opQvw~) are unhappy (xuxo- bccq~ovo6v~wv). I t is arguable that this is not only a deduction but an em- pirical appeal. For to suggest that those (and only those) in conflict are unhappy entails saying that the unhappy are in conflict and inconsistent. Thus unhappiness is a visible index of the quality (e.g. the degree of harmony) of our "inner" life." Such ideas enable the Stoics to avoid basing morals on an unjustifiable shift from statements of fact to statements of value. Everyone wishes to be happy, for God (divine reason) has ordained it so and "generated" us accordingly. Hence if people recognize that it is inconsistency which makes them unhappy, they will strive to avoid it. And for the Stoic an essential part of avoiding i t is to recognize the rationality of moral obligations. My behaviour, for example, cannot be both consistent and dishonest. Therefore given my desire for happiness, it is rational to feel that I ought not to be dishonest.

virtue regularly appears among the Stoics as either a "consistent disposition"12 or more generally as some kind of condition of the ruling

Cf. Rieth, o#.cit. 24-26. 8 For an assimilation of skopos as a kind of telos, see Stob., Ecl. II 76, 16ff. (= SVF I11 3). * Cf. A. A. on^, "The Logical Basis of Stoic Ethics", PAS 1970, 85-104; A. Graeser, "Zirkel oder Deduktion: Zur Begrundung der stoischen Ethik", Kant- Studien 63 (1972) 213-224; "Zur Funktion des Begriffes 'Gut' in der stoischen Ethik", Zeitschrijt fiirphilaso$hische Forschung 26 (1972) 417-425. lo Stob., E d . I1 75, 11 ( S V F 1179). l1 For a similar Stoic attitude to the concept of "good" (as useful) see Graeser, "Zirkel oder Deduktion", 219, n. 17, correcting Long, "The Logical Basis", 98. la D.L. 7.89 (SVF 111 39) Cf. Sen., Ep. 31.8 (SVF 111 200) consonans sibi.

part of the soul (~yepovwCv].~3 No one would dispute that the consistency in question, whether or not it was always consistency with "nature" in the sense of external nature,14 is consistency within oneself. Plutarch attributes to the Stoics generally an account of virtue both as a disposition and power produced by reason, and as a consistent and steadfast reason itself,15 and Cleanthes, in a poem, gives 6yohoyo6- ~ E V O V as one of a list of predicates of "the good" - which would certainly include the notion of the good for man.I6

Let us go back to the passage of Stobaeus with which we began.17 After identifying being happy as the end, Stobaeus tells us that the Stoics said that this "consists in" (~)XC~P;CELV) living virtuously, living consistently, and living naturally. We notice that they did not simply identify virtue with happiness. But how are we to understand this concept of "consisting in"? Several other texts will help us out. Diogenes Laertius has the same sort of language, only with EZVUL t v instead of Sxdppv Ev: Happiness is in virtue.ls According to Plutarch, Chrysippus expressed the relationship somewhat differently, though his formulation need not imply a different doctrine. Vice is the oljala, the "substance" of unhappiness19 - and presumably therefore virtue is the substance of happiness. This does not seem to be a technical use of oljola or to point us to the Stoic doctrine of categories: probably all that Chrysippus wanted to say is that wherever you get vice, you get unhappiness, and therefore wherever you get virtue (= consistent behaviour) you get happiness. So when we read that for the Stoics virtues complete (dnor~hohst) happiness,20 or that virtues produce happiness (&noy~vvGjat)~~ and compose it (cru~dqpoGa~), since they are its parts, we need only conclude that nothing needs to be added, if virtue is present, for the achievement of happiness. Hence it is virtue and virtuous acts which are the necessary and sufficient conditions for happ ines~ .~~

18 Sextus Empiricus, adv. Math. 11.22 (SVF 111 75). 14 Stobaeus suggests that the reference to nature was added by Cleanthes (Ecl. 11 76, 3ff. (SVF I 552)). 16 Plut., De vivt, mar. 441C (SYF I 202). l6 Clem. Alex., Prot. 6.72 ( S V F I 557). l7 Stob., Ed. II 77, 16 (SVF I11 16).

D.L. 7.89 ( S V F 111 39). l8 Plut., SR 1 0 4 2 ~ (SVF 111 55).

D.L. 7.96 ( S V F I11 107). 21 Stob., Ed. I1 71, 15 ( S V F I11 106). z 2 Stob., Ed. I1 77, 6 (SVF I11 113).

So the Stoics are saying that virtue (consistency) always entails happiness but that the words "virtue" and "happiness" are not inter- changeable. The doctrine was apparently unclear in antiquity. Lactantius misreads its implications in an interesting passage.23 He comments rightly that without virtue no one can be happy. Re concludes from this, again rightly, that a happy life is the reward of virtue. He further concludes, wrongly, that it is not the case that virtue is to be pursued for its own sake. But the conlcusion does not follow. Happiness is elusive. Although it is a reward and a desideratum, it cannot be achieved if pursued directly. I t is virtue that is to be pursued, and for its own sake.

We have glanced at the distinction between an end (telos) and a goal (sko$os). Rieth drew attention to the relation between this distinction and that between what is uipootov and what is aipe~6v.24 We notice that the qhov forms of Greek verbs are used by the Stoics to express the obligation. Stobaeus again spells out the doctrine, which is presumably in a form elaborated by Chrysippus.a5 The distinction is between what is choiceworthy and what ought to be chosen. What ought to be chosen is "every beneficial action". Obvious- ly happiness is not a beneficial action; it is activities which are virtues which are so to be described. Virtuous behaviour "ought to be chosen". Here again we ale talking about the end (telos). The Stoics are not interested in saying that we ought to be happy; they arc prepared to say, "We ought (given a desire for happiness) to act consistently."

We illuminate the problem still further by noting the distinction made by at least some of the Stoics, though not necessarily Zeno himself, between a T E A L X ~ V dy~46v and a X O L Y J T L X ~ V by~186v.~~ Strictly speaking the Stoics prefer to call only virtue a good (and only vice an evil). but they often accept more normal sorts of language - only maintaining the caveat that they would limit the term "good" to virtue in any contexts where there is a danger of philosophical misunderstanding~.~' A passage where the wider use of "good appears lists such things as "joy" and "sensibly walking about" as T E A L X ~ aiya8h. The point is that they are good for their own sake. On the other hand a friend or a sensible man is a "productive" good, that is he is the means

g3 Lact., Div. I ~ t i f . 5.17 (SVF 111 47). 24 Rieth, op.cit. 25. O 6 Stob., Ed. I1 78, 7 ( S V F I11 89). 2s Stob., Ed. I1 71, 15 (SVF 111 106). 27 Plut., S R 1048A (SVF 111 137).

for goods to be secured. The virtues, in contrast to both of these, are both "productive" and "final" goods, that is, they are both ends in themselves and they are productive of something else, e.g. happiness. The passage goes on to say, as I have already observed, that the virtues generate happiness since they are its parts. Thus when all the virtues are present, happiness is present. The converse applies with vice and unhappiness.

Diogenes Laertius adds a further sublety.28 He lists "actions in accordance with virtue" as TE~LX& and distinguishes them from virtue itself, which is TEXLX~U nai xoq~cx6v, as in Stobaeus. We should also notice that nowhere is haHixess listed as a TEALX~V aiya86v; this helps to confirm our view that happiness, though desirable in itself, is not to be sought directly. Virtue is to be contrasted with this: although it is productive (xo~q~cxdv) of happiness, it should not be sought merely for the sake of happiness, but also for its own sake. If it is not recognized as intrinsically good, it cannot be attained.

A recent critic, A. A. Long, seems to think that the Stoics rejected (or a t least would not have accepted) Aristotle's view that self- interest is the primary or only moral motive." It is not, entirely clear what is meant in this context by a moral motive - we need to know whether a moral system should be defined in terms of its form or its content - though if Long means that the Stoics would reject the view that one should act well only, or largely, out of self-interest, he is correct, but misleadingly so. I t is only when a man recognizes where his genuine self-interest lies that he is capable of being "moral" and of recognizing "moral" facts.

The Stoics say that virtue is sufficient for happiness (aC~apx4~ xpbs t38aq~ovlau).~~B~t it is not happiness we immediately strive for; it is a virtuous, that is, a consistent Life. A conscious striving for happiness could be ineffective for two related reasons: it might inhibit the performance of those virtuous acts which are the only road to happiness, and it might be productive of a kind of behaviour which is in conflict with the development of our natural impulses. Originally these impulses are, as every student of Stoicism knows, associated with our recognition of what is "first suited" ( O ~ K E ~ O V ) to every animal,

26 Cf. D.L. 7.96 (SVF 111 107). 2D Long, "Logical Basis", 96. so D.L. 7.127 (SVF IS1 49).

namely its own nature.31 As has recently been pointed 0ut,~2 the term "first" probably refers to temporal rather than logical priority. Now we find different things "suited" as we grow; our "first" impulses, however, are directed towards the preservation of the state we are in when we first acquire any kind of awareness of the exte~nal world, that is, at birth.33 Presumably at this moment we are in some sort of "right" condition. Obviously in the strict Stoic sense we are neither virtuous nor happy. We are for the first time, however, presented with a hostile environment and we react accordingly,34satisfying so far as we may our instinct for self-preservation. Although as we grow our range of oikea'osis expands, and indeed, if we become wise, a desire for self- preservation will cease to be of ovemhelming importance - the wise man may choose to sacrifice his own life - yet presumably the Stoics would have held that no "developed" impulses (i.e. impulses not present st birth, but developed as we grow towards maturity, physical and moral) should be given priority over earlier ones without good reason. Clearly in such a view of man the notion of consistent behaviour is maintained. A man should not abandon his life lightly, supported asit is by the instinct for self-preservation.

But new sound impulses and reactions are built on old, and we have to learn to adapt the old to the new. Presumably in an ideal world such adaptation would be simple and we should all develop into sages. Yet in fact from the very beginning there is the new factor of the external world. Corrupting influences from beyond the self impinge on our own individual nature, which ceteris paribzcs would develop via the "rationalizing" of the impulses to virtue and via the virtues to happiness. Before trying to understand, therefore, how the external world with its moral temptations can be reconciled with our own world, with the world governed by the instinct of self-preservation which we are given at birth, we have to determine the form in which

I still prefer OUVEI~YJUL~ in this passage (D.L. 7.85 = SVF 111 82) despite the comments of H.S. Long A . J.P. 92 (1971) 749. Long seems to me to miss the point that the harder auvsl8~qa~~ is too easily emended into a u v a i a 4 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ . The sense does not require the change. a8 G. B. Kerferd, "The Search for Personal Identity "Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 55 (1972) 190-191 Cf. D.L. 7.85 ( S V F 111 178) and other references supplied by Kerferd. 3a Hierocles, Ethische Elementarlehre (P. Berlin 1780), ed. H. von Arnim, Berliner Khassikertexte 4 (Berlin 1906) Col. 6.23-24. 34 See S. G . Pembroke, "OIKEIOSIS", in Problems in Stoicism (Ed. A. A. Long, London 1971) 146, n. 89 (with Philo, de opif. m u d i . 161 (1, 56, 7ff. Cohn)).

these external dangers confront us. And the first form in which this occurs is the form of pleasure and pain. Diogenes Laertius has a passage in which the situation of the newborn human being is well summarized. Nature, he says, gives nonperverted points of departure ( a i c p ~ p ~ c r i ) . ~ ~ The rational animal is perverted either by the persuasiveness of external pursuits or by the communications of his companions. The image of perversion is notable. The Stoics seem to have compared bringing the soul from vice to virtue to straightening a bent stick.36 Thus if a man lived aright from birth, he would start off right, as we all do, and maintain a consistent and straight path of virtue. He would therefore react to external stimuli in a consistent and coherent way. How does this work out in practice?

When Chrysippus - and it presumably is Chrysippus in the passage of Diogenes Laertius - says that we do not start perverted, he must mean that i t is somehow right or sound for us to develop from our first oikeiosis, and to act in accordance with our instinct for self-preservation. In what sense is this right, unperverted, sound, or whatever? Nature gives us these starting points, we read, and this cannot refer to our own human nature, for it is a set of circumstances granted by "nature" whereby ~ 7 e are enabled to have a chance of survival in the world. Thus, at any rate for Chrysippus, our human first beginnings are in accordance with some sort of plan or design of nature - of the "designing fire" (xijp c q v t ~ 6 v ) . So when we are newborn, it must bc assumed that our behaviour patterns are in accordance with the law- like operations of nature as a whole, and are consistent with them. Now when we develop, if we are to be virtuous and consistent, our actions must flow smoothly from our unperverted first beginnings - which means that our actions will themselves have to be consistent with the nature which gave us these first beginnings. So we can see why Cleanthes and Chrysippus argued that the lelos - formula should be that we must live consistently with Nature, not merely that our lives should be internally consistent.

Diogenes Laertius not only tells us that Zeno referred to "living consistently with nature" but he gives us the source of this information,

D.L. 7.89 ( S V F III 228). Cf. S V F III 489.

a book entitled On The Nature of Man.37 Cicero, for what it is worth, agrees with thkSs On the other hand Stobaeus gives what seems to be a fairly circumstantial but different view.39 According to him Zeno had originally only spoken of internal consistency, but later thinkers, believing that "consistent" was an incomplete term and that we should be told with what we should be consistent, added that we should be consistent with nature. Cleanthes is specifically named as the first to have taken this step.

There has been a tendency to dismiss the reference to nature in Zeno, on the grounds that Diogenes is merely transferring a school commonplace to the founder. But the reference to the book On The Natwe of n/lan makes it clear that Diogenes, or his source, had a specific text in mind. On the other hand the statement of Stobaeus that Cleanthes found the term "consistent" in some way incomplete has also to be taken seriously. The only solution which does justice to both sources is that Zeno spoke both of consistency with nature and of consistency with self, while Cleanthes thought that the second of these fomu1ations was unnecessary, or imprecise, or misleading. Diogenes gives us the further information that Cleanthes thought that the nature in accordance with which we should live must be understood only as "universal nature" (xotv-jl (p6ats).40 and this can be understood as implying that our first impulses to selfpreservation, those starting points on the road to virtue and happiness, are a gift of a power i.e. Nature, which subsumes and indeed engenders the specifically human sphere.

Let us try to develop this theory of the roles of Zeno and Cleanthes. Why may Zeno have spoken now of living consistently with Nature, now simply of living consistently? Such accounts of the end, though not mutually exclusive, could well be given as answers to different kinds of philosophical questions. Talk about an internally consistent life could arise as a result of an ethical question; "consistency with Nature" should involve us with the grounds of ethics. Looking at this in another way, we might say that any questions about the end to which the answer "self-consistency" could be meaningfully given entail a further question about the kind of consistency required - to which the answer "consistency with Nature" might be given. We

a' D.L. 7.87 (SVF I 179). Cic., De Fzla. 4.14. Stob., Ecl. I1 134, 75ff. D.L. 7.89 (SVF 1555).

start off with the assumption that happiness is in some sense the goal. We are faced with trying to determine how such a goal may become a reality. What would be the naturaI way of looking at such a problem? In the first instance everyone would tend to look at it as a strictly ethical problem. And anyone thinking philosophically at the time when Zeno was first active would presumably look first to the kind of ethical answers available. According to Diogenes Laertius, whose testimony there is no reason to reject on such a point, Zeno was in some s h e a pupil of the Cynic crate^.^' And there is abundant avidence, particularly in his Republic, that the Cynic influence on his early thought was deep and p e r s i ~ t e n t . ~ ~ Zeno, of course, later broke with the Cynics on a number of issues, and one of the most important of these was his insistence that it is necessary for the wise man to know something of physics and bgic as well as of ethics.43 In Pis early days, Zeno was certainly writing with a more strongly Cynic flavour than he later thought desirable; his Republic is said by Diogenes to have been written when he was still a pupil of Crates.44 So at a time when he has no use for physics we can weU imagine Zeno defining the end as "living consistently" (that is, with no reference to nature - where a reference to nature would imply some kind of knowledge by the wise man of the laws of physics or of "natural philosophy"). Of course the Cynics themselves frequently talk of nature, but the context is the old Sophistic antithesis between nature and c o n v e n t i ~ n . ~ ~ and has no significant connection with the use of the term by the Stoics to refer to natural philosophy. Thus for Zeno, when still Iargely in a Cynic context and thinking of ethics as the only necessary realm of thought for the wise man, to define the end as living in accordance with nature would be to point not to the factor of consistency with a more than moral Power in the universe, but to "living naturally" rather than "living conventionally". (Of course, it might well be the case that the consistent (Stoic) life would be unconventional, but in talking of consistency that is not the principal point a Stoic would want to make.)

Zeno's point in defining the end as a consistent life and in saying that a consistent life is a virtuous life and leads to happiness would

4' D.L. 7. 2-3 (SVF I I). 42Cf. H. C. Baldry. "Zeno's Ideal State", JHS 79 (1959) 3-15; J. M. Rist, Stoic Philosoehy (Cambridge 196s) 64-67. 43 Rist., +.tit. 71-76. 44 D.L. 7.4 ( S V F 12). ' 6 D.L. 7.38; 7.71.

be made within a purely ethical frame. It is the assumption of those working inside such a frame that happiness is the goal and that the content of virtue can be understood by right reason. Right reason, of course, must be consistent, for inconsistent reasoning can hardly be "right". It is the assumption of such a search for consistency that the original impulses of each man are sound and inteLZigibZe in themselves, and therefore that consistency with them in later thought and action will be sufficient for virtue. There is probably an echo of this attitude - together with its built-in ambiguities - in the remark of Cleanthes that all men have the starting points for virtzce given by natureP4& though he is using "nature" here in a way which (Stoically) does not make an obvious reference to the antithesis with convention.

It was, of course, the very issue of whether the ethical end could be determined by "ethical" reflection alone that seems to have been one of the causes of the antagonism to Zeno developed by his former pupil Aristo.4' But Zeno had clearly seen further than the Cynics, Let us assume that he did define virtue, at some stage, as Diogenes says, as a consistent or harmonious life. The obvious question is, Consistent with what? In other words, is the predicate really elliptical, as Cleanthes seems to have thought. There seems no reason to doubt that Zeno's answer to this must have been "consistent with the natural behaviour to which our first impulses guide us". And this would put him right into a contemporary debate about what natural impulses are. In fact the best interpretation of why Zeno took up the study of "nature", of "natural philosophy" in the traditional pre-Socratic sense, would seem to be that he wished to find content for the formula that virtue is a consistent life. For one might admit that formula to be acceptable while disagreeing with Zeno about the nature of the consistency, if one took (for example) an Epicurean view of one's first natural impulses. In other words I should like to argue that Zeno was probably drawn to find an extra-ethical justification for his brand of ettics by those who could have accepted the importance of a consistent life. Such opponents might even have included Epicurus.

Epicurus could easily agree with the Cynics in distinguishing nature from convention, while still proposing a different account of "natural" behaviour. According to him pleasure is the first good we recognize when we are newly born: it is the beginning and end of the happy life.48

Stob., Ed. I1 65, 7 ( S V F 1566). a 7 S V F I 351 & 353; J.Moreau, "Ariston et le Stoicisme", REA 50 (1948) 43.

E9. ad Men. 128-129.

Now it is generally agreed, and I would not want to dispute the view, that the majority of the evidence that refers to direct conflict between Stoics and Epicureans dates from a period later than the times of Zeno and Epicurus, but although these two may not have engaged in direct conflict, they certainly may have been dealing with the same issues - and coming up with conflicting answers. If one of the issues

? the answer to was, What is the nature of the first natural impulse., such a question would oljviously predetermine the kind of consistent life a philosopher would come to advocate for adult human beings.

1 And we have already observed that the question of the nature of natural thjngs is raised by implication by the Cynics.

We know from a number of sources that Zeno was some kind of pupil of the Academic Polem0,4~ but Cicero provides us with the invaluable evidence that Zeno accepted Polemo's account of the "first-principles of nat~re".~O This can only mean that it was Polemo who taught that the first natural instinct is to self-preservation, the theory which provided a basis for the Stoic account of oikeiosis, and which gave Zeno his opportunity to break with the Cynic view of nature. Perhaps Polemo was not the only person who held this theory - perhaps even Cicero's account is mistaken - but what really matters is that somewhere or other Zeno came across an account of nature which enabled him to develop his own particular version of the consistent life. For, as I have already indicated, to talk of consistency alone is to approach ethics in the way of a formalist: and no ancient theorist is a formalist. But when looking for a content for nature, &no desperately needed a context. The Cynics failed him almost completely here. Whatever they may have intended, we have ample evidence that for the Cynics the term "nature" is largely devoid of positive force. Natural behaviour seems consistently to be regarded as behaviour freed from conventional restraints. There are no specific and immediate gods in the Cynic freedom, the Cynic life according to nature; if a Cynic ethic had ever managed to exhibit consistency, it could only have been a consistent freedom from the constraints of society. There is no evidence that the Cynics added up their various freedoms f rom to amount to any kind of freedom to.

We have ample evidence that Zeno broke with the Cynic road of "morality alone"; his talk of "appropriate things" ( x c c 8 - ; l x o v ~ u ) ~ ~ joins

49 D.L. 7.1 ( S V F 11); Strabo 13 p. 614 {SVF 110). 5 0 Cic., De Fin. 4.45 (S V F I 198). j1 D.L. 7.2 ( S V F 11).

with his uncynic approach to "natural impulses" to point to what Aristo abhorred: the wise man's study of physics. Physics not merely enabled Zeno to argue formally that consistency is necessary for virtue, and will bring happiness, but to show the nature of that consistency. In our terminology Zeno invoked extra-ethical factors to justify an approach to ethics, though, to avoid anachronism, we have to add that he was not conscious that this was what he was doing. In other words Zeno did not ask, How can I give point to the pursuit of consistency as an ethical end by the use of criteria not drawn from my own ethical system? Rather he seems to have asked, What is the nature of the first impulse with which my later life must be in harmony? This question is a non-ethical one in that it is value-free. I t is simply a matter of finding the means to describe what nature has managed to give us.

The conclusion of all this must be that if Zeno did not speak precisely both of "living consistently" and "living consistently with nature", he must have described his ethical end in two different ways to which these different phrases could be properly applied - and therefore that since Diogenes Laertius attributes the second phrase to him there is no good reason to reject it.

The only other question which should be treated briefly here is what it might mean for us to develop, to pass from infancy to manhood, while still living consistently with our first natural impulses. I t is clear that from the time of Chrysippus the Stoics were in the habit of talking about different oikeioseis; from the oikeiosis to oneself at birth, there develop oikeioseis with different conditions in later life. As Kerferd puts it, "an organism seeks to preserve the constitution in which it is at the 1iloment".5~ But our oikeiosis not only reconciles us with ourselves; it helps to associate each man with his fellows. According to Hierocles, there is an oikeiosis with one's relationsSs; and there is no doubt that later Stoics extended oikeiosis to the human race in general.S4 Furthermore, as Porphyry puts it, "the followers of Zeno make oikeiosis the beginning of justice"56; and this statement

G. B. Kerferd, "The Search for Personal Identity", Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Mawchester 55 (1972) 191; cf. Sen., Ep. 121, 15-16. Gs Hierocles, P. Berlin 1780 (ed. von Amim, Berliner Klassikertexte 4 (Berlin 1906)), Col. 9. 3-4; Cf. Anon. Comnz. on Theaet. (P. 9782), Berlimr Klassikertexte 2, ed. Diels and Schubart (Berlin 1905) Cols. 7.28; 8.5-6. sr Cic., De Fin. 3.63 (SVF I11 340). ss Porphyry, De Abst. 3.19 (SVF I 197).

is confirmed by Plutarch who remarks more precisely that the parental instinct is "incomplete and not adequate" as a basis for justice.66 Apparently Chrysippus expressly treated of the matter in his book On J z t s t i ~ e . ~ ~

We may take it as certain that justice was derived from oikeiosis in the Stoa a t least from the time of Chrysippus. To translate the first impulse to self-preservation into a deliberate intention to promote justice, of course, requires the use of the will and reason. The Stoics spoke of the intervention of logos as a c r a f t ~ m a n . ~ ~ The first oikeiosis is transformed by reason into an oikeiosis kairetike.6B

Porphyry says that the "followers of Zeno" regard oikeiosis as the beginning of justice. Certainly Chrysippus seems to have done so, but the "followers of Zeno" could be a general term for Stoics and need not imply any real knowledge of whether Zeno himself thought along these lines. If the doctrine of oikeiosis grew up in the way we have suggested, in association with Zeno's liberation from the Cynics and indebtedness to Polemo, it would not originally have needed such wide ramifications. A feeling of endearment to oneself at different stages of one's life, and for one's family and friends might be adequate - and even more than adequate -for Zeno's purpose of providing the individual with a wider frame of reference and of associating human nature with Nature. Of course, as a man grows, his needs will change. Hence his consistent life must be determined in the light of the fact that men are not static beings, and that reason should more and more come to characterize them. However it is not the same to say ' that oikeiosis will be extended beyond the self and its immediate surroundings, and that oikeiosis, as it widens rationally, will entail any kind of affection, let alone sense of justice, towards the whole human race. The Cynics think constantly of freeing oneself from conventional ties and the bond of society; the doctrine of oikeiosis is an attempt to understand the empirically observable instincts for self- preservation and the love for one's parents, and to use them to support the theory of natural bonds as distinct from bonds of convention. The question is how far did Zeno himself extend the ramifications of oikeiosis. And this entails the further question, With whom does

5 6 Plut., De Amore P~olis 495 B (Cf. SdI. An. 962A). Cf. S. G. Pernbroke, in Problems in Stoicism (ed. A. A. Long, London 1971).

Plut., S R 1038B (SVF I1 724). 68 D.L. 7.86 (SVF I11 43). 6 s Kerferd, @.cat. 191; Hierocles, Col. 9.5-8; Anon. Camm. Col. 7.40.

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the wise man feel akin? In his Cynic days, in the days of his Re$ubEic, Zeno would probably have said "Only with the wise".@O But he was breaking with the Cynics and might have extended this. There is no answer in the sources. We simply do not know Zeno's attitude about the origin of a sense of justice towards those who are not to be counted among the wise. However, although Zeno's doctrine of oikeiosis may have been narrower than Chrysippus' (and possibly expansion took place even after Chrysippus), oikeiosis is necessary for Zeno, and it cannot therefore be only a doctrine in embryo in the founder of Stoicism.el The really fundamental principles of Stoicism cannot be stated without recourse to it.

Any Cynic could advocate a consistent life, for the description is purely formal. But one consistent life might be set against another, and Zeno's appeal to natural consistency prevents this, as well as showing exactly why virtue pays. The question could, of course, have been tackled in another way: Is there in fact more than one kind of consistelzt life?

The Stoic Concept of Detachment

' 0 See 0. Murray, Review of Baldry, Unity of Mankind, C.R. 80 (1966) 369. Rightly Kerferd, op.cit. 178, and S. G. Pembroke, o$.cit. 114-115 against

Brink, "Oixsloaq and Olxo~6qq: Theophrastus and Zeno on Nature and Moral Theory", Phromsis 1 (1956) 141ff. Brink rightly emphasizes the role of Polemo (against Pohlenz), but neglects the problem of Cynicism.

The picture-book Stoic wise man is devoid of passions, emotion- less, and unfeeling. In some respects this picture is accurate, but in a number of others it is an influential caricature. The key to the prablem is the Greek word apatheia (meaning "without path$"', which is a characteristic excellence of the sage. Hence we need to know what a pathos is; and that the Stoics tell us without much ambiguity. A pathos is a special kind of "disturbance" (Cic., de Fin. 3.35), or better "disease" which affects basic human impulses (SVF 1.213). It was defined by Zeno as an excessive impulse or an unnatural movement of the soul which is contrary to reason (SVF 2.205, 206), or as a violent fluttering of the soul (SVF 1.206). All such diseased impulses should be extirpated, and replaced by others that are totally subordinate and obedient to reason.

What this implies is not that the Stoic wise man has no emotions, but that all his emotions are rationally controlled. Whether or not Zeno actually used the technical term eupatheia for such rationally controlled emotions is unimportant. The doctrine that he taught and enshrined in the word apatheia is clear; and it does not depart substantially from a regular earlier use of the term. In

Reproduced from The Stoics, ed. John M. Rid (Berkeley, Calif., 1978), pp. 259-272. Reprinted by permission of the University of California Press.

The Stoic Concept ofDetachment 261

the Eudernian Ethics (1222A3) Aristotle observed that the man who is apathEs does not act in order to avoid pain or to secure pleasure. He certainly feels pains and pleasures, but his actions are not determined by them. In a related but slightly different section of the Physics (246B19-20) Aristotle observes that virtue either makes a man upathi%, that is, not sensitive to pain and pleasure at all (this seems to resemble the Cynic sense of the word), or else he becomes sensitive to them in the way that he ought to be, which is what the Stoics mean by apatheia.

Thus much by way of preliminaries: the Stoic wise man is a man of feeling, but his feelings do not control, or even influence, his decisions and his actions. In their terminology he is passionless (apathEs), but not without rational feelings. In fact Zeno was apparently even willing to say that when a man has learned wisdom, the scars of his earlier vicious and irrational emotions still remain in his soul. (Sen., de Ira 1.16.7 .= SVF 1.215).

The judgments of the wise man are in accordance with "right reason." Morally he does not make mistakes. We need not spend time, however, on the fact that he is therefore not carried away by anger or sexual lust. Most people would approve of his conduct on these matters. A standard criticism of his stance, however, offered in both ancient and modern times, is that he is harsh and severe: he has no pity, gives no pardon for offenses committed and is not "equitable" (for the equitable man is supposed to look for the remission of punishment due under the law). I should therefore like to consider two questions, one that goes beyond the concept of detachment, but is closely related to it, the other that is related to the particular question of pity and mercy. For the first question is the wide one of the general Stoic attitude to the value of an individual human life, and the second may show the Stoic theory to be more sophisticated and philosophically interesting thafi it has sometimes appeared.

At all stages of Stoicism a great deal of weight was put on the doctrine that men have a sense of "affection" or "endearment" for themselves and their own bodies. This sense of affection, originally

associated with the infant's instinct for self-preservation, may be expanded into some kind of feeling of "belonging" to a cosmic city, to its human and divine members, in the mature and unperverted adult. The universe is the dear city of Zeus, and we are citizens of it. According to Porphyry the Stoics held that the sense of justice can be defended as an extension of the feeling of affection for ourselves (De. Absf. 3.19 = SVF 1.197). And the Emppror Marcus Aurelius speaks of an affection for mankind (3.9).

The Stoics may have attempted to modify and improve on Plato in the Republic. Plato clearIy attempts to transfer the natural affection felt within a family for its own members into a love for the whole community. In Plato's state there is no jealousy, no envy among the governing group. All those of the same age regard one another as brothers and sisters. Aristotle was unimpressed: better a real cousin than a Platonic son. And it may be readily admitted that Plato might have found it easier to enlarge a sense of obligation to all one's coevals than to produce a strong feeling of personal love or devotion.

Even Plato limited his band of brothers to a small group, the Guardian class of his Republic. When the Stoic Zeno drew up a "Republic" of his own, he too imagined that all the wise can be citizens under an ideal constitution; no one but the wise can be a free man. We have only a little evidence about this for the early Stoics, but the attitude persisted and can be clearly recognized again at' the end of antiquity in Marcus Aurelius. M a t does Zeno's limita-

. tion of citizenship to the wise tell us? Almost certainly that only the wise have value, and that their value depends not on their mere existence as human beings but on their possession of wisdom. If the rest are "fools," it is easy to think of a fool as a worthless object.

Some comments of Marcus are of great interest here, for he tells us quite explicitly that what is of value in a man is what he calls his moral character (prohairesis). This moral character is in fact a purified reason; hence Marcus can tell us to value our own reason: "To reverence and value your own understanding (dianoia) will make you acceptable to yourself, harmonious with your fellows and in concord with the gods" (6.16.5, trans. Farquharson). Clearly reason is the source of value in the Stoic cosmos, for reason is uItimately identical with God. Accordingly, Marcus tells us

VII

The Stoic Concept of Detachment 263

that each man is worth as much as what he is concerned with (7.3). The implication is clear: those whose character is preoccupied with right reason and virtue are of value; those whose tastes are lower can be graded accordingly. Some people are presumably worth nothing at all; and these should be treated accordingly: "Nature has made rational creatures for the sake of one another, to benefit one another according to desert but to harm no one" (9.1.1). Perhaps the latter clause looks like a safeguard for the "less valuable" members of the human race, particularly as Mar- cus has observed earlier that the man who commits injustice commits sin, but we should be careful of reading the text that way. For justice is clearly to be equated for the Stoics with the awarding to each man of what is appropriate to him.

We must suspend judgment for the time being about what might constitute not injuring someone, but the possibility certainly remains open that it is to be interpreted as not injuring them (i.e., administering punishment) more than is deserved, either in that it is not injuring their moral character or that it injures them in some other way for a valid reason. And for dessert we may quote a much earlier Stoic source, probably Chrysippus: 'Therefore the man without a share in virtue is said to be justly without honour" (SVF 3.563). There is a certain ambiguity in this passage, for the Greek word tim6 means both "honor" and "value," but the thought is basically clear enough, that those who are to be ac- corded no honor are clearly so treated because they are valueless,

Let it not be supposed that Marcus's attitude to value is determined by his social status. The ex-slave Epictetus preaches a similar theme: if a man does not realize that he cannot be made unfor- tunate by anyone but himself, he is "really" a carcass, a pint of blood and nothing more (1.9.34). Thus although he is called a man (in the broad sense), he is not really a man in the narrow sense of "real man" or "free man." Such language is not to be dismissed as metaphor or hyperbole. Men are indeed to be valued by what they make of themselves. Just as a good T.V. is good insofar as it does what a T.V. is designed to do, and otherwise is of no value, so men are valued insofar as they live up to what they ought to do.

There is no reason to think that Marcus and Epictetus differ substantively about value from the earlier members of the school. So

the problem remains: how can it be that the Stoics, while valuing human beings in proportion to their particular moral excellence, can still talk of the cosmic city and argue to a sense of affinity between the wise man and the human race as a whole? To examine this apparent paradox, Iet us consider the "benevolent" side of Sto- icism a little further. Even though the citizens of Zenofs ideal state are probably all wise men, the Stoic does feel obligated to extend his version of justice to cover the human race as a whole. He thus feels to a degree responsible for the whole, while at the same time only valuing the individual members insofar as they are virtuous.

From this situation arises the popular notion of the Stoic wise man as an unfeeling purveyor of impersonal justice, the agent of

I

reason in a vicious society. Yet our texts tell us not only that the Stoic feels the obligation of justice, but also that he is a social being (koinbnikos): there is a natural law of community according to Marcus (3.11, cf. 8.59); and Epictetus comments (oddly) that even Epicurus understands that we are naturally social (1.23.1). This "sociability" is to be associated with the "early stages" of

I oikeibsis, of the feeling of "endearment," that is, in particular, with concern for one's family and later with one's children-a virtue extolled by Epictetus and Marcus under the title of philostorgia. Yet along with their emphasis on philostorgia, these writers are inclined to point out that the wise man is not concerned over the loss of a child (Epict., 3.3.15; 3.8.2; 3.26.4, etc.). Mar- cus expressly points out both that the wise man is benevolent (philostorgos) and that he is the most devoid of passions contrary to reason (1.9.3). Hence we have to conclude that philostorgia

I neither confers nor recognizes value in its objects, nor does it think of its objects as unique or irreplaceable, nor does it demand any overwhelming emotional commitment in those who exhibit it. Pkilostorgia is more than a sense of duty, in that like all the Stoic states of right reason it has an emotional coloring, but the emotional detachment, the sense of community, is controlled by the knowledge that there is only one thing that one man can do for another which has any real value, namely, teaching, and only one feature of other people that has any value, namely their moral state; and that moral state depends and must depend only on the

I individuals themselves. But how do we know that it is not of irreplaceable value? Because its loss is a cause for contempt, not for

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sorrow. Do not allow your sympathy free rein, says Epictetus (3.24.8); and Marcus tersely comments on his fellows: "Men have been born for the sake of one another: either teach them or endure them" (8.59). For ultimately we are to understand our 'broad" and "narrow" sense of "man" as follows: (Epict., 4.5.20-21): "Neither the nose nor the eyes are sufficient to make a man, but he is a man who makes properly human judgments. Here is someone who does not listen to reason-he is an ass. Here is one whose sense of self-respect has become numbed: he is useless, a sheep, anything rather than a man."

Those who are unteachable have no value and need not be treated as human beings. Our philostorgia arises particularly for our children, because preeminently they are teachable, and it may presumably be extended so far as "people" are accessible to reason. But when they have passed beyond these limits, let us listen to Marcus again, this time on the Christians in the amphitheater: they perish not after reflection nor with dignity, and not without a histrionic display, but out of sheer stubbornness (11.3). Amphi- theatrical performances bore by their repetitiousness (6.46); Mar- cus does not suggest that the wretched victims deserved any better treatment (10.8.3). He has no notion of any inherent dignity of man. Only "free" men have dignity.

We see then the limits of Stoic concern for others and the basis for their belief that each "man" is able to make himself valuable if he wishes. (We may contrast this belief with another common thesis in antiquity, namely that value is conferred by society or by particular members of the society, such as the father in the case of a newborn infant). His "value" in this sense cannot be affected by anything he suffers, though if it is "genuine" it will be recognized as such by the wise, and so far as he remains teachable at all he is assumed to have recognized his own value to some degree. This being so, it is clearly encumbent on each man to be emotionally committed to one human being, or rather one human phenomenon alone, namely one's own moral character and moral dignity. The later Stoics resurrected the archaic noun aid6s with its adjective aidhmh to refer to this notion of moral innocence which the wise man cherishes in himself and honors in others.

Anything the Stoics have to say about a man's responsibilities to himself will forward our understanding of the detachment of the

wise man. And we may start by looking at a particularly striking passage of Epictetus which deals with the notion of self-love (1.19. 11 ff.). Epictetus begins by distinguishing man as animal and man as rational animal. Qua animal man does everything for himself directly; qua rational animal man does everything for himself, but in a different sense and indirectly. Zeus could not be called "Rain- bringer" unIess he brought rain; similarly man can achieve nohe of his own goods (that is his moral well-being or virtue) unless he contributes to the general good. Hence there is no necessary conflict between "higher" self-interest and benefiting other people and, as Epictetus points out, it is not "unsocial" to do everything in this special way for one's own sake. But this passage is particularly illuminating in that it helps us to understand why the wise man is not emotionally committed to those whom he serves. He is by nature only able to be committed to himself. When he works for others in the right way, he is merely appropriating (or attach- ing) the needs of others for his own "higher" needs.

We may conclude this section of the discussion as follows. Each man has one and only one object of value to be cherished, namely his own higher self. By a law of nature he is not able to love others as he loves himself. Only another individual can love himself, just as only I can love myself. There is only one canon by which the wise man is able to judge his own behavior: is it conducive to my, own virtue, or does it risk compromising the valuable self which it is my unique prerogative to preserve?

Some at least of the Stoics used to say that souk are parts or fragments of God (Epictetus, 1.14.6, 2.8.11, Marcus, 5.27, cf. D.L. 7.143). The term "fragments" suggests bits broken off and hence separate from one another; and this suggestion seems to convey Stoic doctrine very accurately. We are related to our fel- Iow men, but only rather remotely via the whole of which we are all fragments, not by direct connection. Our direct relationships with human beings are to be strictly subordinated to the making of our own isolated moral excellence. We are different fragments of the whole, and hence only able to "appropriate" others to ourselves, not treat them as ourselves. This latter notion is simply an impossibility in Stoic terms, for the only virtue or moral excellence one can command is one's own. The most the Stoic wise men can feel for one another is mutual respect for virtue achieved. Marcus

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remarks (6.30. I), "Respect the gods, save mankind." The gods are to be respected as perfect; mankind is to be helped (so far as virtue allows) as imperfect. The ethical theory depends on the metaphysical claim that ultimately concern for one's own virtue is the only way in which we rational fragments can attain a state of harmony with external nature and with God. If everyone attained such harmony, everyone would be happy. If they do not, and they will not, what is that to us? If others do not create themselves as valuable, why should I regard them as possessors of value?

There is a single passage of Marcus which to some commentators seems to offer a less arid thesis.' Here (7.13) Marcus compares the relation between individuals in the world not merely to parts of the universe, but to that subsisting between the various parts of h e human body. In a way this is an appropriate variant for a Stoic, for the Stoics regarded the cosmos as a whole as a living organism. But Marcus's remarks in this section in fact shed no new light on Stoic theory. It is good to regard oneself as a ' l imb of the cosmos, for then you d l be able to love men "from the heart." You will rejoice in doing good not merely because you are per- Eonning a merely fitting act, but because you are, as it were, doing good to yourself. Now perhaps the biological relationship between the 'limbs" of the cosmos could be developed further in a less "arid direction. But that is not what Marcus does, His move is rather to suggest that doing good will be more pleasing if done "as though benefiting yourself." For that, by implication, is what you can really appreciate-if you do it "the Stoic way."

We have now considered the wider context in which the Stoic notion of detachment must be placed. That completed, we can turn back to the more specific problem of justice. As we have already observed, at least some of the Stoics attempted to derive justice from their notion of attachment to the self. Whether they were successful in this or not, there is no doubt that justice is a concern of the wise man, and that he alone is just. How does the Stoic account of the role of the emotions and of the sources of value of human beings relate to the virtue of justice? We shall probably be

able to shed a certain amount of light on these questions if we consider in some detail the relationship between justice, pity, and mercy. Let us begin with the definition of justice, which, as will appear, will quickly bring us back to questions of value.

Justice is regularly defined as a science distributive of dessert (or of what is deserved) to each man (SVF 3.262.27; 263.8, etc.). Now clearly the wise man is perfectly just and will therefore "dis- tribute" the appropriate goods, rewards, and penalties perfectly. Hence, in the case of the wise man there will be no distinction (such as is made by Aristotle) between justice and equity (epieikeia). Indeed the Greek word, which in texts of Aristotle is translated as "equity," is denounced by the Stoics as the mark of a weak mind (along with indulgence and pity) which affects kindness instead of punishing (D.L. 7.123 = SVF 3.641). The Stoic sage, who for both Zeno and Chrysippus is responsible only to himself (D.L. 7.122), thus has no need of "equity," which is elsewhere defined as concerned with relaxing a man's deserts. The "equitable" man is thus seen as wishing to treat the guilty with less severity than is laid down by the laws (SVF 3.643 = Stab., Ecl. 2.7.95.24W). This doctrine is consistently condemned as harsh and unfeeling by ancient opponents of Stoicism, but properly understood it has more to be said for it than is sometimes supposed. The Stoic claim is that "equity" and pity, or indulgence, or pardoning, involve treating relevantly similarly circumstances in dissimilar ways, thus laying the wise man open to the charge of partiality or unfairness, or, in a word, of injustice.

Problems immediately arise. First of all the Stoic sage is rare, and it is only he who is certain to be able to formulate the perfectly correct law and thus to dispense with all considerations of equity. The dispensing with such considerations by non-sages would therefore seem to be vicious. But again, only the sage, it would seem, could know that a sentence that is appealed and provokes a call for mercy is in fact perfectly just. Nevertheless in practice any lawgiver who is not the Stoic sage must allow for the possibility of his own error and for those of others, thus leaving room for consideration of equity and of the possible effects of particular punishments on the guilty person's character. Yet to this the Stoic could reply that although these considerations may be valid, such an appeal is not strictIy on grounds of equity; it is merely a request

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that the possible fallibility of ordinary human beings be taken into account.

Furthermore, it is certainly the case that many so-called appeals for mercy are not really appeals for equitable treatment, as defined by Aristotle, at all. Often, as, for example, in the case of an appeal not to suffer the death penalty for stealing a sheep, they are con- cealed appeals against unjust laws, being in effect, appeals for a better system of social j~s t i ce .~ But if these cases are not genuine appeals for equity or even for mercy, are there any genuine appeals for mercy at all? It is probably correct that a genuine appeal for mercy is, as has recently been a r g ~ e d , ~ based on the view that mercy "reflects justice solely as a virtue of persons. It complements the justice of the institution of punishment." But, of course, it is exactly such a complementing that Aristotle thought of as "equity" and which is, by definition, unnecessary in the case of the Stoic wise man. If mercy is a genuine virtue, it would follow necessarily that there are cases where one ought to be merciful (Mercy is not mereIy a matter of benevolence; if it were, it might too easily be confused with partiality). And if there are such cases, it necessarily follows that the sentence that is being appealed ought not to be carried out strictly in this particular case. That being so, we can see why the Stoics might reject the notion of "equity" or of mercy so defined (and there seems to be another available variety) in the case of the wise man.

At this point the question of the value of the individual comes in again. If a man has acted viciously, and indeed to the degree that a man has acted viciously, he may be said to have become (for the Stoics) devalued. Hence an appeal to the sage for mercy could also be construed as an appeal to treat some better than they deserve, and would thus conflict with justice itself, as the Stoics define it.

There is a further problem as follows: the wise man, according to the Stoics, never treats anyone unjustly and never does harm to anyone even when he punishes him. Therefore it follows that, although justice involves the distribution of the appropriate penalties according to dessert, it cannot be defined merely as retributive. Although justice "pays b a c k what is due, it is not designed to injure but, if possible, to improve the moral character of the man punished. Hence when the wise man distributes his penalties, an appeal for mercy must either be dismissed as an inappropriate

appeal for a better system of justice, or it is a request that the wise man do less good to the culprit's moral character than is in his power to achieve. In Stoic terms it then becomes nothing more than an unjust request to act viciously.

It is thus readily understandable why there can be no legitimate appeal on grounds of mercy against the rulings of the wise man. For such an appeal must be either an appeal to his emotions contrary to his reason, or an appeal against his understanding of justice designed to prevent a man being treated as he deserves. Such appeals will naturally be rejected. But treatment of a man as he deserves requires a further comment. Modern humanitarian legislation restricts or forbids the use of "cruel and unusual" punishments, such as torture. Reasons for this restriction may be that such punishments contribute unacceptable treatment for any human being qua human being or, more sophisticatedly, that they corrupt and debase those who carry them out. We should note that the former of these arguments does not occur in Stoic sources. Torture was an accepted "way of life" in the ancient world-the only question was when it was appropriate-and from a Stoic point of view certain types of criminal offense would so debase the perpetrator and lower his value that there would be no theoretical defense possible on the grounds of human dignity.

So far we have considered mercy and the wise man and have' only noted in passing that there are very few wise men. Opponents of Stoicism in antiquity were quick to make this point too, being eager to observe that the Stoic attitude seemed oversevere and harsh. Seneca, as adviser to the Emperor Nero, is particularly aware of this charge in his treatise De Clementia, addressed to the emperor himself, a treatise in which he attempts to rehabilitate the term cfementia (Greek epieikeia, equity). Those interested in these matters, he says (2.5.2 ff .), dislike the Stoic school on the grounds of its excessive harshness, claiming that it is least likely to give good advice to princes and kings. Seneca's report of this objection may well be precise in that since absence of pity and absence of a desire to pardon are characteristics of the wise man, it is certain

that they were being held up as ideals and/or as guidelines even for those who were not wise in the Stoic sense. As it stands, says Seneca, this teaching seems obnoxious, since it makes no allow- ances for human weaknesses. In fact, he counters, the Stoic school

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is benevolenk and serves the public; it concerns itself not only with self-interest but with the interest of each and every man. Now we have already discussed the nature of that concern and need not spend further time on it here, but Seneca then proceeds to offer objections to pity (mkmicordia) which he distinguishes from "mercy" on the following grounds:

1. that it blunts and hampers the mind; 2. that it indicates too great a disturbance over the suffering of

others. The man who pities is like the man who bewails at the funeral of a stranger!

As for "pardoning," Seneca finds it too is objectionable in that it involves the remission of a deserved penalty, and is therefore unfair. But whatever might be supposed to be achieved by pardoning, he claims, is properly achieved by "mercy" which he then ana- lyzes in some detail. Now at this point Seneca makes a distinction which we have earlier found that the Stoics seemed to reject. Mercy {dementia) is appropriate to the wise man in that it is arrived at in accordance with the free choice of the wise man. He is not trammeled by the letter of the law, but acts according to what is fair and good, and in doing so is in accord with the strictest justice. In other words Seneca seems to have gone back to the Aristo- teIian distinction between justice and equity, and speaks of "mercy" as both fitting to the wise man and, of course, just. The implication of this seems to be that even the wise man cannot draw up laws in such a form that the most just solution will always be reached in any particular case-a point that the earlier Stoics, with their apparent emphasis on carrying out the law, seem to have played down. But although Seneca rehabilitates 'inercy," as distinct born pity and pardoning, as a just and rational activity, his actual thought is in essentials identical with traditional Stoicism insofar as in the case of the wise man his acts of mercy are perfectly just, and therefore ought to be perfbrmed.

The wise man, says Seneca (2.7.4) will remit punishment when the guilty man's character is not entirely corrupt or unsound. That sums the matter up well; only the wise man can (for a Stoic) show mercy in the good sense, a mercy that is genuine in that it is in accordance with justice, for he alone will understand the motiva-

tions and character of those whom he judges. Again mercy has nothing to do with the emotions; it is not an un-Stoic feeling of benevolence. It is strictly rational and depends on the dessert, visible only to the wise man, of the guilty party. It is not, therefore, to be impugned as the awarding of dissimilar treatment in relevantly similar cases, for although the acts might perhaps be for- maI1y similar, there is always room for a dissimilarity of intention.

Clementia (mercy) is not merely the Latin name for the suspect I (to Stoics) Greek concept epieikeia. It is a Roman virtue, and par-

ticularly from the time of Jdius Caesar, an imperial virtue. Both Augustus's Res Gestae (18) and Plutarch's Life of Caesar (57, cf. Dio 44.6.4) refer to the notorious "imperial" dementia under the name epieikeia. And Seneca, in praising dementia in a political context, has no option but to accept the term, un-Stoic though it may have originally been. But though he is obliged to accept the language, he is not obliged to accept much novelty of content. The "mercy" that Seneca preaches is not mere leniency, not good nature, partiality, pity, or political prudence. It is a genuinely Stoic virtue in that it is bestowed, for him, according to the judgment by the wise man of the worth (or its converse) of the recip- ien t .

But is there another respect in which Seneca's account of the "mercy" of the wise man is heretical Stoicism? Seneca, as we have seen, operates with what amounts to an Aristotelian distinction between justice and equity; and with it he brings the theory that perfect justice, that is justice as witnessed by individual cases, cannot be institutionalized. We may wonder whether this affects the theory of natural law, as it is held in Stoic philosophy. For that seems to suggest that there are at least a number of immutable rules of justice which cannot be varied or waived. At least one interpretation of such a position is that in these cases at least there are no extenuating circumstances if the agent consents to do what he does. Or, as Aristotle would have it, there are certain things that the good man simply will not do. All that is no doubt correct from a Stoic point of view, but it does not affect the issue of mercy in Seneca. When we are dealing with mercy we are dealing with circumstances in which an admittedly unjust act has been committed, and when the agent is therefore vicious, but when his intention or character are said to be deserving of something less than

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the most severe penalty. Of course, from the point of view of Sto- icism all acts of this kind are strictly vicious, but since some of them may have more or less "worth" from the standpoint of the possible moral improvement of the agent, these presumably are the cases where mercy should be shown. Since it is the function of the wise man to promote the rule of reason, he is obliged to encourage those who may still have the greater possibility of virtue in the future, or, in terms of value, those human beings who are not totally worthless. Again we are back to the value of the character of the agent. In proportion as such value remains, there is rational ground for mercy and such mercy is, even for orthodox Stoics, perfectly just. In these circumstances we see once again that mercy is not grounded on any value in "human nature" as such, but on a calm estimate of whether a particular seeming human being retains sufficient potential for moral excellence to be worth a less degree of severity than would be appropriate and desirable in the case of the wholly corrupt and unteachable. For the wise man it is necessary not only to weigh the axiom that relevantly similar acts be treated similarly but also to note that relevantly dissimilar characters should be treated dissimilarly. And, after all, in allowing a judge a certain discretion in sentencing, we pay a certain amount of tribute to this sort of principle.

Mercy then is a species of justice, but in defending that proposition Seneca would have no more time than any other Stoic for the dictum: "The heart has its reasons. . ." But Stoic justice is a de- tached evaluation of the value of the man judged and of his character, motives, and intentions rather than an assignment of rewards and penalties for specific acts committed. It is a moral rather than a legal virtue and depends on a set of moral theses about human nature. Within such moral theses the Stoic concept of detachment should be located, and we should not be surprised if these theses differ sharply from those of what may be vaguely labeled "liberal humanitarianism."

NOTES

1. E.g., C. J. de Vogel, "Personality in Greek and Christian Thought," Studies in Philosophy and the history of Philosophy 2 (Washington, 1963) 49.

2. Cf. Mrs. A. Smart, "Mercy," Philosophy 43 (1968) 345-349. 3. Claudia Card, "Mercy," Phil. Rev. 81 (1972) 195.

Are You a Stoic? The Case of Marcus Aurelius

I have chosen in what follows to raise the question of self- definition among the Stoics by way of a particular example. An examination of the thought of Marcus Aurelius will show that it is legitimate to ask whether he is a Stoic or not. No one would doubt that Zeno or Chrysippus, or even Epictetus, were Stoics, and, of course, they claimed to be. But Ariston, Zeno's pupil, probably also made such a claim, yet was regarded as heterodox in so far as he understated the importance of physics, and indeed held that ethics alone is the essential part of philosophy. It is important to observe that though never denounced as such as heretical, his unorthodoxy was noticed in the ancient world itself. But, one might say, Zeno himself seems to have found Ariston unsatisfactory, and such disapproval might well do to label a man 'un-Stoic'. But, after the founder, whose disapproval could secure . such an effect? Nor is the matter resolved by saying that Stoics functioned within Stoic schools: many Stoics had merely read their Stoicism or talked to Stoicizing individuals, and then claimed to be Stoics or desiderant Stoics. Marcus Aurelius is to be viewed as a test-case. If we can determine whether and why he is a Stoic, or how far he can be called a Stoic, perhaps we have made some progress towards understanding who was and who could claim to be a member of the school. Perhaps we can also see what happens when one's portion of Stoicism becomes minimal.

Marcus as Stoic Though, in company with other scholars, I have claimed him for the school,' Marcus Aurelius himself never claimed to be a Stoic. Since in the Meditations and (marginally) in letters he is writing for

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himself (or in the case of letters for one other familiar), telling hiinself about forty times to 'always remember', there is no reason why he should act as a propagandist or teacher, speaking of r technical details which he knows well. Of course, if, as has been suggested, he is indulging in a form of 'spiritual exerciserI2 the same argument would hold, but we should err if we accepted too formal a structure for the Meditations. Marcus's mention of the Stoics, as a group, helps us to understand where he stood: Things are somehow in such a mystery (egkalypsei) that not a few philosophers, and those no ordinary ones, thought that they are quite beyond our grasp (akatalvta). Even the Stoics find them hard to

I

grasp' (5.10). The reason for this is that every assent is liable to be in error, for where is there a man who is not liable to error? These words are not so much those of the professed Stoic, but of a man for whom Stoicism is the superior philosophy, but who also

, concedes much to the Sceptical opponents of that school. We notice at once Marcus's feelings of uncertainty in matters epistemological.

Many but not all of Marcus's teachers were Stoics;or admirers of Stoicism. Such were Sextus of Chaeroneia, the nephew of Plutarch,' from whom Marcus learned his basic orientation to the 'concept of living according to nature', Apollonius of Chalcedont5 from whom he learned inter alia to look to nothing but Reason, pain and personal loss notwithstanding, and to be 'always the same' (to aei homoion), and, advancing beyond the professoriate, Junius Rusticusr6 one time prefect of the City, twice decorated with the consulate. Rusticus advised him to keep off idle philosophical specuIation - good Roman advice - and gave him a chance to look at a copy of Epictetus's Discourses. To these we should add Maxirnus, perhaps Claudius Maxirnus,'like Rusticus and Severus (1.14) a 'Roman statesman with a leaning to Stoicism', one time proconsul of Africa, who showed an indomitable soul during severe illness. There was also a certain Ca tu lu~ .~ It was a group much influenced by Stoicism, but there were others: Severus (probably, as Farquharson saysIg Cn. C1. Severus Arabi- anus [cos. 146]), a Peripatetic who, however, introduced Marcus to the 'Stoic' heroes, Thrasea Paetus, Helvidius Priscus, Cato, Dion (of Syracuse) and Marcus Brutus,.and preached of a single state dispensing one Iaw for all and freedom of speech; also the PIatonist Alexander (of Cilician Seleutia?) who, however, only taught him not to use 'business engagements' as a device for evading personal obligations (1.12). There was also Fronto.

24

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Marcus tells us he first acquired the concept of life according to Nature from Sextus of Chaeroneia. It was an ideal preached, of course, by the Stoics, and in varying forms advocated by others too. Zeno first acquired the ideal from Polemon of the Old Academy,'' we are told, and Marcus (in 5.10.2) maintained it as one of the two pillars of the good life. One should be comforted with two thoughts, that nothing can befall a man that is not 'according to the nature of the cosmos' and that I can be compelled to do nothing contrary to 'my god and daimon'.

What is the content of a life according to Nature? First some caveats. Pain is not 'unnatural', and hence not evil. If a man suffers, it is of no significance provided he does a 'man's work' (fa tou anthrdpou, 6.33). Apparent evils, the lion's jaws, or pains, are side-effects of what is good. Here indeed is the classic Stoic theory;" they are consequences (kat' epakolouthZsin) of the common ruling principle of the cosmos. The marvel is not that there are such things in the world, but that there are so few of them! Evil in the world is like sawdust in a carpenter's shop (8.50). The idea itself goes back at least to some remarks of Chrysippus, in his book On Providence,12 though Marcus's immediate source or sources are unknown. It is interesting, however, to note that Marcus does not quote Chrysippus's text exactly: Chrysippus wrote kata parakolouthZsin; Marcus has kat' epakolou~h2sin. But he also mentions that he has no time to read these days; perhaps his memory was inexact.

Life according to Nature, then, is doing a man's job, regardless of any accompanying pain or discomfort. It is the shortest and 'soundest' path, which not only saves trouble in the long run, but leads us immediately to the avoidance of 'mental reservations' (oikonomia), affectation (4.51) and other such forms of speech - which indeed are signposts of the perverse. As is appropriate for an Emperor, Marcus is peculiarly conscious of freedom of speech and the need to avoid dissimulation; together with this goes the exhortation not to 'swing the dog', or, as he puts it 'play the Caesar' (6.30; cf. 1 .l7.3). Such forms of dishonesty, says Marcus, he had learned from Fronto to reject: the envy, deviousness (poikilia) and dissimulation that are characteristic of the tyrant (1.11). Freedom of speech (pavCsia, 1.6) a virtue both Roman and Cynic, is both sign and itself part of the constant life, the being always the same, the living according to nature. Listening to flattery is therefore hateful - and dangerous (1.16.3; 6.26,30). Flattery destroys one's natural modesty (1.2; 6.16; 8.5; 10.13;

Are You a Stoic? The Case of Marcus Aurelius 11.1.2), a quality praised by Epictetus, as well as one's good faith (pisfis; 3.11.2; 10.13); or indeed one's mental honesty.

It is not only the vanity of the tyrant that Marcus fears; other, perhaps more ordinary, vices threaten the 'lack of passion' (apafh- eia, 11.l8.lO) which is his ideal, and which, he is convinced, brings him the strength a man needs. Anger, in particular, is not only damaging to one's honesty, but to one's manl lines^,'^ though Marcus claims to agree with Theophrastus that it is less heinous than lust (2.10)' by which latter vice he is in fact much less troubled. But he is particularly concerned that the good man should not even be angry at the injustice, vice and toadying he sees, as Seneca saw, all around him.

Sexual excesses Marcus thinks he has overcome. He began his sexuaI career late (1.17.2), he tells us gratefully; he 'did not touch bnedicta and Theodotus', and even when involved in sexual relationships, was later cured of such passion (1.17.6). Early on too he had learned to avoid the fervour for Blues or Greens at the races (1.5); (he found the monotony of the amphitheatre like the monotony of life as a whole [6.46]) and to avoid superstition (1.6; 1.16.3). But if, on Marcus's conscious view, such moral victories were easy, subtler temptations remained, in particular - and importantly - the avoidance of 'showy' virtue, a vice at which some at least of the so-called Cynics and Stoics excelled, at least in the opinion of the historian Tacitus,'" and of Epictetus.

The good man should not strike tragic poses in misfortune (3.7): neither tragic actor nor whore, Marcus comments laconically (5.28), presumabIy telling himself not to behave like such, though the phrase has understandably puzzled the commentators. Play- ing the tragic hero is unimpressive to other people (11.3), and in matters of life and death such play is associated in Marcus's mind with mere contrariness, opposition for opposition's sake to the divine and rational order of the world.15 But Marcus's remarks on tragic acting - a possible vice of Philip of Macedon, Alexander and Demetrius of Phaleron (9.29) - are merely a prelude to an attack on what he feels to be the more serious problem. Posing in every form is objectionable, but it is worth noting how peculiarly undesirable is posing as a 'moral athlete', as again some of the Cynics had done (1.7). Similar remarks are made by Epictetus. Such posing is a more sophisticated foxmi of the crude lust for fame, but 'the acclamation of the multitude is just a clamour of tongues. Then you've let poor little fame go too. What is left that is worth while? To act according to our own individual constitu-

tion' (6.16.2) - a phrase which reminds us that the goal of life according to some of the 'more recent' Stoics, as Clement of Alexandria tells us, was to live 'according to the constitution of man'.16 Needless to say, if fame as statesman or moral athlete is unimportant (though Marcus recognizes the heroic status of Thrasea, Helvidius, Cato and Socrates, as we have seen), vain learning is equally to be rejected. Marcus gives thanks that he progressed only a little way in rhetoric or poetry (1.17.4) he might have become preoccupied with them - and Rusticus in particular happily dissuaded him from speculative composition (1.7). But the temptation remained: cast away your thirst for books, he tells himself rather pathetically (2.3). They are temptations to be bracketed with those of the flesh (Mn sarkicin, 2.2).

At the end of it all suicide is available. Epictetus is quoted appropriately: if the smoke is too great, then leave the house (5.29; cf. 8.47; 10.8). If a man cannot live as Reason dictates, he should die (10.32; 3.1; cf. 10.22). But suicide, being apparently a matter of indifference, should not be undertaken, of course, frivolously or for show. A man should die with a good grace (amen&, 8.47; cf. 11.3), without clinging to a degrading form of existence;" when considering his own death he should take the words of Epimrus seriously: it is not pain, but moral risk that should be feared, that provides 'too much smoke'. 'What is unbearable destroys us, what is chronic can be endured' (7.33).18 Of course, pain should not be exacerbated by mere misgivings (7.64). Such material is traditional enough among practising Stoics.

Non-Stoic elements Why then did we observe above that Marcus never calls himself a Stoic? So far we have seen little to which a Stoic would not subscribe. But the history of Greek philosophy should alert us, I think, to at least one reality, namely, that there is a difference between truth and appearance, between knowledge and true opinion. And if we look below the surface of what Marcus says to the reasons why he says what he says, we find much that is unexpected. Consider the basic topics of traditional Stoic philosophy - logic, physics and ethics - or even the weaker version of this triad preached by Epictetus. In each area, as well as in psychology, which somehow falls into the wasteland between physics and ethics, we shall find Marcus at least toying with, and at most accepting, un-Stoic theses. To him it seems that in practice

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such theories are often as good as or better than those of the Stoa for buttressing the ethical code we have briefly discussed, at least in some of its practical implications.

Logic obviously need not detain us; technical work in the subject had long ceased among Stoics, and Marcus does not even indicate the acquaintance with its technicalities shown by Epic- tetus, who had his own reasons for setting the value of logic low, but who is, after all, our chief source of knowledge for Diodorus Cronus's Master Argument, and whose reading in the subject, and perhaps also his thinking, was extensive. But for all we know, Marcus is ignorant of such things; and he only mentions syllogisms disparagingly.19

Turn now to Marcus's brief remarks about causation. See things as they are, he likes to say; distinguish them into Matter, Cause (apparently efficient cause),20 and Objective (amphora = final cause).*l It looks U e a traditional analysis of causation, but the language is not technically Stoic: amphora does not occur in this sense in Von Arnim's collection of fragments of the Old Stoa and the detailed language of technical accounts of causation to be found there is absent in Marcus. Consider a further passage from Book 9: at 9.25 we find the almost unintelligible (and perhaps corrupt - should we read poi.?fikon?) phrase poiotzta tou aitiou," which may refer to a final or efficient cause; and a material cause is also mentioned. Marcus then continues with an orthodox use of the phrase to idibs poion, which here seems to mean 'individual object', as it does in at least one other text of the meditation^.'^ It is a curious mixture of technical Stoic terminology with vague analysis which could come from almost any source.

Marcus boasts not only of not taking much interest in meteoro- Iogical phenomena (1.17.8)) he tells himself to recall that the happy life depends on little or no knowledge of 'physicsf as of logic (7.67), perhaps, as Farquharson says, thinking of Socrates. At any rate Chrysippus thought differently, if, as appears to be the case, Marcus meant that your physics has nothing to do with ydur morals. In his Propositions of Physics, as reported by Plutarch, Chrysippus argues that there is no more suitable way of approaching the theory of good and evil, the virtues or happiness, than from the study of the 'universal nature and the dispensation of the universe'.24 But, it may be objected,'perhaps Marcus is only following the usual Stoic line of saying that physics is of no importance for its own sake. The matter cannot be explained away so easily, for on certain rather important issues Marcus

VIII


seems not to be concerned with the rightness of the Stoic view at all. Instead, he seems to take the rather Epicurean attitude that any explanation which enables him to say what he wants to say about ethics is adequate. But this really is un-Stoic, for orthodox Stoics hold that a proper ethics cannot in fact be based on Epicurean principles. In contrast to that, let us listen to Marcus on the basic structure of the universe: 'Either a well arranged cosmos or a confused medley (kykebn), but still a cosmos' (4.27)) i.e., the cosmos is either as desaibed by (among others) the Stoics or as by the atomists; 'either all things proceed as in one body from one intelligent source . . . or there are atoms and nothing other than a medley and a dispersion. Why are you concerned?' (9.39).

Another text (4.3.2) is even more illuminating: Remember the choice, says Marcus, either Providence or atoms. This is a reply to a sense of discontent. The only alternative to allowing that this world is providentially arranged is to follow the atomists. The argument seems strange; its form would apparently run as follows: if your discontent leads you to deny that you are doing well sub specie aeternitatis, you are denying Providence. If you deny Providence, you are an atomist. For all Chrysippus's dislike of atomism, that is not how he would have proceeded. Yet this passage of Marcus does not stand alone. What matters is that Providence must be upheld - or perhaps the world is intolerable. Stoicism might seem to tell him not so much how Providence is upheld, but that Providence is upheld. In 6.10 the matter is put more apocalyptically. If the world is a chance medley and has no unity or Providence, why should I wish to remain alive? Elsewhere (10.6.1) Marcus backs off from the sharpness of the disjunction: whether there are atoms or na.ture (i.e. Providence), let it be agreed that I am part of the whole, controlled by nature. That is what matters. The same point is reached at 11 .I8 by another route: 'If not atoms, then whole-controlling Nature. If Nature, then the lower exist for the sake of the higher, and these for each other' (this axiom is said to be the genesis of justice, 11.10).

Finally there is the most reassuring line of all (12.14): either Providence or chaos. But even if chaos, you have a guiding reason (noun &gemonikon); that is, even if the Epicureans are right and there is no Providence, you at least are safe. But normally Marcus is prepared to assume that since you have your guide, the Epicureans are wrong. In all this we must affirm that Stoic explanations of the ultimate nature of things are important only because they support the doctrine of Providence, and even

29


Providence itself may not matter provided the governing Reason can be maintained. And of that Marcus tells himself again and again he is certain, as we shall see. This is not an isolated passage, at least in the twelfth book; that all that is needful can be salvaged whether we posit chance or Providence occurs again in ch. 24.

From the evidence just cited it is apparent that what matters to Marcus is the nature and capabilities of the Reason within us. Normally he is happy enough to go along with the view, common enough in later Stoicism, that in some sense reason is a fragment (apospasma) of God. We shall return to this question, and to the nature of reason in general, when we talk specifically about Marcus's psychology. For the moment let us consider some ideas he displays both in physics and in psychology. We should attend to his talk of effluences (aporroia). Everything flows 'from there1; this phrase, to be found in 2.3, is perhaps the most striking of these ideas. The antithesis of 'this world' and 'there1, as a way to express a generalized contrast between the life of the Divine Mind and the life of the 'flesh' or of the senses, seems to have only one strictly Stoic parallel: ekeithen (though without the notion of flowing) appears in E p i c t e t ~ s . ~ ~ (Farquharson has noted two instances of ekeithen in non-technical senses in Dio Chrys~stom.)'~ The idea of all things 'coming' from there is indeed also repeated by Marcus (6,36.2), though the 'flowing' is again absent.

So much for the derivation of the world as such: is 'All things flow from there' a development of the Heraclitean 'All things flow'? We shall discuss the relationship of Marcus to Heraclitus later. But if we restrict ourselves to the origin of the guiding reason in man (rather than the reason 'of all things'), the language of flowing - dare one say of emanation, or does that give the game away? - is much more frequent. It is true, as we have seen, that Marcus is quite ready, at times, to speak of mind's being a fragment (apospasma) or part; but in accounting for the origin, the process of derivation of that part or fragment, the 'flowing', emanative language appears. Farquharson finds it paralleled in earlier sources only in the Book of Wisdom (7.25) and in Clement of Alexandria (Protr. 6.6.8).27 Marcus's language is not, however, a slip of the pen. He tells us that we are an effluence from the gods (2.4), that God is in touch with what has flowed 'from there1, from another place (12.26). The word aporroia, of course, goes back to Ernpedocles, (at least in the version aporrot), but Stoics earlier than Marcus did not avail themselves of it. We must assume that Marcus's language is deliberate and novel, unless, of course, it

30

derives (indirectly) from unattested themes of Posidonius and came to Marcus along with other dbbris about our daimdn from that and other sources. One of these other sources, asFarquharson perhaps indicated, not least for 12.2, may be Plato (Republic485D).

The material we have just examined leads us on to the general psychology to be found in the Meditations. Note first that Marcus operates with a division of the human being into body (or flesh), pneuma and guiding rea~on,'~for which, it seems, parallels can be found in the pneumatic tradition of medicine, admittedly a tradition influenced by Stoic, though not exclusively Stoic thought. An alternative triad is body, sou1 and reason (3.16). It is again possible that Posidonius, who certainly introduced Platonic doctrines of the tripartition of the soul into Stoicism, is ultimately responsible for these ideas; we are on surer ground, however, when we come to the nature of the reason itself, which Posidonius certainly viewed as the indiiridual's true self, or daimdn, that is, as the most important part of his total being. On the evidence of Galen this is indi~putable.~' Seneca, undoubtedly influenced by Posidonius, follows the idea up, unaware of how dangerous it is to traditiondStoicism. Epictetusismore circumspect, but Marcus, whether or not he read Posidonius," certainly followed the Posidonian line. Evidence for his beiief that a guiding reason (h2gemonikon) is a distinct part of the total human being is unmistakable and abundant. But so, we should also notice, is evidence that he was also prepared to speak more directly in the ,

fashion of Epictetus (and later of certain Platonists) of a moral personality (p~oairesis)~' rather than as a physically separable part! As elsewhere theses jostle at the appropriate moments; perhaps the basic philosophical problem with Marcus is that he does not know whether he wants to tafk of the daimdn in terms of 'mind' or of 'personality', or of both at the same time.

At any rate, in considering this question we should particularly notice how common the theme of the daimdn is; it is clearly fundamental in Marcus's mind. Here is the evidence: 2.13. It is sufficient for a man to be in company with the daimdn

within him alone, and genuinely to serve it. 2.17. Philosophy consists in keeping one's daimdn within

u n d a t e d . 3.3.2. The ruling principle is mind and a daimdn; that which it

serves (the body) is earth and corruption. 31

VIII


Don't be distracted from watching over your own ruling principle. Let the god in you be lord over a living creature, male, statesmanlike, and Roman. . . Nothing appears better than the daimdn installed (enidry- menou) within you, which here acts like a conscience taming one's impulses and scrutinizing the images the senses provide. The man who puts his intelligence and his daimon first does not adopt the tragic pose. A fascinating section: Bodily senses are available for cattle; impulses, for beasts, homosexuals and tyrants (specifically Phalaris and Nero). Even those who disbelieve in the gods, desert their country and ull out all the stops l' behind closed doors (Chri~tians?~ Epicureans?) have intelligence as guide. The good man, however, can keep the daimdn seated within his heart pure and unmuddled by sense-impressions. It is in my power to do nothing contrary to my god and daindn. No one can compel me to disobey him. The man lives with the gods who does what his daimdn wishes, the daimdn which Zeus has given each of us as a commander and leader (hegemona), a fragment of himself. This is each man's intelligence and reason (logos). Intelligence alone is strictly (kyrids) your own. Live at peace with your own daimdn. Each man's intelligence is god and has flowed 'from there'.

After all this we can have no doubt of Marcus's position. Nous is a daimdn within us; it is sometimes indeed a god (perhaps this merely means it is divine); certainly it is a fragment of the divine. Bonhoeffer even suggested3 that Marcus proposed that it is not composed of the four basic elements, and certainly 4.4 seems to imply that. But this need not imply that it is immaterial.34 It only means, as Marcus says, that being intelligent it comes from what is intelligent, presumably, that is, intelligent stuff. But however far this account of the physical composition of mind is from traditional Stoicism, or even from the view of Posidonius, it is chiefly of interest to us in so far as it shows Marcus prepared to offer a physical explanation of his separation of the Reason from the psychosomatic ego of Chrysippus.

32

It should be noticed that however non-Stoic, indeed 'Platoni- zing', this account of the daimdn may be, Marcus does not follow the Platonists in believing that the soul (or any part of it) is immortal, or even i~nrnaterial.~~ In one striking passage, he puzzles as to how the noble dead can be extinguished, but contents himself with the view that if they are, and it seems that they are, this must be for the best (12.5). Elsewhere, though he expresses himself able to face either extinction, or reassimilation to the logos spumafikos of the Universe (6.24), or removal to another place (4.21; 8.35, 58; 11.3; 12.31), he seems to incline towards extinction ( ~ . 5 ) ~ ~ - the view of Panaetius. 'So you will be nowhere, like Hadrian and Augustus.' But a limited period of survival, as early Stoics taught, is certainly canvassed (4.21; 3.3); and in at least one passage, the choices are related to the ambiv- alence between Epicurean and Stoic cosmic theory we observed earlier; if atoms, dispersion; if a unity (hendsis, 7.32; cf, 7.50), either extinction or change of state. In all this, as we have seen, a definite view is not to be discerned, Marcus seems almost to be telling himself that the matter is unimportant. Whatever answer we give the question about survival, we need not be unhappy about it. Again, our daimdn need not be disturbed: it is safe and well looked after. It must be admitted that although this attitude sounds Socratic, or at least like some of the remarks of Socrates in the Apdogy, and even perhaps often Stoic in its conchsions and perhaps even its theories, the obvious anxiety which Marcus displays indicates that his mind needs constant reassurance, that the Stoic calm needs to be indicated, that he is a 'Learnef (prokopt8n) rather than a sage, But for all that, it is worth noting that his insecurity does not tempt him to toy with Platonic notions or the survival of the soul, a fact perhaps to be put down to lack of confidence rather than to Stoic design or dogma.

It has frequently been observed that Marcus's account of the him& is probably influenced by Roman ideas of the geniu~;~' I have no wish to deny that. Indeed, it may help to explain his un- Platonic attitude towards the survival of the soul. For if Marcus's manner of thinking of the guiding reason is traditionally Roman rather than purely philosophical in its motivation, it is more intelligible that he did not proceed further down Plato's path - a fact, as we have seen, which is otherwise perhaps only to be explained in terms of an analysis of the quirks of Marcus's individual psyche, as was proposed by D ~ d d s , ~ ' who speaks of his crisis of identity, and by Bower~ock,~~ who speaks of his

VIII VIII 1 !

Are You a Stoic? The Case 4 Marcus Aurelius

hypochondria, or more exotically (not to say comically) by Thomas W. Africa, who in an imprecisely worked out comparison of Marcus with Coleridge and Thomas de Quincey tells us with fine rhetoric and little evidence that 'A wall of narcotics insulated the Emperor from family disorders and all but public calamaties', thoughit is hard tosee why it should have stopped soconveniently s h ~ r t . ~ Although we can, perhaps with a tinge of malevolent regret, leave Marcus the junkie on one side, we shall have to return to the remarks of Dodds at a later stage. As yet we are still not in the position to answer the question which seems to underlie Dodds's comments: Are Marcus's so frequent variations on or deviations from Stoicism due to a collapse of School Stoicism as a significantly identifiable intellectual institution, or are they merely functions of his individual preoccupations and neuroses?

Perhaps the path ahead from here may seem a little obscure; but let us look at what Marcus gives thanks for receiving from his father and the memory of him: modesty (to aidman) and maleness (amenikon, 1.2). The first of these ideas is familiar, frequent in Marcus and more so in Epictetus; the second also occurs in Epictetus, but is perhaps more visible in Marcus, and is interestingly juxtaposed with the call to be a Roman. Every hour, he says, think steadfastly, like a Roman and a male (2.5). He continues by saying that we should perform each act of our life as though it were our last (2.5,Il; 4.17). In these reflections should we think of the genius again? Consider a passage we have already mentioned where the two ideas are linked (3.5): 'Let the god in you be the leader of a male creature, an old man concerned with affairs of state, a Roman who has taken up his post as ruler. . .'

Certainly Marcus has the virtues of the old Romans in mind when he thanks the gods he did not advance too far in rhetoric and poetry (1.7; 1.17.4). But the emphasis on maleness: is that part of the old way? Certainly we see parallels in Epictetus and others; but the emphasis is more noticeable in Marcus. It does seem as though we have a personal note: Marcus notes with gratitude the amount of time spent with his mother in her last years (1.17.6), as well as the fact we noted that his time with his grandfather's concubine was cut short (1.17.2), apparently before he could enjoy her ('I preserved the flower of youth'); he then observes gratefully that his sexual life began late, that he did not touch Benedicta or Theodotus, and, as we again noted, that he was apparently cured of sexual desires without too much difficulty. Yet although cured of them, and despite his own repeated

34

self-exhortation against feeling anger, he concurred with the view of Theophrastus that lust, infer alia because it is more female in its mode of sinning, is more vicious than anger (thereby offending against the Stoic canon of the equality of sins, 2.10); and he has a particular (Roman?) contempt for passive homosexuals (kinaidos, 5.10.1) -in 6.34 they are compared with brigands, parricides and tyrants. Is it that they are paradigmatically lacking in maleness? We note too that he congratulates his 'father' Antoninus Pius Tor restraining pederasty (1.16.1; cf. 3.2.2).

As Brunt has well ~bserved,~' Marcus's warnings to himself in these matters are far less frequent than those concerned with the restraint of anger or with truth-telling; but the small number of references may be less important than the quality of what is said. Marcus is very concerned to act like a male and a Roman; and he associates such actions with the late Stoic aidos and, comparably with Epictetus, with the Roman fides. Fides, of course, includes truth-telling, which Brunt rightly remarks is a surprisingly frequent theme in the conscious part of Marcus's mind. In his youth Marcus was called Verissimus by Hadrian;42 his original name was M. Annius Verus. The most valuable part of a man, he says, is the seat of pistis and aidos (so far as in Epictetus), truth, law, and finally a good daimfin (10.13; cf. 7.17). In this concept of the good daimtin we see summed up the qualities Marcus so wishes for himself: they are a blend of traditionally Stoic ideals with Marcus's version of the ideals of Romanitas. This is a personal vision, and Romanness and maleness go together in it. It springs perhaps rather from a sense of inadequacy in these areas and a fear of himself. To such fears we shall shortly return.

Marcus is uncertain about the fate of the soul after death, perhaps also more uncertain about his success as a Roman and a male. He is beginning to look dtracink; and Dodds's remarks about a sense of identity begin to sound more plausible. Earlier we saw an uncertainty too about the basic principles of Stoic physics and a clinging at least to the un-Stoic account of the dairnh and its providential situation. We have seen too traces of a language of emanation which suggest a certain absence of Stoic bearings. Let us now look at Marcus's account of the origins of human knowledge to see whether and how far this sense of uncertainty is explicable in terms of philosophical history.

Like Epictetus, Marcus is concerned with the proper evaluation of the appearances (phantasiai) that come to us through the senses, though there is lacking in his writings the Stoic text-book elabora-

35

VIIT VIII


tion of a doctrine of chrEsis phntasi6n. Despite this, his starting- point is clear: sense impressions are unreliable and we must struggle to avoid being led along by them holus bolus (5.36). Sometimes indeed they must be effaced (8.29); always we must take them literally: you hear that a man speaks ill of you. Very well, but you do not hear that this does you any harm (8.49). We must stick to 'first impressions'; what is to be avoided is the overvaluation of suppositions (hypolZpsis, 2.15). Everything is supposition, says Marcus un-Stoically, thus hyperbolically sub- stituting scepticism for Stoicism at a basic level. But perhaps he should not be taken literally. Presumably he is only talking of what might be emotionally disturbing. He means that the opinion supervening on the sense-impression should be recognized as such; it is not the original impression that is harmful. If the supposition is gone, the harm is gone (4.7; 12.22,26). That sounds more Stoic; we are dealing, after all, with mistaken judgments. Troubles, as Marcus says, begin with suppositions (9.13), or, as he puts it more properly elsewhere (9.32), unnecessary troubles. So it seems all right; it really is Stoic. But a doubt remains, and Marcus's comments on the nature of physical objects in themselves confirm that doubt. The talk of all (literally all) being supposition is not to be dismissed as hyperbole. To understand this we must consider the influence of the philosopher Heraclitus.

A. A. Long has recently complained that a number of modern scholars have neglected or denied the influence of Heraclitus on the Stoics from the earliest days of the school;" he wishes to return to a version of an earlierview," which would see Heraclitus as a major source, alongside more nearly contemporary authorities, at least on Cleanthes. It is not my intention to examine his arguments here: suffice it to say that I believe them to exaggerate. Long does, however, draw attention to the established fact that Marcus Aurelius is indebted to Heraclitus, though he fails to note that what Marcus draws from Heraclitus is very different from what is at least arguably drawn by Cleanthes, indeed that Marcus derives ideas and more generally a 'feeling' of the cosmos which seem to lead him away from traditibnal Stoicism.

Let us look at some texts. As examples of great men (in contrast to the pseudo-greats like Alexander, Caesar and Pompey) Marcus cites (predictably) Diogenes and Socrates, but also Heraclitus (8.3), some of whose obscurities he quotes (4.46). Elsewhere Heraclitus accompanies Socrates and Pythagoras (6.47). But, as Long observed, the influence runs deeper: Marcus frequently

36

uses the river-image to indicate the universal flux, and frequently alludes to the cycle of up and down. But the emphasis on flux is almost the ultra-Heracliteanisrn of Cratylus, the Heracliteanism which may lead to an ultimate scepticism:" all things of the body are a river, things of the soul are dream and mist (2.17); time (ai6n) is like a river (4.43); all substance is like a river in ceaseless flow. We come from the infinity of the past and all things pass into the 'chasm of the future' where they disappear (5.23).46 And strikingly in 6.15, 'In this river of time which of these things that pass should one value? It is like loving a sparrow that flies away and is gone.' What these texts do is confirm a view we shall find very frequently in Marcus, that man is a dot, a pinpoint in everlasting time and space. It cannot be pointed out too strongly that this is an inappropriate attitude for a Stoic; it leads one to doubt the importance of human behaviour, any human behaviour, even moral behaviour, And Marcus draws from Heraclitus certain ideas with which he has to struggle: the insignificance and utter worthlessness of man, disgust at what happens in the world, disgust at himself. This sense of disgust, which we shall document, is fuelled by emphasis on a Heraclitean flux. Marcus does not draw comfort from the Heraclitean doctrine of the Logos, rather anxiety from the Heraclitean account of physical objects.

Texts in which Marcus emphasizes the passage of time, the fading of past glories, are frequent. One example will suffice:

Think of the times of Vespasian and you will see it all; people marrying, rearingchildren, getting sick, dying, fighting, having festivals, trading, farming, flattering, boasting, suspecting, plotting, praying for others' deaths, complaining at their lot, loving, treasuring, lusting for a consulship and a kingdom. That life they led no longer exists. Go over to Trajan's times and it is the same story. That life too is dead (4.32).47

And as for posthumous fame, it is all empty (kenon, 4.33). The last point leads us on: it is not just that time quickly buries all; it also reduces it sub specie to triviality. It is like a stage-play (10.27). Sometimes even morally repulsive behaviour is bracketed together with a natural disaster and past excellence. 4.48 is striking; consider how many doctors are dead after pondering the fate of their patients, how many astrologers after predicting other people's deaths, how many philosophers after discussing death and immortality, how many leaders after killing many, how many tyrants after exercising their powers of life and death with dreadful insolence (meta deinou phyagmatos). Here the un-Stoic tendency to let time devour even the distinction between good and evil


reaches the surface. Someties, it is true, a 'moral' from the passage of time is drawn: 'Soon you will be ashes and a skeleton, and a name, or not even a name . . . But what we value most in life is vain and rotten and small, and we are like puppies snapping at one another and querulous children, now laughing, now crying. But faith and modesty and justice and truth. . .'. The words 'have fled the earth' are omitted (5.33). Or again, 'You will soon be dead, and are you yet not simple, not undisturbed, not unsuspi- cious of being injured from outside, not gracious to all . . .? (4.37). Or, finally (7.3), 'Empty love of pageants, stage-plays, flocks, herds, bones thrown to lap-dogs, a crumb thrown to fish, . . . scurrying of scared little mice, puppets on strings. Take your place graciously among them . . . but everyone is worth what they are keen on.' Marcus feels contempt for the world, but dredges out a moral by telling himself to take it calmly. But life is brief and therefore indifferent; the passage of time is morally deadening, it trivializes all.48 It is important to recognize not just that Marcus's view of time is the product of pessimism, but that he locates reflections on the significance of the passage of time in a moral context: for Chrysippus time is a problem in physics, and the status of time as an incorporeal does not endow it with the sense of illusion. It neither makes the world unreal nor its passing events necessarily trivial. Now as Goldschmidt has beautifully shown, Marcus's theoretical account of time, in so far as it can be recovered, is Stoic, indeed Chrysippean, but his use of the material is his own. And we are left with the impression that it is the use of the theory, not its details, which matters. Goldschmidt, if I understand him aright, wants to argue that M a m s thinks like a Stoic, that he is in possession of a Stoic methodology, whatever differences he may show from Stoic 'dogma'. But my own analysis of Marcus's theory of time is that he may repeat certain Chrysip- pean ideas, but that if we talk of methodology, his way of thinking is not Stoic.

If Marcus's account of time suggests the unreality of things, even at times of all things, not merely the things of the senses which are, or are said to be, a dream and a delusion,49 the same is also true of his view of space: Asia and Europe are corners of the universe, all the ocean is a drop in the universe. . . all the present (to enesfos) - Chrysippus's technical term- a pinpoint in eternity." AS we confront endless time and boundless space, let us think again of the Caesars. Where are they now? Nowhere, or no one knows where (10.31). Look then on human things as smoke and

38

nothing. It is indeed a Heraclitean vision, but often without any Stoic version of Heraclitean logos, the Heracliteanism, it seems probable, of one period of the Sceptic Aenesidemus. But even this is more Stoic than Marcus's frequent alternative: the world around, he says, is a tedious and disgusting place: 'Say at daybreak, I shall meet the busybody, the thankless, the thug, the treacherous, the envious, the antisocial. These people don't know the difference between good and evil.I5' One's flesh is to be dispersed: gore and bones and nerves and veins and arteries. 'Everything around is decomposing or dispersing; look at it and see' (10.18). It is Heraclitus's world seen from the viewpoint of a highly sensitized individual who has learned hardly to endure himself. At the beginning of Book Eight Marcus observes that he has failed to live as a philosopher, that his life is in chaos, that neither logic nor wealth nor fame nor enjoyment nor anything else but a realization of the nature of good and evil can help him. It is thisvestigialStoicism, this senseof a moral reality somewhere, somehow that alone has survived the flux (8.1.1; cf. 10.8). But it is difficult; look again at the character of those around: it is difficult to tolerate the most sophisticated of them, indeed it is hard to endure oneself (5.10). The influence of Heraclitus as sceptic is visible, and the disgust and sense of illusion rule out any Platonic transfiguration. Marcus c h g s to the Providence of the world, the primacy of the Reason, the sense of the difference between good and evil; and that is almost all: driftwood in the river of time.

But in the immensity of time and space a new version of a traditionally Stoic theme sometimes gives comfort. Although the practising politician is wasting his time if he is hoping for Plato's '

Ideal State, and should be happy if he achieves even a very small success (9.29), the wise man is a member of the Dear City of Zeus (4.23; cf. 10.15; 2-16), the cosmos itself. It is precisely citizenship which is emphasized, with its rights and responsibilities, citizenship in the highest state of which existing societies are mere households (3.11.2). This is not, of course, the negative cosmopolitanism of the early Cynics, the belonging to no particular city; it is a positive belief in the universe itself as a city, with that peculiar feature of a Greek city which Marcus chooses to emphasize, its posssession of law."Marcusinsists that the terms 'rational' (logikon) and 'civic' @litikon) are identified (10.2). God himself, therefore, is the ideal statesman, and it follows that the Emperor in particular is following in God's steps, as Marcus so often exhorts himself to do.

VIII VIII

Are You a Stoic? The Case 4 Marcus Aurelius

Marcus seems almost to attempt a deduction of the cosmic city with its legal structure: if we are rational, then we share in a common rationality (logos). If a common rationality, then a common law to enjoin what ought to be done and what ought not. If I

we have a common law, then we are fellow citizens; if that is the case, the universe is a sort of state (h6sanei polis). Once we can see that this is so, we can understand where our intelligent, rational and legal characteristics come from: they come 'from there' (ekeithen), from the cosmos itself (4.4). And again, 'My nature is rational and social (politik?); my city and my country qua Antoni- nus is Rome, qua human being it is the cosmos' (6.44; cf. 7.9). At 1

times, then, the cosmic city provides a place to which Marcus can emotionaly belong. If man is citizen of the universe, and if he honours the rational principle within himself, he must not feel a stranger (xenos) in his own country (12.1.2; cf. 4.29); as we would put it, he need not feel alienated.

It is certainly with reference to the search for somewhere to belong, for a place in the whole world, that Marcus introduces two other related Stoic themes: the 'sympathy' of the parts of the cosmos for one another,53 and the age-old t o p s of part and whole. If I am a part (or did Marcus actually write 'limV9) of the cosmos, and remember the fad, I will be content with what I receive from

I

the whole (10.6; cf. 2.9; 4.14). As for the bonds which culminate in what we call the doctrine of the bonds of 'sympathy', we can observe (as the old Stoics would have agreed) a more powerful unifying factor in bees and herds and birds and other eros-linked groups than in the 'sod-less' plants and sticks and stones.55 But among rational beings (men) there are higher bonds still: households, political societies, etc. And in the more than human, in the cosmos itself, among the stars, for example, even though they are separate, a kind of unity (hen6sis) exists. This bonding force, this 'sympathy' which rational creatures undoubtedly exhibit, helps us to feel at home. In all this we find Marcus using Stoic themes, types of sods, sympathy, the whole-and-part, the importance of oursruIing principle, to find a rest from the Heraclitean flux and the corroding scepticism it often brings him. Finally, once again, it is the belief in Providence and in our mind's identity with God to which all the rest is subordinated. Men are inclined to forget many matters of importance, but two of the list Marcus gives should be singled out (12.26); we forget that the community of man with man is not based on our common origin as a mixture of menstrual blood and semen (2.1, as Marcus traditionally under-

40

stands conception), but on our community of nous; and that this nous is divine and comes 'from there', from the lord of the cosmos. At death we shall be taken back into this logos spmafikos, this Seminal Reason of the world, by due process of change.56

When Marcus's spirits are raised, in such moments as this, his disgust at humanity lifts: we should not feel such disgust; on the contrary we should care for people and treat them gently (9.3). For we, as citizens of the cosmos, as fellow humans, are born for each other; and forbearance is a part of justice (4.3.2). One should not be angry at one's 'kinsmen'; they have not comprehended the nature and beauty of the good.57 Goodwill towards one's fellows is a peculiar characteristic available to men (8.26), and the word 'fellowship' (koindnia) is ever on Marcus's lips.5s It was for fellowship that we were born (5.16; 8.59; 11.18.1; 9.1.1), God's nous is social (koindnikos, 5.30). In the interest of such fellowship we should not only restrain our anger, but pity and forgive the wrongdoer (7.26). In the interest of fellowship we should even accept the (normally humiliating) idea of being helped: don't be ashamed of being helped, says Marcus, in a most unusual passage; you are a soldier on duty and you can't storm the ramparts unaided (7.7; cf. 10.12). Your duty is the duty of fellowship: 'save mankind' (Mze anthr@us, 6.301, those who share your common divine citizenship. The duty to do so is bracketed with 'respect the gods'. Nor must you dissemble benevolence; you must be b e n e v ~ l e n t . ~ It is the peculiar mark of a man to love even those who stumble (7.22) - yet here we should notice the rationale - 'because they are our kin, because they sin through ignorance and involuntarily; because you and they will soon be dead anyhow; but above all because no man has done you harm or damaged your d i n g principle'.

Coupled with helping our fellows, with the strictest regard for truth and justice (10.11; 3.16.2), goes following God (our source) (7.31; 12.311, which Marcus follows Seneca in advo~ating;~" and, as Brunt and others have observed, his actions as Emperor bear witness to his carrying out the traditional practices of Roman religion dev0tecUy,6~ even delfylng several of his predecessors while noting in the Meditafions that a number of the great divi of the past, Augustus, Vespasian, Hadrian, are mere dust and ashes. Yet his advice, 'Follow God' is sincere: for him it sums up the philosophical life, and it is to be accompanied by prayers to live in the right way:

Not 'Would that I might sleep with that woman!' but 'Would that I might not desire to sleep with her!' Not 'Would that I might be rid of that man!' but 'Would that I might not want to be rid of him!' Not Would that I might not lose my child!' but 'Would that I might not fear to lose my child!' (9.40).

All this is in the style of the religion of Epictetus. But a touch of Marcus's own: Reflect on the mysteries of conception and nutrition: they point to a directing force (10.26).

Lest we come to accept the idea of any full-blooded benevolence in Marcus, however, we should also recall a theme which does not spring from any sense of alienation or isolation, but is well rooted in the Stoic tradition. Benevolence has clearly defined Iimits in that it must not carry with it any kind of emotional disturbances to the giver. No one is responsible for the sins of his fellows; nor ultimately should he be concerned about them. Under no circumstances should he worry about them:

However much we were born for each other, our ruling principles are independent. Otherwise my neighbour's vice might be harmful to me. It was not Cod's will that my unhappiness should depend on anyone else (8.56; cf. 9.20).

Marcus significantly quotes Epictetus to show that we are not only to be free of anxiety about our neighbours' well-being; the call for emotional detachment from human life comes nearer home: when kissing your child, you must say, Perhaps tomorrow you will die. Nothing ill-omened about it, just a reference to natural processes (11 34). And of course, if we revert to the matter of ordinary kindnesses, their bestowal depends on the value of the recipient, not, as certain passages might have led us falsely to deduce, on his mere existence as a human being.

In all these ethical attitudes, despite Marcus's peculiarities in psychology, there is much Stoic dogma, but little Stoic argument. Marcus even observes that in so far as we all sin, or are liable to sin, we are all equally compt (11.18.4) - an orthodox Stoic view which we saw earlier he was prepared to modlfy under certain circumstances - and to add that'the only reason we do not sin with the worst of them is through cowardice, regard for our 'good name', or some other vicious pretext,


Marcus and late Stoicism

Is there any conclusion to be drawn about theconnection between certain features of Marcus's mind that we have already noticed (his insistence that physics and dialectic are not necessary for the good life (7.67), his tendency to feel isolated in the Heraclitean flux of time and the vastness of space, his disgust at the human race, includinghimself, and his attempts to ward off such feelings by thoughts of cosmic providence and the laws of the cosmic city? The conclusion seems to be this: Marcus knows or perhaps 'feels' Stoicism as a set of ethical beliefs or dogmas, the philosophical origins of which he has lost to such a degree - perhaps, as he says, through lack of time for study - that he is tempted even to think that an atomistic physics might prop them up equally well. Anything, it seems, may be pressed into service against the overriding threat of scepticism in philosophy and isolation in personal life, For Marcus, in modern terms, if we are to call him a Stoic, then Stoicism is not a philosophy, as it was for Zeno and Chrysippus, nor a psychology, as at times it seems to be for Seneca, but a religion or 'philosophy of life'; and it is a religion devoid of any significant scholastic underpinnings. As we know, there is no Greek word which will adequately translate our word 'religion': philosophia has to do as well as it can in this regard, but we should not be misled.

But if Stoicism is a rather unphilosophical religion for Marcus, and if Marcus is in any way typical of his age in that regard, we can see why it lost its influence in the world of late antiquity. There was no reason why Stoicism should have survived as a religion alone; its growth to world influence depended on its philosophical rigour and unwillingness to compromise the truth, combined with a belief that the truth must be investigated in great detail. Marcus has lost all interest in the details, and is left with the almost unsupported dogmas of Providence, the divine ruling principle which he treats untraditionally, and the necessity to cling to what is right and do it* Throughout the Medifafions we feel that spiritually Marcus is struggling to survive, at times almost gasping for breath. The Stoic doctrines which he uses to help himself along never remove the fear of the surrounding depths. All he can do in these circumstances is adopt a stiff upper lip and evoke the old atomist's call for courage (euthymia, 4.24), to which Seneca and perhaps other Stoics had also occasionally adverted.62

Part of the interest of Marcus's Medifafions is that it was not

43

VIII VIII

Are You a Stoic? The Cnse of Marcus Aurelius Jewish and Christian Sey-Dejinition

written for public consumption, and that its author was not a professional philosopher, let alone a professional Stoic philosopher. There is no necessary reason why such a man should teach or reflect upon orthodox Stoicism. What the Meditations show us is how a particular powerful individual reacted to certain philosophical ideas available to him and used them for his own purposes. Nevertheless, despite the personal idiosyncracies as wen as the tendencies to Platonism that the Meditations reveal, it has to be admitted that if Marcus is to be classified somehow, it must be as a Stoic. Yet if Marcus's thinking is in any way typical, it is not surprising that Stoicism was dying as the dominant philosophy. As a decaying philosophy, it could only point to the resurgent Platonism. But, as we have already said, in modem terms Marcus's Stoicism is a religion rather than a philosophy. And as such it could easily be assimilated to another more self- assured and confident rival. The ethical positions of Marcus in fact disappear into the brand of Christianity purveyed by Clement of Alexandria (who resorts to the Stoicism of Musonius) as well as into the Platonism of the Middle Platonic and later Neoplatonic teachers who were prepared to give it more substantive philosophical or revelational backing than Marcus could obtain.

In 176 ca, among other chairs of philosophy, Marcus endowed a chair of Stoic philosophy at at hen^;^ and Stoics continued to teach there and elsewhere in the third ~ e n t u r y . ~ But if the example of Marcus is a sign of the times, they may have been mere moralists or academics in the worst sense of the word. Almost certainly they had nothing philosophically new to offer (though some of them wrote) and phlosophers like Alexander of Aphrod- bias who combatted Stoicism at this time fought the theses of Chrysippus rather than those of their own contemporaries; at most they refute their contemporaries only in so far as these merely repeat Chrysippus. It is sometimes said that the attacks of Alexander of Aphrodisias on the Stoic account of fate and other basic Chrysippean themes sounded the death-knell of the school. The evidence of the Meditations points in another direction. As a philosophical survival Stoicism could do little more than give away what it had left; in spirit it was already dead. Marcus's uncertainties are, among other more personal things, the uncertainties of a believer who has to fight hard to keep his faith, and beyond his faith, his will to live. He meditates on the death, the end, of a wise man - it might almost be a school of wise men - in a famous passage (10.36): 'No one is so fortunate that one or two

44

of those standing by will not be welcoming his death. Even in the case of the sage, someone will say, "Now we can breathe again, freed from this schoolmaster." ' Note the image: the bystanders , do not say, 'So much for this philosophei, let alone 'for this Stoic'. But they are malevolent as well as not whoily accurate; they do not even say, 'So much for this man who had an interest in philosophy.'

Notes

I. J. M. Rist, Stoic Philosophy, 1969, p. 283. 2. SO P. Hadot, 'La physique comme exercise spirituel ou pessimisme

et optimisme chez Marc-AurPle', RjrP 22,1972, pp. 225-39, and 'Une cle des Pensees de Marc-AurPle', Les Etudes Philosophiques, 1978, pp. 65-84.

3. The Meditations are hereinafter cited only by book and paragraph. 4. 1.9; cf. SHA 4.3.2. 5.1.8; 1.17.4; SHA 4.2.7; Fronto, Epp. V.36 @I), (ed. S. A. Naber, p. 86). 6. 1.7: cf. 1.17.4. 7.1.15.1;cf. 1.17.4; 11.16.9. 8. 1.13; cf. S H A 4.3.2. 9. A. S. L. Farquharson, The Meditations of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius

II, 1944, p. 458; Med. 1.14; cf. SHA 4.3.3 and n. 52 below. lo. For Aristo and life according to nature see J . M. Rist, 'Zeno and

Stoic Consistency', Phronesis 22, 1977, pv. 161-74. 11. See A. A.-Long, 'The Stoic cdn'cept of Evil', PhilosQ 18, 1968,

pp. 32947. - 12. Cf. A. Gellius, N A 7.1.7 (SVF 11, p. 1170). 13. Cf. P. A. Brunt, 'Marcus Aurelius in his Meditations', JRS 64, 1974,

pp. l lf . , 19. 14. 'Ambitiosa mars', Tacitus, Agr. 42. 15. 11.3. h6s hoi christianoi seems to be interpolated. So now P. A.

Brunt, 'Marcus Aurelius and the Christians', Studies in Latin Literatureand Roman History, ed. C. Deroux, I, 1980, pp. 483-520, esp. p. 493. Most of Marcus's 'references' to Christians must be abandoned after Brunt's discussion, but I am still inclined to think he refers to them among others at 3.16.

16. Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 2.21.129.5. 17. 10.8.11; cf. 'It is more graceful (chariesterou) to die untainted with

falsehood' (9.2). 18. As Farquharson suggests (Meditations 11, p. 737), this may not be

what Epicurus (who perhaps thought of intermittent pain) had in mind; but other Epicureans (including Diogenes of Oenoanda) were less precise and took the text in the same way as Marcus.

19. 8.1; 1.17.8; cf. 7.67, where being a physikos is also discredited. 20. Cf. 12.18; 12.29. 21. 12.10. For anaphora as 'objective', 'object of desire', see 12.8; 12.20;

cf. 7.4. 22. Farquharson's translation 'individuality of the cause' must be

mistaken. 23. 10.7.3; for an apparently orthodox use of poiotis (quality) see 6.3.

For general discussion, M. E. Reesor, 'The Stoic Categories', AJP 78, 1957, p. 81.

24. Plutarch, SR 9, Mor. 1035C (SVF I1 68). 25. Epictetus, Disc. 1.9.13. 26. Farquharson, Meditations 11, p. 503. 27. Farquharson, Meditations 11, p. 506. See further Clement in GCS 3,

190

V lll

I

i A r e You a Stoic? The Case of Marcus Aurelius

p. 202.21. H. Dijrrie, 'Emanation - ein unphilosophisches Wort im spatantiken Denken', Parusin. Studien zur Philosophie Plutons und zur Problemgeschichte des Plafonismus. Fesigabe fiir J . Hirschberger (ed. K. von Flasch), 1965, pp. 119-41, argues that the pre-Plotinian uses are 'theological' rather than philosophical.

28. 2.2; 11.20; 12.3. For'pneumatic' doctorssee G. Verbeke, L'holution de la doctrine du Pneurna du Sfoicisme a S . Augustin, 1945, pp. 191-206.

29. Galen, H i p . et Plat. 5.6 (V.469 Kuhn; p. 448. 15 Miiller); cf. Rist, Stoic Philosophy, p. 266. Clement of Alexandria (Strorn. 2.21.129.5 = Fr. 186 Edeistein-Kidd) observes that Posidonius included 'not being led by the irrational part of the soul' in his definition of the 'end' of life.

30. Cf. H. Erbse, 'Die Vorstellung von der Seele bei Marc Aurel', Festschrift F . Zucker, 1954, pp. 136f.; R. Neuenschwander, Marc Aurels Beziehungen zu Seneca und Poseidonios, 1951. But Neuenschwander habit- ually makes the assumption that similarity entails direct derivation. The oddity of Marcus's theory (in Stoic terms) was already clear to A. Bonhoeffer, Epictef und die Stoa, 1890, pp. 30f.

31. J. M. Rist, Stoic Philosophy, p. 232. For proairesis, 8.56; 11.36; 12.33. 32. For association of the two see Lucian, Alex. 38, though the charge

of desertion (technically true of Epicureans) is more factually true of Christians.

33. Bonhoeffer, Eprctet, p. 31. 34. J. M. Rist, Stoic Philosophy, p. 269. 35, Erbse, ('Die Vorstellung', p. 129) gets this wrong. 36. So R. Hoven, Stoicisme et Stoiciens face au probleme de l'au-deli, 1971,

p. 148. 37. E.g. Farquharson, Meditations 11, p. 529. 38. E. R. Dodds, Pagan and Christran in an Age of Anxiety, 1965, p. 29

n. 1. 39. G. W, Bowersock, Greek Sophists in the Roman Empire, 1969, pp.

735. For a reply, J. E. G. Whitehorne, 'Was Marcus Aurelius a hypo- '

chondriac?', Lafomus 36, 1977, pp. 413-21. Whitehome shows that by comparison with Fronto, Marcus was healthy in this regard!

40. T. W. Africa, The Opium Addiction of Marcus Aurelius', JHI 22, 1961, pp. 97-102. A more moderate, though still unconvincing proposal along the same lines is offered by C. Witke, 'Marcus Aurelius and Mandragora', CP 60,1965, pp. 23f. 41. Brunt, 'Marcus Aurelius in his Meditations', p. 8. 42. Dio Cassius, 69.21.2. 43. A. A. Long, 'Heraditus and Stoicism', Philosophia 5-6, 1975-6,

pp. 133-56; for Marcus, p. 153. 4. Basically that of R. Hirzet, Untersuchungen zu Cicero's philosophischen

Schriften 11.1, 1882, pp. 115-82. 45. As in the case of Aenesidemus; cf. J. M. Rist, 'The Heracliteanism

of Aenesidemus', Phoenix24, 1970, pp. 309-19. 46. For other rivers and cycles, 6.17; 9.2.8; 4.46. For other references,

6.11 (perhaps); 6.42; 9.19, etc. 47. Cf. 4.19; 6.24; 6.47; 6.59; 8.31.

191

48. For further discussion see J . M. Rist, Stoic Philosophy, pp. 283-88; V . Goldschmidt, Le systPme stuzcien et l'idke de temps, 1 9 V , pp. 197, 207, 248f. 1

49. 7.3; 2.17. The latter text is misleadingly said to refer to the 'life' of man's mind by Dodds (Pagan and Christian, p. 21).

50.6.36; for ai6n cf. 4.3; 5.24. 51. 2.1; cf. 8.37, quoting Epictetus. 52. 12.36; 2.16. For law see G. R. Stanton, 'The cosmopolitan ideas of

Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius', Phronesis 13, 1968, pp. 183-95, esp. p. 191. In contrast to Marcus, Epictetus concentrates on the individual as citizen, Marcus on the universe as state. Was his source Severus? See Stanton (p. 193) on 1.14.1 and its sources. 53, The theme of sympatheia has been connected with Posidonius;

perhaps Epictetus is a better proximate source (see n. 55 below). Note however Posidonius's account of the goal of life: to zt?n fhedrounta tin tcin hob alitheian kai taxin kai sygkataskeuawnta auttn kata to dynaton, k.t .1. (Fr. 185 Edelstein-Kidd), and compare it with 8.26: epithedr&is tb tdn hokin phy&s kai tdn kat' auf& ginomenrjn.

54. As in 7.13 (melos-meros). 55. 9.9.2; cf. Epictetus, Disc. 1.14. 56.4.14; 4.21. Notice that the passages occur nearby. Marcus seems to

dwell on bits of Stoic theory from time to time, then pass to others. 57. 2.1; 6. 7.26. Brunt ('Marcus Aurelius in his Medifations', pp. l l f . )

comments on the serenity of the sage as traditionally Stoic. 58.6.23; cf. Stanton, 'The cosmopolitan ideas', p. 188. 59. 6.39. For Marcus's hatred and awareness of dissimulation see

1.16.5; 9.29. 60. Seneca, De vita beata 15. 61. Brunt, 'Marcus Aurelius in his Meditations', pp. 14-17. 62.424; cf. Seneca, Tranq. 12. 63. R. B. Todd, Alexander of Aphrodisius on Stoic Physics, 1976, p. 1. 64. Porphyry, VP 20.

spictetus: Ex-Slave*

Born in Phrygia and sometime slave of Epaphroditus, freedman and minister of

Nero, deliberately lamed, it seems, during his period of servitude, Epictetus acquired

the basis of his knowledge of Stoicism from Musonius ~ u f u s . ~ He himself taught in

Rome, where the memory of the burning of the Capitol remained vivid in his memory

(as well as that of his m a ~ t e r ) ~ , and he numbered many prominent men among his

pupils and hearersS3 Banished by Dornitian with other philosophers, probably in 93, he I

settled at Nicopolis and established a school. His pupils included Arrian, the historian

and Imperial official, who published eight volumes from his 'Discourses' of about A.D.

108, four of which survive, and the Encheiridion (or Handbook) which is a collection of

the master's most memorable utterances, some in a modified version. The

Encheiridion, despite its enormous subsequent influence, is a rather bloodless

compilation; while in the Discourses the spirit of the Cynic-Stoic preacher, rather I than a more formal academic style, comes over vividly. No one can read those of the

Discourses which survive without feeling that he knows --like i t or not -- what kind of

man Epictetus was: his concern and occasional tenderness, his pride, his moral

earnestness and passion for what he calls freedom are apparent on every page. He

seems to have known Hadrian personally and probably died in old age in about 120

A . D . ~

Though a professed Stoic, and well versed in the teachings of the masters of

Classical Stoicism, Zeno, ~ l e a n t h e s and Chrysippus, Epictetus' heroes are Diogenes

the Cynic, and above all ~ o c r a t e s . ~ The reason for the latter preference is twofold:

Socrates sought for truth within himself, and died heroically. He made self-

knowledge, indeed knowledge of his own ignorance, the necessary basis for moral

improvement. Such is the theme of Epictetus too: the search for wisdom begins with

the search for what I am,' and for what a man is. Such a question, apparently, is to be

answered in two ways: we can identify man in so far as we can classify him; he is

different from animals, whether tame like sheep or of more savage varieties like foxes

or wolves.' But such identification depends on an ability to identify specifically

* The first Roos-Ashworth Memorial Lecture delivered in the Great Hall, The University of Newcastle, New South Wales, on Friday, 18th May 1984.

important human features; and i t seems that these features can be recognized in

virtue of a fac t which Epictetus takes for granted, that human beings have a

particular function This idea, which Epictetus never attempts to prove, is

drawn from traditional Stoicism, but Epictetus handles it in a special way which

emphasizes his Socratic as well as his Stoic interests and may reflect the teaching of

Pametius; we not only have a function, we have a ~ a l l i n g . ~ We a re called t o play a

role, to wear a particular mask ( p r o ~ ~ o n ) ~ ~ ; like Socrates, the servant of Apollo, we

a r e calIed to do so by God, the God who is present within us, and who watches and

hears what we do.'' We carry this God around within us, and in a striking phrase

Epictetus tells us tha t when we sin we pollute not just an image of god made of silver

and gold - we would not dare so to ac t in the presence of a visible image -- but God

himself. Were I a nightingale or a swan, I would sing like a bird, says Epictetus, but a s

a lame old man I must sing the praises of God as a rational being. And all men should

join in.lZ

The Socratic enquiry into ourselves, then, is the beginning; that is what marks

off the philosopher from the layman.13 This activity involves making use of a very

specific quality which none of the animals share, the quality of self-awareness so

esteemed by the stoics14: we can obtain an awareness of ourselves and hence of our

own ignorance15, and this is thc beginning of philosophy. Now there is a special kind

of ignorance which gets in the way of our moral improvement, and moral improvement

is the central theme of Epictetus' teaching. H e often thinks of it as a

'conversion'16 to oneself which 'reconciles man and naturc'. The enemy, however, is

ignorance of what is 'in our power' and what is not.17 If we can overcome that

ignorance, we have a criterion for moral behaviour.18 In other words we must learn

the distinction between what is avoidable and what is unavoidable or fated -- to use

traditionally Stoic terminology -- though the word 'fate' itself is comparatively rare in

Epictetus. What is unavoidable or what is fated is what falls outside our power: we

a r e born and due t o die; such things a r e not in our power. Indeed we are constantly

exposed t o all kinds of events which depend on nature or on the behaviour of other

men and which we can in no way control. Such events. Epictetus reiterates, a re

therefore unimportant for us. The psychologist might see in this emphatic unconcern

with what is done t o us, with the unimportance of the influence of external power on

us, the effects of Epictetus' own days in slavery. By transcending anxieties about the

necessities of f a t e and the ac ts of tyrannical men, we can be free. Again and again

the echo return-: 'But h e can exile me to Gyara' - 'So what?';'But he can cut off my

head' - Who ever supposed tha t you a re immortal?'19

There is nothing unstoic in Epictetus' emphasis on man and his mortality as the

central concern of philosophical enquiry. What looks immediately different from the

Stoicism of Zeno and Chrysippus is the apparently almost total neglect -- more

marked even than in Seneca - of the areas of physics and logic. On these subjects

Epictetus has nothing new to contribute; and what he says of them is often repletitious,

sometimes even contemptuous dismissal. To understand this attitude, which can be

characterized as a t once Socratic and Cynic, i t is helpful t o compare Epictetus with a I

Cynicizing Stoic of t he first generation, a pupil of Zeno, Ariston of Chios, who

quarreled with nis master over the necessity for enquiry in areas of knowledge or

philosophy other than ethics.ZO Zeno himself, of course, had been a Cynic and a pupil I

of Crates, but h e seems to have broken with Crates, inter alia, over what is meant by

a life in accordance with nature. His objection seems to have been that t he Cynics

offered a merely formal account of such a life. To give content t o that formality, he

concluded that a study of nature, of what the Greeks called physis, is a necessary

complement to the study of man's virtues and duties. But Zeno was Cynic enough to

know that physics is not t o be studied for i t s own sake -- that could be mere hedonism

-- but because the moral l ife cannot be identified and cultivated without it. Hence

the question: how much learning is necessaxy?; and although early Stoics like

Chrysippus had given a very generous answer -- veering away from Zeno's contempt

for orthodox and traditional Greek education -- the possibility of a 'Cynic' response

was always open. And for a11 his knowledge of and respect for the work of Chrysippus,

Epictetus shows that he was very inclined to take it. We are hard pressed to firkd

much of logic or physics in the Discourses or the Encheiridion. Does this make him an

unorthodox Stoic? Epictetus would deny i t , and he would cite in self-justification

what could only have been acceptable t o Zeno himself, namely that the necessities of

the normal life define what 'else' needs to be known. For Epictetus, the approach to

this problem is through reflection on what he calls our prohairesis, our moral

characterz1, for that is in our power to control. And as we have seen, we need to

learn what is in our power and t o dismiss all else as unimportant, indeed not worthy of

study.

For Epictetus, study of our 'moral character' and i t s correct development may be

divided into three parts. We may investigate our desires and aversions (orexis,

ekklisis); o r the starting-points for acting or not acting bmm& aphnun?, that is, the

topic of what behaviour is 'appropriate' (kathaon); or our decisions whether to assent

or not to assent to the truth proposed to us through the mind or the senses

prosthesis, epochd.22 Within the last group of problems, the matter of

suspension of judgement w, when appropriate, is t o be given due weight.23 It

h a been argued that this schema represents (to however limited a degree) the

traditionally Stoic division of philosophical subject-matter24, the formal absence of

much of which tAe have already noted in Epictetus. For although all three of the areas

of thought mentioned by Epictetus are generally subordinated to or parts of an ethical

project, i t is clear that analysis of assent and suspension of judgement have to do with

what we know would have been called 'logic' (argument-schemata, syllogisms, etc.),

whereas a proper enquiry into desires, their origins, and the passions that result from

them, must involve more general comment on human nature, and hence, tor the Stoics,

on the place of human nature in the divinely ordered Nature of the cosmos. There,

perhaps, is found a place for Stoic physics. Only consideration of what is 'appropriate'

and of duties as such may be said to fall entirely within the traditional limits of

ethics. Yet it should be noticed that although Epictetus' schema may be defended as

Stoic,xits formulation seems to be peculiarly his own, as is his use of the schema as a

tool for spiritual e~ercises . '~ Spiritual exercises themselves, as we saw in Seneca,

were by now a long established habit among the Stoics.

If we inspect the Epictetan programme of enquiry, however, it is immediately

apparent that the discussion of assent and suspension of judgement is rather less

'ethical' or at least 'moral' than the other two topics. Indeed this is recognized to be

so by Epictetus himself. Such problems, he points out, are matter for advanced

students only; it is much to be regretted that 'contemporary' philosophers devote so

much effort to work in this area before achieving success in the other two, which,

Epictetus seems to believe, are existentially i f not logically prior to it. If you are not

proof against petty swindling, lust and envy of the good fortune, say in the form of an

inheritance, which falls to other people, why are you wasting your time on syllogisms

and the solution of the 'Liar', or others of the paradoxes examined by ~ h r ~ s i ~ ~ u s ? ~ ~

Epictetus reverts to this theme again and again; people boast of being philosophers

because they can understand Chrysippus, or make progress with the Master Argument,

or because their philological ski!l is sufficient to come to grips with the obscurer

aspects of the work of ~ r c h e d e m u s . ~ ~ They should practise dying (as the Phaedo also

had it) rather than the correct use of Philosophy is not a theoretical

science; the philosopher's school is a hospital -- we would say a psychologist's office -- and we must expect to emerge from it in pain rather than in pleasure.29 IS it to yell

'Well done' a t some stock little word-play that people travel from home, parents and

friends? That, concludes Epictetus, is not the spirit of Socrates, or of Zeno, or of

Cleanthes.

From the three divisions of philosophy, in particular from the section which

deals with our desires and aversions, we naturally move to the antithesis between

instinct and instinctual response and reason and reasoned response which we found I

emphasized by Seneca, especially in the De Ira; for here indeed is a basic difference

between men and animals. A fragment of Epictetus' fifth book of Discourses,

preserved only by Aulus ~ e l l i u s ~ ~ , spells out a distinction with which Epictetus -- according to Gellius in agreement with Zeno and Chrysippus -- is frequently

concerned The mind is struck by images (visa, ~hantasiai) which are not dependent on

our own will (voluntas) but which push themselves upon us. We shudder and shrink at

the terrifying sound of a building collapsing. Such shrinking is a 'rapid and

unconsidered motion', but i t is a motion to which we need not (and should not) give

assent; that is, we should resist the promptings of om instincts which may suggest the 1 proposition that such sudden 'frightening' events are proper causes of alarm. In fact,

the nature of our assents identifies what Epictetus calls the 'use' we have made of the

'images' (or generally experiences) presented to our minds or our senses.31 We may

react immediately to external stimuli as animals do (if w e shudder, for example, a t a

terrible sight) -- and such reaction is neither virtuous nor vicious -- or we may 'assent'

to the proposition such stimuli suggest, that is, if we are vicious, we may accept as a

I result of a physical stimulus that pleasure is good and pain is evil. If we accept all

such stimuli, we are No one can compel such assent33; that is a matter

which depends on our moral character alone, and, as we shall see, on its training. But

here we should pause to note Epictetus' realistic approach: i t is an uneven battle

between a chic tart and a young man beginning to live -- so don't run

before you can walk! Moral character, then, prohairesis, is at the centre of Epictetus'

ethical It IS the essence (e) of the good36; hence the only thing which

matters. For, as we have seen, i t is all that is in our power, and all that need be in our

power.

False opinion leads us astray; we think there are other goods besides our own

moral excellence. The rich, those at court or those who wish to be at court, find it

particularly hard to be Epaphroditus, Nero's freedman and Epictetus'

former master, sympathised with the friend who whined that he was down to his last

one and a half million sesterces3* ('Poor man, how did you endure it!'). We all tend to

complain of the apparent goods of others without asking ourselves what it costs to

acquire them. Servitude to vice is the usual price: Philostorgus (a dancer) is

prosperous, someone complains. Would you sleep with Sura for wealth, asks

~ p i c t e t u s ? ~ 9 Why should Philostorgus not get something for what he sells?

Philostorgus provides an example of how not to behave, but we are all liable to behave

viciously unless we train ourseIves to resist the temptations of false opinion and

apparent goods. Our good lies in our moral character, says Epictetus, but who

Epictetus: Ex-Slave

remembers that when he leaves the philosophical school.40 If we are t o remember i t ,

we have to discipline ourselves.

In what does discipline consist? Most important is the traditional doctrine of

'reserved admiration'.40a Do not grow attached to anything, neither valuable

possessions, nor children, nor family, nor friends, in such a fashion as to dread i t s

being taken away from you.41 Nothing but virtue is unreservedly good. Take as your

example the general parading through Rome in his triumph; behind him rides the slave

reminding him that he is mortal. But take care: we have already seen that a t the

beginning of a life of philosophy i t is rash to face unnecessary temptations. And there

is no need for ostentatious self-advertisement that one is living a so-called Cynic life;

it is enough if one is inclined t o laziness to e r r on the side of overwork; t o learn to

keep off wine, women and sweet-meats, practise drinking in moderation. 42

We need discipline t o prevent the formation of false opinions and, even more

perhaps, to avoid dwelling on false opinions already engrained in the mind. This is

particularly important, as frequently emphasized by Epictetus, because i t concerns an

abuse of the basic 'human' characteristic necessary for a moral life, that ability to be

aware of ourselves which we saw to be the beginning of philosophy. For our ability to

look inwards can reappear as a tendency to fantasize about our situation, t o live

unrealistically, thus both to mistake the nature of the world and t o invite a morally

damaging sense of disappointment. W e can, of course, fantasize about what we have

or what we should like t o have. Stop admiring your clothes and you will not be angry

with the man who steals them; stop admiring your wife's beauty and you will not be

angry with her lover.43 Or we can fantasize about what we would like t o have. The

good man, says Epictetus, will not mentally undress women44; nor, if banished to

Gyara, will he imagine the l i fe and relaxations of Rome; nor, if in Rome, will he dwell

on life in ~ t h e n s . ~ ~ Hence we should use our imagination to reflect on good deeds,

and, when we have performed them, to make ourselves aware that we a re following

god and obeying him.46 To do this is a matter of self-discipline.

How can such self-discipline be achieved even if a man has become aware of his

own weakness and ignorance? Epictetus' world is governed by providence, and

providence has provided mankind with an inner resource whose nature Epictetus

emphasizes a t the expense of the earlier teachings of the Stoics. According to

Epictetus, who disagrees -- perhaps unwittingly -- with Zeno and Chrysippus, we a r e

equipped from birth with certain innate ideas. In the moral realm there is a special

sort of 'pre-conception' (prol2psis). Though born without notions of right-angled

triangles or of semitones, we possess innate ideas of what is good and bad, noble and

base.47 Self4scipline thus involves a refusal t o allow these basic moral ideas t o be

buried in the false and misleading beliefs which come to us as life proceeds. If we a re

disciplined, we can make use of our innate resources, and we shall recall what our task

(ergon) is.48

Self-discipline teaches us the correct attitude to all we cannot control. If we

are possessed of such right belief, we realize that what is in our power, under the

control of o w moral disposition, a r e three relationships: our relationship to God, to

ourselves and to our fellowmen; it will be appropriate to consider each of these.

Epictetus' attitude to God is based on what he regards a s a well-established

belief among those who philosophize, namely that there is a kinship between gods and

men.49 I t is in virtue of kinship with God that each man must recognise himself not

just as an Athenian or a Corinthian, but as a citizen of the universe. All men, in fact ,

a re sons of ~ o d ~ O , and if a man can accept that doctrine he will be quite unable to

think of himself as ignoble or of little worth.51 Such a thesis, of course, is a version

in personal terms of a traditionally Stoic doctrine, that the soul of man is actually

divine, that i t is some kind of divine spark (apospasma)52 or god which w e carry

around within uss3 -- though Epictetus $teem clear of the unorthodox view, probably

of Posidonius and certainly of Marcus Amelius, that this divine spark is a d a i m k to be

simply identified as the mind (nous).54 Rather, Epictetus concentrates on the thesis

that God (or the gods) has given each man a part of himself55, and i t is in virtue of

this part that we have the possibility of moral action, of recognizing what is in our

power, and of acting accordingly. Since we are thus, in a significant sense, divine - as to &we are not inferior nor less than the gods, for it is not length or height but

decisions (dogmasin) which mark the greatness of the reason56 - and since God is our

father, we should accept 'follow God' as a guiding theme in our lives.57 If we do, we

are helped not t o fantasize, thus avoiding one of the principal threats t o the moral

life; for such idle vice of the mind is impossible for the man who is 'intent' on God,

straining to God and to obedience of his commands and decrees.58 In short, God has

given us providentially all that is needfu159; when we live aright, we a re spectatom

(theatb)bO of God and his works. God's will (- and ours become identical.

God's providence is also apparent in that he has placed by our side a d a i m k who

never sleeps and is never deceived. When we are alone, behind locked doors, God and

our d a i m k are with us. The reiationship between God and the d a i m k remains

unclear, though the notion of Zeus' setting a guard over us can be traced back to

~ h r ~ s i ~ ~ u s . ~ ~ In Epictetus' version, however, we remain uncertain whether the

d a i m h is viewed as internal or external to the self. Be that a s i t may, Epictetus has

sympathy with the view of 'the philosophers' that we must first learn that God exists

and that his providence extends over all that is6=, and that men cannot keep moral

secrets, let alone behaviour, from him - though he insists that it is not ignorance of

God's works, but ignorance of our own nature, which has so debased us that we must be

jolted out of our complacency to be set on the road to a better way of life.

From our attitudes to God the father spring our attitudes t o our fellow-men (and

to ourselves), for all men, as we have seen, a re to be viewed as the offspring of Zeus.

All men are God's children63; all a re brothers.64 We all live in one city, for it is

natural for men to live I t is an egregious error on the part of Epicurus

to deny the natural fellowship of the human race66, even though Epicurus -- for all his

insistence that affection for our children is not natural -- cannot be wholly in the

dark6? Row else can we explain his advice not t o bring up children except by the fac t

that even Epicurus knows that he cannot resist the claim of a child once born?

Nevertheless, he advises us t o behave worse than animals, more fiercely than wolves,

w h ~ a t least refuse to abandon their offspring.

Such remarks, i t might seem, would provide the basis for a defence of altruism.

The Stoics did not develop their thought far along such lines. Their attitude to the

self prevented it, as can be strikingly observed in the case of Epictetus himself.

Traditionally the Stoics had thought that self-preservation is the object of our primary

impulses. We feel 'kinship' with ourselves, and from that kinship, that sense of self

and the worth of self, all the virtues may eventually develop.68 As Epictetus puts it,

there is no reason for a man to 'desert' himself and his own advantage. If he did, he

would fly in the face of the basic principle of human action, that we appropriate what

we need for Hence i t is in our search for our own good, our real good,

that social action develops, and true egoism will involve contributing to the common

good -- but within limits. How far we ac t 'socially' depends on the evaluation of our

own good; and the Stoics, including Epictetus, believe that an important restriction on

what we do for others is imposed by the fac t that many kinds of commitment t o others

must entail error in our evaluation of the world and neglect of the need to protect our

own 'moral' integrity. Let us consider Epictetus' reasoning.

Diogenes the Cynic is one of Epictetus' heroes, along with Socrates. Diogenes,

we learn rather implausibly, loves all men as brothers70, even those who flog him.'ll

But as a philosopher he must live in the public world72, and in the public world he

needs t o be free of the anxieties of private life. Normally the Cynic will not marry;

domestic chores, looking af ter his wife and children and his wife's family, will get in

the way of his public work.73 H e cannot waste his time heating water for the baby,

and providing pots and cups and all the paraphernalia of child-care. What is left of our

king who needs leisure for public concerns in these circumstances? Furthermore his

wife is not a Cynic; a t least i t would be rare if she were. An impersonal note creeps

in: who does mankind the most good, those who bring two or three snotty children into

the world or those who act as physicians to the whole human race? Nor is i t only

Epictetus' somewhat violent language which reveals his thoughts and feelings.

Children and marriage are not only unimportant in that they should be subordinated to

the calling of the moral preacher -- just a s they are, he adds, t o the desire for the

glory of high military command or the composition of a book -- but the most serious

problem about a family is the fear which haunts the prospective sage in the whole

realm of social relations: that of establishing emotional links with others which

'damage' the integrity of his moral self. What happens if my family starve, worries a

hypothetical interlocutor.'* They will die, the same as you will, says Epictetus. We

a re not here to be humiliated with others or t o share their misfortunes, but their

happiness.'15 We may groan a t pain, but not innardly'16, for nothing can really touch

us if our valuations of all but the good are 'reserved', W e should not be angry a t the

behaviour of others, for in the end i t is their affair how they behave, not ours.77 The

vicious should neither be hated nor pitied; i t is sufficient t o show them their error. I t

is all summed up in the famous Stoic 'detachment', implying a desire to mete out to

others what they are worth, no more and no less, while a t the same time avoiding

emotional entanglements with their pain or their error. If you kiss your child, your

brother or your friend, do not allow your imagination to get out of control. What harm

is it, when kissing your child, to whisper to yourself at the same time: 'You will, die

Yet there is another side to this honesty with oneself: Epictetw lashes

the man who left his little daughter saying he would not bear seeing her sick, Do you

think i t would be right, he asks, for the mother or the nurse to do the same thing? The

errant father is then compared to a man in Rome who always covered his face when

the horse he had backed was running! When he won, he fainted, and had to be brought

round in t ime to collect his winnings.79

The essence of all such teaching in Epictetus is that unless we wish t o control

our imagination, we shall make errors of judgement; for example, we shall fail t o

recognize the nature of human mortality. Recall how the correct use of the images

presented to us by the senses is the mark of the true philosopher, and that, above all,

the true philosopher will not let his imagination wander unrealistically. H e will face

reality fairly and unsentimentally, caring for others so long as i t does not interfere

with his own moral and rational equilibrium. Epictetus, as other Stoics, thinks of this

as 'being a man', or as having the character (prosijlon) of a man, and being unwilling to

live unless the prosEpon is maintained. An athlete was doomed to die unless his

genitals were removed; he refused the operation and died 'as a man'. Following

Musonius, Epictetus values his beard: he would rather die than shave off what marks

him as a philosopher.80 And not only a philosopher: by t h ~ hairs on the chin Nature

distinguishes between males and females, and we ought to preserve the signs which

God has given us. Indeed, it is important to be able to say 'I am a man'.81

Consider 'being a man' further. Important as are certain external features, like

beards, external features are not enough. Everyone who looks like a man is not a man

in the 'moral' sense: he may be a sheep or a wild beast.82 A 'man' properly so-called

must be in possession of a number of qualities: perhaps especially he must show

loyalty the outward-looking virtue to which Epictetus so often appeals. He

must also have a sense of selfiespect (-1 for we have already observed how a

proper evaluation of the self -- a correct kind of looking inwards -- is necessary for

the moral life. Epictetus revives the Homeric word aidijs to express this purpose,

using i t constantly throughout his writings.84 We may also notice how the concept of

'self7espect1 is extended to include freedom from intellectual bad faith, such as that

of the Sceptics of the New Academy, who claim they cannot distinguish waking from B

dreaming of being awake. Their reason, says Epictetus, has been 'bestiali~ed', '~

Indeed, it is no casual thing to live up to the calling of a man.86 A man must be loyal,

self-respecting and, as noted earlier, prisoner neither of man nor of false opinions and

beliefs about what is good and what is evil. But he must not boast of his

achievements; that too is morally dangerous. We should avoid pre-marital sex,

especially with married women, but should neither speak of our abstinence nor be

harsh on those who indulge themselves within conventionally allowable Self-

discipline, being a man, has nothing to do with censoriousness, nor is it a more

sophisticated search for fame (as it had become among certain pseudo-Cynics): If you

want t o train, wait till you are thirsty on a hot day, take a mouthful of cold water,

spit i t out, and don't tell anyone what you have done.'88

Not surprisingly, 'being a man'has its sexist side; being a male is viewed as

superior to being a female (the evil doctrines of Epicurus are not even fit for

women89), unless the female is something quite exceptional, like the Cynic

~ i ~ ~ a r c h i a . ~ ~ Generally women above the age of 14 see that their only future lies in

the chance to sleep with men, so they pin all their hopes on making themselves look

good. We should therefore make sure that they should know that what we (men) most

admire in women is decorum and self-respect.91 It is unclear whether Epictetus

means that in Roman society women are in fact always viewed in this way, or whether

he also thinks that this is how things should be. His opening remark, at any rate, is

that women judge themselves in terms of how they are viewed by men and act

accordingly. It is therefore up to men to judge in terms of the human qualities of

decency and self-respect. Women at least are capable of that. Normally Epictetus

seems not to regard women as the equals of men, and although 'be a man' might

suggest 'be a human beingi (the word anthrkos is used), the emphasis in the text is

probably otherwise. Women are regularly spoken of in the Discourses as something

men can use (like bottles of beer or cigarettes!); soup and a pretty woman are both

'nice'92, and the pejorative korasidion is frequently applied to her.93 ~nstructiv;! too

are the references to adultery. Women are 'by nature' in common9* (Epictetus does

not say that men are by nature in common), but that is no justification for adultery,

for in existing societies marriage is the accepted practice and it is mere greed to grab

someone else's woman.95 The emphasis (as we have seen elsewhere with slavery) is on

the adulterer's vice; it is he who injures himself, loses his sense of self-respect and a

variety of other human, non-bestial characteri~tics.9~ (But, pleads the professor, I

understand Archedemug Do so, replies Epictetus, and be a faithless adulterer, a wolf

or an ape rather than a man.97)

Let us return to the wise man, the Diogenes, the Socrates, the ~ e l v i d i u s . ~ ~ H e

may seem to be on a lonely eminence, but that is not so. On the contrary it is the

leader, the power-seeker, the careerkt who is lonely; Rome with its crowds is a lonely

city.99 The wise man learns to be self-sufficient, like Zeus; he is at peace internally

as well as externally. Caesar, says Epictetus, has now done away with warfare and

battle and brigandage and piracy; travel is safe on land or by sea. But Caesar cannot

keep us free from desire, or earthquake or the passions of love and hate.loO Such,

however, are the rewards of the good life, the life of philosophy. The world around us

is full of evils -- though Epictetus is less inclined to dwell on that theme than Seneca,

and is in no way tempted to think of the world as almost an illusion like ~ a r c u s l ~ l -

a d philosophy can deliver us from it. It can also, in genuinely Stoic fashion, point the

way to the 'open door'10Z, the voluntary departure from life which is necessary if our

moral integrity is a t risk

Death for Epictetus --in this an orthodox Stoic -- is a matter of indifference. It

should not be chosen through mere lack of endurance or for some other unworthy

reason. God has set us in our post in lifeZo3, and only God can give us the signal to

depart, as once he gave it to ~ 0 c r a t e s . l ~ But there is no glorification of suicide in

Epictetus as there is in Seneca; it is to be viewed only as part of the day's work! From

time to time, and with phrases like 'the door is opent lo5, Epictetus suggests that if

there is too much smoke in the house we should walk out.lo6 (If you don't like the

heat, get out of the kitchen,) Most often i t is affronts to our 'human' dignity which

may impel this step -- though it may seem to us that offence is very easily taken:

Epictetus himself, we noticed, is willing tc die rather than obey the order to shave off

his beard. his 'dress' as a philosopher. It looks rather Like the stubborn pride which in

other contexts Epictetus himself is very willing to castigate.lo7

Death is to be accepted when acceptance is rational, whether it be self-inflicted

or at the hand of another: it was right for Socrates to provoke his judges.108 Don't

make a tragedy out of it.1°9 What is required in dying is no more than we have

already observed is requisite for good living: wishing to happen what is going to

happen and what is happeningllO; that is, keeping one's true self in line with

nature.'ll Morality as a whole, in fact, can be summed up in two ways: in fact doing

what is right, and accepting what is going to happen if i t is out of our control. In the

~ n c h e i r i d i o n l l ~ Epictetus provides us with a variety of maxims: Don't lie, don't

gossip, don't guffaw, don't use foul language, don't boast about your sexual restraint,

don't stop washing to make yourself look like a philosopher (or plead that Socrates did

not bathelr3), avoid emotional trips to theatres or gladiatorial shows, don't be angry,

restrain pour speech. (In Rome a soldier may come and sit by you -- a memory of

Dohitian or in the happy reign of Trajan? -- encourage you to speak your mind against

Caesar, and drag you off to jailt lr4) But what perhaps sums it up best a re two texts:

Epictetus' own 'Endure and abstain' (anechou kai apechou115) and the famous verses of

Cleanthee which he quotes: Lead me, Zeus, and you, 0 ~ e s t i n ~ . l l ~

As befits an ex-slave who had himself been treated brutally, Epictetus speaks in

a down-to-earth fashion. His admiration for Diogenes is in part an admiration for

Diogenes' celebrated freedom of speech. Like Diogenes, and indeed like all popular

preachers - for Epictetus is preacher as well as philosopher --he likes to call a spade

a spade, and occarionally a prostitute a whore. Compared with Seneca, he seems to

talk directly, and without euphemistic circumlocutions or the anfractuosities of the

'intellectual'. He speaks to all men in the same voice. He describes the ugly, the

obscene and the vicious in language appropriate to their vileness, generally avoiding

theatrical denunciations of abstract vice in favour of concrete corrections and direct

suggestions about what people should do to live a bit more decently. In the course of

such remarks he is sometimes led to speak of the body (with pejorative diminutives) in

a way alien to the strict psychosomatic theories of ~ h r ~ s i ~ ~ u s . ~ ~ ~ Yet for all his

awareness of the sharpness of the contrast between virtue and vice, he remains firmly

ortbodox as a Stoic in that he is never tempted, as is Marcus Aurelius, to deny the

reality of the external world and the importance of moral behaviout. There are idiots

about, he comments, who claim that there is no difference between beauty and

ugliness, that Thersites looks like Achilles, or Helen like the girl next door.l18 Such

talk is foolish and boorish. Goods and evils exist, and to know them is peculiarly

humah For despite the unnecessarily 'male' features of this 'humanness', i t is for his

especial awareness of the uniqueness of man as a moral being that we should

remember Epictetus; and by 'moral being' we emphasize not morality in any narrow

sense, but all those features which distinguish man at his best from the other

animals: 'Who is not impelled by attractive and quick-witted children to play with

them, to crawl around with them and talk baby talk? But who wants to play with a

donkey or bray along with it? However little it is, i t is a little ass.' 119

Epictetus invites us t o be men, t o be fully human, to be free. What is to prevent

us from achieving this goal? A reading of Epictetus' work leaves us in no doubt as to

his answer: it is not death; it is not wealth, as Seneca may sometimes suggest; it is

not primarily ambition, though that is frequently condemned. The greatest enemies

are sex and terror, the seductions of desire and the fear that can be used to dominate

our moral character by the holders of power. It is a remarkably modern vision.

Epictetm, unlike Musonius or the Seneca of the De Clementia, shows no interest

in describing a good ruler.120 To be safe, he reiterates, we need only attend

constantly to the impressions of our senses, and watch over them sleeplessly. In so

doing we guard our self-respect, our loyalty, and ow steadfastness. We achieve

independence of the passions, of pain, of fear and of disturbance: in a word we

achieve freedom. l

Notes

1 For sources tor Epictetus' biography see the edition of H. Schenkl (teipzig2 1916) viii-ix. The earliest reference to the origin of Epictetus' lameness is by Celsus (Origen, C. Cels. 7.53).

3 Millar, 'Epictetus and the Imperial Court'.

4 For Hadrian see % Madrian) 16.10. I cannot observe the structure of the discourses suggested by De Lacy, The Logical Structure of the Ethics of Epictetus'; I therefore ignore it in what follows.

5 ForDiogenesseel.24.6ff.;2.3.1;2.13.24;2.16.35;3.2,~11;3.21.19;3.22.24, 57ff., 80, 88-90; 3.26.23; 4.1.29, 114, 152ff.; 4.7.29; 4.9.6; 4.11.21. For Socrates (nearly seventy references altogether) 1.2.33; 2.2.8; 2.2.18; 2.12; 2.16.35; 2.26.6; 3.1.19; 3.21.19; 3.24.60; 3.26.23; 4.1.123; 4.1.159; 4.7.29; 4.9.6; 4.11.19; etc. Cf. Schweingruber, 'Sokrates und Epiktet'.

7 1.3.7;1.6.13;1.6.19;2.7.6;2.9.1;3.1.25;3.10;3.23.4-5;4.1.126-7;4.5.12, etc.

8 4.8.24. A t 2.14.7 w e hear particularly of the -of the philosopher.

* References in this form are to the Discourses - ed.

2.9.1. For Panaetius cf. Cic., de Off. 1.107ff. 31 For use of images 1.12.34; 1.20; 1.39.4; 2.8.6; 2.19.32; 3.1.25; w. 6;

1.2.30; 1.12.34; 2.10.7ff.; w. 17. Bonhoeffer, Epictet 139, emphasizes t he matter.

2.8.11 ff. 32 1.28.33.

1.16.19 ff. 33 4.1.68.

3.19. 34 3.12.12.

sunaisth-6s 1.2.30; 1.4.10; 1.26.15; cf. 3.22.94. 35 The theme is repeated endlessly in Epictetus: 1.4.18; 1.8.16; 1.25.1; 2.5.5; 2.10.25; 2.23.

2.11.1; 2.21.10. For sunaisthbis see especially Schwyzer, 'Bewusst und Unbewusst bei Plotin', esp. 355-357.

16 For conversion (e istro hi+ccurs about 40 times in Epictetus), see Aubin, & Probl&me de l a 'Convers ion&&-

17 =. 1; 1.1.7; cf. 2.6.24.

18 3.3.14.

19 1.18.17; 1.19.6; 2.6.22; 3.22.21, etc.

20 For Aristo see Moreau, 'Ariston e t l e Stoicisme', with the further comments of Rist, Stoic Philosophy 76-78 and 'Zeno and Stoic Consistency', 170-172.

21 For earlier discussions see Pohlenz, Die Stoa 1.232-234; Bonhoeffer, Epictet und die Stoa 118-121, 259-261; Hijmans, ALKHZIE 24-7; Rist, Stoic Philoso h 224- 2 . 1 . 2 3 1.418; 1.8.16; 1.25.1; 2.5.5; 2.7.3. ( e s s c n c ~ 1 0 . 2 5 ; 2.13.10; 3.5.

22 1.1.12;1.4.11;1.7.22;2.1.35;3.2.1.

23 For epoch5 see 1.4.11; 2.18.24; 3.12.14.

24 More, Hellenistic Philosophies 120ff; Bonhoeffeq- Epictet und die Stoa 22ff. Nevertheless, i t is almost peculiar t o Epictetus t o use the different formula (cf. Bonhoeffer, Epictet 27).

25 Kadot, 'La Physique comme exercice spirituel'.

26 3.1.5ff.

27 2.4.11 (Archedemus); 1.4.6; 1.7; 1.17.8; 2.9.1; 2.17.27; 2.17.34; 2.18.16; 2.23.44; 3.2.13; 3.21.6; 4.9.6. For the Master Argument 2.19. Despite all this Chrysippus is still the 'expounder of nature' (1.17.16; cf. 2.14.11).

28 2.1.35.

29 3.23.30. Cf. Bonhoeffer, Epictet 5, for parallels.

30 A. Gellius, 19.1.14ff. Cf. 3.24.108 for the 'biting' of images; cf. Sen., De Ira 2.1.2.1. and Plut., De Virt. mor. 449A (SVF 3.439).

36 1.29.1;2.1.4;2.7.3.

37 4.1.144.

38 1.26.11-12.

39 3.11.4. For Sura, probably L. Licinius Suta, marshal of Trajan, see Syme, Tacitus 35 and 41, note 6.

40 2.16.2.

40a The best treatment is an unpublished Toronto Ph.D. thesis by Bradinwood.

41 3.24.84ff; cf. 26.6-10; Seneca De ben. 4.34.3-5; M. A., 4.1; 5.20; 6.50.

42 3.12.7-12.

43 1.18.11. If Menelaus and Agamemnon had realized that , they would have

been wiser (3.22.36).

44 2.18.16ff.

45 3.24.109.

46 1.30.5; for Following God as goal I-), 3.24.110; 2.19.26.

47 2.11.1; cf. 1.22.1 and Sandbach 'Ennoia and Prolepsis', 24.

48 4.8.24.

49 1.9.1; 2.5.26.

50 1.9.6.

51 1.3.1.

52 1.14; 2.7.6; 2.8.11; cf , D.L. 7.143 for Chrysippus, Apollodorus and Posidonius.

53 2.8.16.

54 M.A. 3.3; 12.26. For Epictetus' different view see Erbse, 'Die Vorstellung von der Seefe bei Marc Aurel', 136.

55 1.1.12; 1.14.6; 1.17.27 etc. For the human soul as 'part' or apospasma of God, see Bonhoeffer, Epictet 76.

56 1.12.26.

57 1.3.1; 1.20.16; 4.1.99.

58 3.23.114.

59 1.17.28, and generally 1.6.

60 1.6.19; cf. 2.14.7.

61 D.L. 7.88; cf. Rist Stoic Philosophy 263.

62 2.14.llff.

65 1.28.14. Stanton (The Cosmopolitan Ideas of Epictetus and Marcus Aureliust, 183-1951 argues that Epictetus is particularly interested in man as a citizen of the cosmos, while Marcus' cosmopolitanism rather emphasizes the universe as a state. H e suggests Severus (and ultimately Posidonius) as a source for Marcus (p. 193). The distinction is there, but should hardly be overemphasized.

68 For oikeiais see Pembroke, 'Oikeiosis', in Problems in S t o i c i s 3 114-149, and Kerferd, T h e Origin of Evil in Stoic Thought', 488.

81 l.lb.llff., cf. 3.1.28ff. By emphasizing possible variations between the Middle and Old Stoic doctrines of personae, Griffin plays down the importance of being a man. (Seneca, 341, 381.) I t is not as an athlete, but as a man that the athlete dies in 1.2.25.

83 Pistis is not unknown t o early Stoicism (SVF IL1 431, 432), but is probably reemphasized by Epictetus in the sense of Latin fides; cf. Sandbach, The Stoics, 168.

85 1.5. Ajdijs is not unknown (SVF RI 431, 432); Hijmans, 27-30.

87 E., cf. 33.8.

88 3.12.17; 3.24.117.

89 3.7.20. That male superiority is widely argued in Stoic sources before Epictetus is shown by Manning, 'Seneca and the Stoics on the Equality of the Sexes', 170-7.

90 Hipparchia is virtually unique. H e r marriage t o Crates is quite exceptional in that {a) she is a Cynic, and [b) her marriage a i s e s from passion (&), For Epictetus' rather conventional attitude to wom en's education (contrast Musonius), see Hijrnans, A CKH 111~.

93 2.24.23; cf. 3.24.39; cf. paidiskarion 4.4.41; 4.13.22.

94 2.4.8. Cf. Er. 15 (Stob. g., 3.6.58): this text shows that 'common women1 is not t o be added on t o ordinary marriage, but t o replace it. For Stoicism generally see D.L. 7.33 and 7.131.

95 The argument is clinched by an obscene pun. At a banquet don't grab the choiridion of y o ~ v neighbour (2.4.8): choiridion, trans., = a piece of pork or vagina.

96 2.10.18.

98 For Helvidius, 4.1.123, but a s a moral, not a political hero.

101 Note the commentson the reality of beauty a t 2.23.30.

! Epictetus: Ex-Slave

104 1.29.29; 1.9.16. See Jagu, ~ p i c t k t e e t Platon, Schweingruber, 'Sokrates und Epictet'; Rist, Stoic Philosophy, 250-252.

106 4.10-27. As Bonhoeffer shows (Epictet 33) such passages a r e fairly infrequent if the suffering is merely physical.

107 Cf. 2.15.

109 4.7.15.

110 2.14.7.

111 e. 13; 1.15.4, etc.

112 -. 33 and 40.

113 4.11,19.

114 4.13.5. Millar, 'Epictetus', 143, thinks the period is Domitianic; so also Starr, 'Epictetus and the Tyrant'.

115 A. GelEus, 17.19.

116 2.23.42; 3.22.95; Ehch. 53.

117 Cf. van Gytenbeek, Musonius Rufus 49; Bonhoeffer, Epictet 33.

118 2.23.32.

119 2.24.18. Cf. Renner, Das Kind. Such passages suggest a right kind of emotion in t he sage, and although the term eupatheia is absent, the idea is present in Epictetus. Note the distinction betweeen hedesthai t3i sarki and hedesthai ka ta psuchgr (=chars = edogos eparsis). At 3.7.7 Epictetus says eulog7js epairometha: cf. Bonhoeffer, Epictet 293. At 3.2.4 Epictetus indicates the kind of apatheia appropriate t o the wise man: it is= that of an unfeeling statue.

120 Starr, 'Epictetus', 24, n. 12.

121 4.3.7.

Works Cited

(a) Ancient Authors

Aurelius, Marcus (= M.A.) Meditations 1A.S.L. Farquharson (ed) The Meditations of the Emperor Marcus Antoninus (2 vols., Oxford, 194411.

Cicero De Officiis, LCL (London, 1913).

Diogenes Laertius (= D.L.) Vitae Philosophorum ed. H.S. Long, OCT (Oxford, 1964); LCL 2 vols. (London, 1925).

Epictetus Discourses (Disc.) and Encheiridion (Ench.) in Dissertationes ab Arriani Dipestae ed. H. Schenkl, BT (reprint s t u t t g a r m 5 ) .

Gellius, Aulus E _ c t e s Atticae ed. C. Hosius, BT (Stuttgart, 1903); ed. P.K. Marshall, OCT (Oxford, 19681; LZL 3 vols (London, 1927).

Origen Contra Celsum ed. P. Koetschau (Leipzig, 1899); tr. H. Chadwick (Cambridge, 1953).

Plutarch D e virtute moraii in Moralia, LCL (London, 19571, vol. VI.

Seneca, L. Annaeus D e Ira [in Dialogi ed. L. Reynolds, OCT (Oxford, 1977)) and & Benef iciis [in _Moral ~ s s a y s ~ m ~ o n d o n , 1939, vol. m).

SHA: Scri tores Historiae Augustae ed. E. Hohl, BT (Stuttgart, 1965); tr. D. Magle , LCL 3 :ols (London, 1 9 ~ 2 - 3 2 ) T

Stobaeus, Ioannes Eclogae etc. ed, A. Meineke, BT (Leipzig, 1860-64).

SVF: Stoicorum Veterum Fragm enta ed. H. von Arnim, 4 vols Leipzig 1903-20, reprint Stuttgart 1964.

BT = Bibliotheca Teubneriana,

LCL = Loeb Classical Library.

OCT = Oxford Classical Texts.

(b) Modern Authors

Aubin, Paul, Le Probikme de la 'Conversion' (Paris 1963).

Bonhoeffer, A. Epictet und die Stoa {Stuttgart 1890).

DeLacy, P. 'The Logical Structure of the Ethics of Epictetus', Classical Ph i lo loa 38 (19431, 112-25.

Erbse, H. 'Die Vorstellung von der Seele bei Marc Aurel', Festschrift Fritz Zucker (Berlin 19541, 129-52.

Griffin, M.T. Seneca: A Philosopher in Politics (Oxford 1976).

Gytenbeek, A. C. van Musonius Rufus and Greek Diatribe (Assen 1963).

Hadot, P. 'La Physique comme exercice spirituel ou pessimisme e t optimisme chez Marc-Aurkle', R Th Ph 22 (1972). 225-239.

Hijmans, B.L. 'AI: KHZ IT': Notes on Epictetus' Educational System (Assen 1959).

Jagu, A. Epic tke e t Platon: Essai sur les relations du Stoicisme e t du Platonisme h prows de l a morale des Entretiens (Paris 1946).

Rerferd, G.B. 'The Origin of Evil in Stoic Thought', Bulletin of the John Rylands Univ. Library of Mancheater 60 (19781,462494.

Manning, C.E., 'Seneca and the Stoics on the Equality of the Sexes', Mnemosyne 26 (19731, 170-177.

Miliar, F. 'Epictetus and the Imperial Court', Journal of Roman Studies LV (19651, 141- 148.

More, P.E. Hellenistic Philosophies (Princeton 1923).

Mor,eau, J, 'Ariston et le Stoicisme', jl& 50 (1948), 27-48.

Pembroke, S.G. 'Oikeiosis' in Problems in Stoicism, ed. A. A. Long (London, 1971), 11 5-159.

Pohlenz, M. Die Stoa: Geschichte einer ~e i s t igen ~ e w e y t u n p ~ ( m t i n g e n 1964).

Renner, R. Das Kind: Ein Gleichnismittel bei Epiktet (Munich 1905)

Rist, J.M. Stoic Philosophy (London 1969)

Rist, J.M. 'Zeno and Stoic Consistency', Phronesis 22 (19771, 161-174 = Essays in Ancient Greek Philosophy 2 (ed. J.P. Anton e t al., SUNY, Albany 19831, 465-479.

Sandbach, F.H. 'Eanola and Prolepsis in the Stoic Theory of Knowledge', Classical Quarterly 24 (19301, 44-51.

The Stoics (London 1975).

Schweingruber, F. 'Sokrates und Epictet', Hermes 78 (1943), 57-79.

Schwyzer, H.R. 'Bewwst und Unbewsst bei Plotin', Entretiens Hardt 5, Les Sources de Plotin (Geneva 19601, 341-90.

Stanton, G.R. T h e Cosmopolitan Ideas of Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius', Phronesis 13 (196&), 183-195.

Starr, C.G. 'Epictetus and the Tyrant', Classical Philology 44 (1949), 20-29.

Syme, R. Tacitus, Oxford, 1958 (2 vols).

Seneca and Stoic Orthodoxy

Contents

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I. Political Reputation and Philosophical Ideals 1993

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11. Some possible Unorthodoxies 1999 1. Wilk, Impulses and 'Procursors of Passion' (npox(l0~ta) . . . . . . . . . . . . 1999

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2. The Daimon and i ts Fate 2003 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3. The Problem of suicide 2004

4. The Ideal King and his 'Clementia' . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2006 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5. Slavery and sexual ethics 2008

6. Some Platonic interests: Letters 58 and 65 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2010

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111. Some conclusions 2011

I. Political Reputation and Philosophical Ideals

"It is hard for the Englishman of roday to approach Seneca with sympathy".' To justify such comments scholars invoke certain apparent discrepancies between Seneca's words and his deeds, thereby appealing to a principle beloved of Seneca and the Stoics themselves: it is by actions, not by a man's preaching, that he should be judged, and to act well is the goal of phi l~sophy.~ The charges recently advanced against Seneca, and indeed regularly advanced since antiquity - "Seneca, in his books a philosopher", as MILTON put it - are not all of the same weight. His flattery of imperial freedmen to secure a recall from exile is moderate if compared with the excesses achieved by the professionals in that servile art frequently recalied in his prose works - and in any case well-known from other sources. Mockery of Claudius' physical deformities, in the 'Apocolocyntosis', to amuse the new Emperor Nero and

F. H. SANDBACH, The Stoics (London 1975). 2 Ep. 20.2.

his cronies, is hardly in bad taste by Roman standards, and should not be visited with more condemnation than we usually vent on other ancient institutions, like slavery, which we, unlike most of the ancients, reject. (Who condemns Plato or Aristotle for owning slaves, though they certainly owned them?) Seneca's financial practices too are often censored: he callously called in loans, it is said, thus bankrupting Britons and compelling them to revolt! If he did, he was certainly not alone in doing so, as Dio (62.2.1), though not Tacitus, suggests; and it is likely that he was charged, after his fall, with doing both more evil and more harm than he did: that contemporary malice, in this as in other areas, forms the basis of Dio's a c c o ~ n t . ~

We come to the most serious charge - apart from mere dislike of Seneca's 'epigrammatic' style4 - that

"as Nero's tutor or mentor he maintained his position by acquiescing in crimes that culminated in matricide, and during the ten years of power or influence accumulated for himself a large fortune".

The financial point deserves little comment. Seneca inherited much, made more, and knew that much of it would pass to the Emperor in the end. Although he frequently preached indifference to money, his position necessi- tated at least the temporary possession of a fair amount of it; for Stoicism, unlike Cynicism, never insisted that the wise man should be poor. Money itself is something indifferent. Seneca rarely attacks the possession of wealth as such - both wealth and poverty have their own possibilities for virtue;5 rather, he castigates constant grasping for more, conspicuous displays of luxury and revolting uses of funds. His career itself shows how an attitude of 'indifference" to wealtb would certainly have made his lifc more tolerable. He probably lost half of his property when condemned for (alleged) adultcry with Julia Livilla in 41, and recovered it on his recall. According to his defamer Suillius he owned 300 million sesterces in 58; he offered to surrender it to the Emperor in 62 and contributed to a fund to rebuild the city of Rome aftcr the fire of 65 (Ann. 14.54.3 -4). According to Tacitus he lived frugally after he had retired from public life in 64 (Ann. 15.45.13; 15.63.3), doubtless thinking that the splendour of state was no longer appropriate. His will proposed a simple funeral, though written before his retirement (Ann. 15.64.4). Such behaviour is explicable in terms of what is suitable for a public and a

%e recently M. T. GRIFFIN, Seneca. A Philosopher in Politics (Oxford 1976) 2.32, 428; and for a new and balanced account of Seneca's career P. GRIMAL, Senkque ou la conscience de 1'Empire (Paris 1978).

4 But on this see especially C. J. HERINGTON, Senecan Tragedy, Arion 5 (1966) 422-471 = Essays on Classical Literature Selected from Arion, ed. W. J. N. RUDD (Cambridge 1972) 178-219. Also 0 . REGENBOGEN, Schmerz und Tod in den Tragodien Senecas, Vortrage der Bibliothek Warburg 7 (1927-28) 167-218 (Rpt. in ID., Kleine Schriften, ed. F. DIRLMEIER [Miinchen 19611 409-462; also Rpt. as Libelli 102 [Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft 19631).

5 Rightly GRIFFIN, Seneca, 298 -300, for the dangers of riches Ep. 56.10; 60.3 -4; 87.22; 94.51; 110.10; 119.9, etc.

SENECA AND STOlC ORTHODOXY 1995

private figure. In the private context Seneca can advocate the more Cynic- sounding praises of poverty which are occasionally found in his works.

Seneca rob ably accepted property seized from Nero's victim Britan- n i c ~ ~ . ~ Here we come nearer to the basic charge against Seneca's record: he acquiesced in a series of crimes, including matricide, committed by his pupil the Emperor Nero. On the matter of Britannicus' property Tacitus leaves little room for doubt. After the murder Nero bestowed wealth on "the most powerful of his friends". The historian adds that there was no lack of akxsers to charge those who professed gravitas with dividing up houses and villas like plunder.' Yet the incident, and the macabre apologies for the killing of Agrippina which was to follow in 59, needs analysis. On these two occasions, and on many others, Seneca found himself choosing between distasteful courses. (One is reminded of members of the German General Staff during rhe 30s.) Should he and Burrus refuse to condone the kilIings and lose their influence, or should they connive in the hope of preserving that influence and with it some chance for good? A lesser matter, though one not without political importance, indicates the same dilemma: should they encourage Nero's liaison with Acte, against the wishes of Agrippina (Ann. 13.12)?8 For Seneca the choice had already been made when, at Agrippina's wish and as the price of his return from exiIe, he had agreed to become tutor to the future Emperor, though Agrippina had no wish that Nero should learn philosophy. Ignorant neither of the character of Agrippina and her lust for power, nor of something of the nature of Nero himself, Seneca cook the dangerous decision to enter thc life-and-death struggle at the centre of the Imperial court - whether from wariness of exile, desire for power, or hope to do p o d in accordance with his Stoic lights. The latter reason was certainly present, if not dominant; it shows up in the 'De Clementia', written soon after Britannicus' murder, wheie Seneca certainly hopes that the reign can still be salvaged for justice. It was not the only factor: Seneca's motives were hardly possessed of the purity required of the Stoic sage. He never claimed to be a sage, only an imperfectus on the road, the General Beck of the Roman world rather than the DIETRICH BONHOEFFER.~

Comparison with such figures is not entirely fanciful. Modern reflection has brought out similarities between the world in which Seneca's tragedies, probably largely composed in exile (42- 49),10 are set, and more contemporary histories of Hitler's Germany and Stalin's Russia." Terrorism is advocated by

6 GRIFFIN, Seneca, 303. Ann. 13.18.1 ff. Dio. 61.7.1. As oddly suggested in a lecture by D. E. W. WORMELL.

lo For dating of the tragedies see [recently) GRIMAL, Sbnique, 427. Cf., however, K. ABEL, Seneca. Leben und Leistung, ANRW 11 32.2, ed. W. HAASE (Berlin - New York 1985) 703 - 704.

" HERINGTON, Senecan Tragedy 196; note Oed. 704 (Odia p i nirnium timet / regnare nescit).

SENECA AND STOIC ORTHODOXY 1997

rulers in the tragedies, while "let them hate so long as they fear" (oderint durn metuant) was a favourite line of CaliguIa's in life. It is hard to grasp the moral squalor of the world which Seneca's prose works describe or allude to: a world in which Seneca is able to compliment his mother on refusing abortions;Q in which sexual vice is strikingly represented by Hostius Quadra's mirrored room where he could watch himself performing sexual acts with three people at once;'3 in which abuse of power is summed up in the command of Vedius Pollio that a slave who had broken a crystal vase should be fed to lampreys;14 in which the threat and systematic p5actice of torture is a constant feature of life; where the mob regales itself on straightforward killings, without even a fight (mera homicidia) in the amphitheatre.15 Much of what Seneca describes circumstantially as part of his everyday life looks like the pictures drawn by the satirist Juvenal; the difference, if there is a difference, is that what Seneca says amears to be not only rhetorical but true. The evil centred

< A.

on the largely uncontrollable figure of the Emperor himself: a paragon of lust, impudence and cruelty well typified by Caligula bawling at a banquet about the unsatisfactory sexual performance of his friend Valerius Asiaticus' wife.16 IValerius himself was later destroved bv Claudius.) The 'De Ira'. written ;robably after Caligula's death, is a' terrible document. Its evidence cmnot be side-stepped by misty talk of its author's "deep spiritual sadism".17

If the choices for the public figure were so grim, why did Seneca enter public life? Ambition, as we have seen, was doubtless part of it - but not all. Seneca had certainly thought about the theory of the problem, for whereas the Stoics generally urged participation in politics, Athenodorus (probably during t h e ~ u ~ u s t a n period)lg had offered-an unorthodox reason-for n o t doing so, a reason peculiarly relevant to Seneca's own position, namely the corrupt nature of the political scene. Arguments for and against the participation of the wise man in politics are common throughout Seneca's writings, but in two works, 'De tranquillitate animi' and 'De otio', he specifically deals with the canon laid down by Zeno, namely, as 'De otio' puts it (2.2), that the wise man wili enter public life "apart from exceptional circumstances" (nisi si quid intervenerit). Traditional Stoicism offered three justifications for absten- t ion The wise man will neglect public life, if the state is too corrupt for him to be able to serve it, if he has insufficient power or money or if his help is rejected, if his health precludes an active role in public life. The first of these reasons i s obviously our present concern: Seneca rejects an extreme form of it both in the 'De otio' (8.1) and in the 'De tranquillitate animi' (3.1). No

'2 Ad Helv. 16.3 - 4. I". Q. 1.16.7. '4 De Ira 3.40.2-5; cf. De Clem. 1.18.2.

Ep. 7.3. ' 6 Lollia Saturnina: De Cons. 18.2. For the date see GRIMAL, SCnkque, 274. '' An ingenious phrase of J. FERGUSON, Seneca the Man, in: Neronians and Flavians, ed. T. A. DOREY and D. R. DUDLEY (London 1972) 5.

l a 0. HEESE, Seneca und Athenodorus (Univ.-Prog., Freiburg 1893).

state is good enough for the sage; that may justify his gradual withdrawal - perhaps Seneca wrote the 'De tranquillitate animi' in 6219 - but the corruption of political life is no excuse for total abstention from politics. To say, as did Chrysippus, that one should engage in ~o l i t i c s except when political life is vicious is like urging a man to be a sailor but not to sail when storms threaten.20

Seneca, we may assume, went into politics with his eyes open, justifying his ambition, or rationalizing it, by the Stoic (and emphatically Panaetian) view that the sage is a man of action as well as c ~ n t e m p l a t i o n . ~ ~ But where does the good man draw the line! To that question we have no theoretical answer in Seneca. In practice, however, we know that he attempted to withdraw gradually from public life when his ultimate power-base, his friendship with the Praetorian Prefect, was destroyed in A.D. 62 by the death of Burrus and his replacement by Ofonius Tigellinus, Nero's old charioteering , crony and former praefectus vigilum. At that point Seneca probably thought that he had reached one of the justifications for gradual withdrawal: he was totally powerless to effect the kind of policies he wished.

The world described in Seneca's pIays is a stage on which the conflict between furor {madness, passion) and ratio (reason) is worked om. Such a scenario is in accordance with the most orthodox principles of Stoicism. The Roman forum, as Seneca describes it at length,= reminds us of another kind

I of show: the people there are like a school of gladiators. They are a collection of wild animals or worse; but if the wise man gets angry with them, he will always be angry. Anger, in fact, is out of place.23 If the wise man is to be as angry as the disgracefulness of crime demands, he must not be angry, he must

I

be mad." If we have to kill, we should kill as though dispatching a snake.2" As Plato held, we should not punish in anger.26 In such a world, where control of the irrational passions, enthroned in a Caligula, Or (later) in a Nero, is the most pressing and terrible need, most of the activities of the learned, even those of traditional Stoicism, hll into comparative obscurity and a properly Stoic neglect. We hear of the pointlessness of mere syllogisms," the uselessness of wide learning (who cares if the 'Iliad' was written before the 'Odyssey7?),28

' 9 But not if Serenus preceded Tigellinus as praefectus vigilum, We know that Serenus died in office (Pliny, Natural History 22.96) and 'De rranq.' is addressed to him. I f Serenus became praefectus uigilum in 62, then the 'De tranq.' is after 62. But this is not at all secure; for countering arguments see GRIFFIN, Seneca, 448. M. POHLENZ, Philosophie und Erlebnis in Senecas Dialogen, NAG phil. hist. K1. 1.4.3 (1941) 55- 1 1 1 (Rpt. in ID., Kleine Schriften, hrsg. v. H. DORRIF, I [Hildesheim 196.71 384-4#), GRIFFIN, Seneca, 333.

Z' De Otio 5.1; cf. Ep. 20.2; 89.8, 94.45; D. L. 7.92. The influence of Posidonius is visible. 22 De Ira 2.8.1 - 2.9.1. 2.3 Cf. P. A. BRUNT, Marcus Aurelius in his Meditations, JRS 64 (1974) 11. 19.

De Ira 2.9.4. LC De Ira 1.16.5. 26 De Ira 3.12.7. 27 Ep. 48.2; 85; 113. ZR De Brev. Vit. 13.1.


the futility of looking for plaudits for public displays of erudition.L9 If we read, we should read deepIy rather than widely. If we write, it is good to write for our own immediate use, not for the edification of future generations.30 Physics must be interrupted by ethics. Lucilius, says Seneca, is to consider the moral implications of whatever he reads.3I It is in the light of such remarks, rather than as a mere succumbing to the desire to write a purple passage, that we should view a text where Seneca uses a discussion of the winds to introduce a digression on how greed drives people out to the stormy seas (N. Q. 3.18.4). Hence ensues an attack on luxury in general.

Luxury, greed, cruelty, anger and lust: these are the themes to which Seneca constantly adverts, both in his tragedies" and his prose works. They are the marks of perverse humanity, and almost all of humanity is perverse. Why then should the wise man care, or even the man who longs to be virtuous, the man who is a 'proficient' Stoic? Because, says Seneca, all men are inhabitants of a common country;33 in an important sense all are equal. We Stoics teach the felowship of the human race.34

"Let us grasp in our mind that there are two cities, the one large and truly common in which gods and men are included ..."35

God is the father of us a11.36 It is within this common frame, this world united by the bonds of cosmic "sympathy' as taught by traditional Stoicism and strongly emphasized by Posidonius, that Seneca liked to set himself. And within it, the great struggle between virtue and vice, reason and the irrational impulses, is fought out. Seneca's emphases here are wholly in accordance with the tradition of his school,

For Seneca regarded himself as a Stoic, Stoics differing from another philosophers as males from females,J7 and he is ~ r e ~ a r e d to criticize others, such as Antipacer, for unorthodoxy.38 Not that he felt bound by all the details of the traditional system;39 details could be ~riticized,~O tidied up or remoulded

a Ep. 52.11. 30 De Tranq. 2.13. 3' Ep 89.48: 32 Furor VS. ratio: Thy. 27, Herc. Oet. (ps-Seneca) 233, Med. 52, 392, Hipp. 178, etc. For

threats of torture, ;. g. Oed. 852; for iuxury, Hipp. 649. 33 Ep. 28.4; cf. P. AUBENQUE, Shkque et 1'Unitk du Genre Humain, Actas del Congreso

Int. de Fil. en Honor de Seneca (Madrid 1965) 82-91. J4 De ben. 1.15.2- 3; cf. De tranq. 1.10; Ep. 5.4. 3 De Otio 4.1. 36 Ep. 110.2; cf. 116.3; De ben. 2.29.4. 37 De Prov. 2.1.1. Anger is womanish in De Ira 1.2-3. -iB See Ep. 92.5 on the unimportance of externals. 39 De 0 t io 3.1. 40 Chrysippus is criticized in De Otio 8.1, cf. De Matr., fr. 13 (46) H A A ~ E = E. RICKEL,

Diatribe in Senecae philosophi fragmenta I, Fr. de matr. (Leipzig 1915) fr. 2, on which see M. LAUSBERG, Senecae operum fragrnenta: Oberblick und Forschungsbericht, above in this same volume (ANRW I1 36.3) 1899- 1917, esp. 1915.

into new ~yntheses.~' He beIieved that Stoicism is right in its essential doctrines and in its emphases, but he adhered to a Stoicism mingled with other strains -

I deriving in part from Q. Sextius whose teaching had a Pythagorean flavour." From Sextius Seneca learned the important though not necessarily unStoic practice of a nightly examination of c0nscience.~3 Both Sextius and the Stoic Sotion were vegetarians, and from Sotion Seneca himself adopted this Pythago- rean practice for a year44 - until his father persuaded him to givg it up. Sextius' pupil Papirius Fabianus also influenced Seneca for a time,45 but both Sextius and Papirius were overshadowed by Sotion and A t t a l ~ s . ~ Their ascetic version of Stoicism (advocacy of hard beds, abstinence from hot baths,

I unguents and oysters) confirmed the 'Pythagoreanism' to which Seneca was earlier, or simultaneously, attracted. Apart from such living voices, he read copiously, doubtless Zeno, Chrysippus, Panaetius, Posidonius, Hecaton, Athe-

I nodorus the Younger. Where did this bring him in relation to Stoicism as a tradition? It is time to consider how far Seneca's claim to be generally orthodox stands up to detailed testing. It is reasonable to ask how far 'Pythagoreanizing" may have modified the orthodox 'Chrysippean' doctrines in that very realm of ethics (and its relative, psychology) in which Seneca rightly located the guts of Stoicism. Only then can we evaluate such claims as Quintilian's that in philosophy Seneca is pamm d i l i g e n ~ . ~ ~

11. Some possible Unortbodoxies

I. Will, Impulses and 'Precursors of Passion' (npona0~ta)

Chrysippus formulated Stoic doctrine about human actions as follows: all actions are states of the ruling principle ( ~ ' j p q ~ o ~ ~ b v ) . ~ ~ Walking was a favourite example, perhaps because it was originally used by Aristotle,49 though it may have been Aristotle who led Seneca off the orthodox path.50 Whereas Chrysippus thinks of waking as a state of the ruling principle (fipqiovr~ov lroq E~ov), Seneca seems to introduce a temporal sequence between

4 q p . 33.7 - 8; 64.7. For Sextius see especially GRIFAN, Seneca, 32 - 39; for Sotion, see GRIMAL, Senkque, 59.

43 De Ira 3.36.1. Self-examination is a Pythagorean practice according to Cicero, Cato Maior 38.

* Ep. 108.22; GRIMAL, S&&que, 79. 4s N. Q. 3.27.3; Ep. 58.6.

In particular Ep; 108.13. 47 10.1.129. 48 SVF 111 169; I 525. 49 De motu 702A; cf. D. j. FURLEY, Two Studies in the Greek Atomists (Princeton 1963)

217-218. so Ep. 113.18.


the decision to walk and the walking: oportet me ambulare: tunc demum ambulo, cum hoc mihi dixi et approbavi hanc opionionem mei. That is Aristotle (tipa @ EI~IETV are his words), rather than Chrysippus. Why did I

Seneca take the 'Aristotelian' view, for Chrysippus' 'psychosomatic' theory, whether sound or not, is clearly expressed? We cannot be sure, but an enquiry into his possible views in this and related matters may be fruitful.

Seneca was concerned about what came to be called 'preliminaries to passion' (rcpodtk?aa), and may have carried over thoughts about such 'preliminaries' into his theory of action. To clarify this, consider in particular a text from book 2 of 'De ira' (2.1.3 -2.4.2), a text which can be paralleled from

I the views of an otherwise unknown Stoic named Taurus (quoted by A u h Gellius)," and by Epictetus.52 Seneca is trying to find a 'Stoic' explanation for such instinctive phenomena as blushing and feeling dizzy from looking over a precipice, as well as sadness when confronting a just punishment and I

the thrill of fear when we read of Hannibal at the gates of Rome. What he wants to say is that these reactions, which are not passions (adfectus) but "beginnings preliminary to passions" (principia proludentia adfectibus) do not involve an act of assent, an act of choice (voluntas). Rather they precede it; hence they are not morally culpable. Several times he tries to show that the mind is passive in such cases even though it holds a kind of 'opinion': opinionem iniuriue (De Ira 2.2.2); putavit (2.3.4). There is a blow on the mind (ictus animi 2.2.2); there is a motion of the mind which would rather not be moved (motus animorum moueri nolentiurn 2.2.5); what occurs is by chance (2.3.1); the mind suffers rather than acts (patitur magis animus quam facit 2.3.1). Thus far the point is clear enough: there are emotional reactions, forms of instinctive behaviour, which are part of the common lot of humanity shared by sage and fool alike. Seneca mentions them elsewhere.53 Even the sage can own to them; not to feel them would be subhuman (inhumanitas, Ep. 99.5). So much, incidentally, for the Cynic version of 'impassivity'.S4

It is not implausible to suppose that some form of this doctrine goes back to Chrysippus, as Taurus in Gellius suggesrs.54a Plutarch says that the wise man is 'bitten' by his experiences;j5 and there is no reason why Seneca's I

account of such experiences should not be orthodox in spirit, even if unparal- leled in extant texts which may be ascribed without hesitation to Chrysippus, For relying on Seneca's discussion in the 'De Ira', we may note that he speaks, as Chrysippus would have insisted he should, of these instinctive reactions as

N. A, 19.1.14 ff. 51 For Epictetus, also in Gellius, see J. M. RIST, Epictetus, Dialectic (University of

Newcastle, N. S. W.) 24 (1985) 7. 53 Ep. 57.3 -6; 63.1; 74.31; 82; 99.15 ff. 34 Cf. J. M. Rrs~, Stoic Philosophy (Cambridge 1969) 37-38. f4a E. HOLLER (Seneca und die Seelenteilungslehre und Affektenpsychologie der Mittelstoa 1

[diss. Munich 19331) wishes it to originate with Posidonius. As I argue below, Posidonius may have emphasized it without originating it.

5' Plut., De vir. mot. 449A (SVF 111 439).

passive experiences of the mind; that is, in Chrysippean language, they are the "ruling principle in a certain state" (fipep0~1~6v X W ~ EXOV), but that state does not depend on an act of assent. Evidence that this doctrine, visible, as we have seen, in Stoics later than Seneca, originates neither with Seneca him~elf,~6 nor with his teacher Sotion," appears to be provided by Cicero who mentions something like it in the 'Tusculan Disputat i~ns ' .~~ We hear again of "bitings and certain little contractions of the soul", but Cicero adds an additional point of great importance. These "bitings" in no way involve the will (uoluntarium).

Is Seneca then in step with Chrysippus? Had he said no more than he says in the 'De Ira', there would seem to be reason to give judgment in his favour. Using, perhaps, merely a different terminology from the extant works of Chrysippus, he distinguishes two types of conditions of the 'ruling part', one in which that part is wholly passive (the so-called npo~a%aar), and one where it is active in that assent has been given to a presentation. That assent is an impulse (bppfl); it is crafted by reasonY59 and the impulse and the assent are simultaneous. The impulse does not come with the 'presentation' itself, for, as Seneca puts it, it does not exist without assent (Numquam autem impetus sine assenstl mentis est, De Ira 2.3.4); it is a "following" impulse (sequens impetus) which involves assent (approbavit, 2.3.5).

In the 'De Ira' Seneca's terminology is somewhat unusual. He calls the act of assent an act of will (voluntm); Chrysippus himself, however, may have spoken of Gtho~a, and there is no reason ro believe scholars like POHLENZ who cIairned that Seneca (or other Romans) introduced a new faculty of the

Seneca talks of states of mind with or without the act of will (or assent); Chrysippus could have referred to states of the ruling part with or without judgment (6tbvora) or assent. Words may differ when doctrines persist.

Before continuing, however, let us return to the question with which we began: the unorthodox gap Seneca seems to have introduced between deciding to walk and walking. This may have arisen in part as a result of emphasizing, though not first formulating, the gap between the irrationa1 reaction and the assent and 'impulse', good or bad, which follow it. For grasping that Chry- sippus had a sequence thus: instinctive reaction -+ assent and rational/ irrational impulse with which the action itself is simultaneous, Seneca took the sequence in a literally temporal sense (perhaps assisted by such terms as Erc~yiv~sai),~~ thus gerting reaction -+ assent and rationaVirrationa1 impulse -+ physical act, forgetting that in fact physical acts, for Chrysippus, a r e states

56 AS I. HADOT tends to think, Seneca und die griechisch-romische Tradition der Seelen- leitung (Quellen und Studien zur Ceschichte der Philosophie 13) (Berlin 1969) 133, n. 45.

57 AS proposed by M. POHLENZ, Die Stoa I (Gottingen 1959) 307-308. So HADOT, Seneca, 133, n. 45; Cic., T.D. 3.83.

s9 D. L. 7.86 (SVF I11 178). On all this see RIST, Stoic Philosophy, 221 -231. D.L. 7.86 (SVF 111 178).

of the ruling principle.62 But the possibility of direct or mediated influence from Aristotle cannot be ruled out.

What about the theory of instinctual reactions itself? So far we have found nothing which Chrysippus might not have accepted, but there are two further problems to be resolved, one in the 'De Ira', the other in 'Epistle' 113. Normally in the 'De Ira', as we have seen, Seneca speaks of the 'passive' instinctual responses as responses of the mind: that is what we should expect. Once, however, there is something different:

"If anyone thinks that pallor ... and the rest are evidence of passions and marks of the mind, he is mistaken and does not understand that these are disturbances of the body."

That remark, whether by carelessness or design, must seem to compromise Chrysippean monism in psychology, though here we should proceed with caution, for since Chrysippus admitted that the soul might survive the body - and for other reasons too - it is clear that in early Stoicism the distinction between soul and body is more than merely conceptual.62a Be that as it may, Seneca's readings in Posidonius, whose psychology was that of the tripartite soul, might have encouraged further developments of a non-Chrysippean account of the soul. But, it may be argued, we do not find tripartition in Seneca, but a dualism of mind and body (as when Epictetus contrasts bodily and psychic pleasures).63 Clear evidence of an exactly similar doctrine in Posidonius is lacking; but that he separated the mind (as daimon) from the body, as well as from other parts of the soul, seems certain64 - and this, as we shall see, is another theme which occurs in Seneca (as well as in Marcus Aurelius). Posidonius is not, of course, Seneca's only possible source for such ideas; the 'Neopythagorean' Sextius or Sotion might do as well; or the two might coincide, But there is one passage from Plutarch's 'De libidine et aegritudine' (4 - 6 fr. 154 EDELSTEIN - KIDD) which suggests that he may be a major inspiration there. In addition to distinguishing sharply between "things of the soul" ( W U X I K ~ ) and "things of the body" (cropan~a), Posidonius refers also to "bodily things about the soul" (c ropa~i~u m p i ~ u ~ q v ) . Included under this head, ivrter alia, are both presentations and "bitings" (6qypoi); we recall the (apparently Chrysippean) word quoted by Plutarch. Posidonius here offers both a dualism of body and soul and an attempt to explain instinctive reactions or their (possibly still Chrysippean) ancestors within such a framework. Could this sort of analysis lie behind what might otherwise be taken to be Seneca's slip of the tongue over "disturbances of the body"? The likelihood of Posidonian influence in this matter should be evaluated in the light of other Senecan

62 In an earlier discussion of these matters I confused the issue by saying that for Chrysippus a11 psychosomaric conditions are partly 'voluntary' (Stoic Pidosophy 42-43). But this is not the case.

621 See A. A. LONG, Soul and body in Stoicism, Phronesis 27 (1982) 34-57. "3 Disc. 3.7.4. 64 RIST, Stoic Philosophy, 211.

SENECA AND STOIC ORTHODOXY 2003 1

1 doctrines. We cannot deny rhat thus far we have found nothing in Seneca's account of "instinctive reactions" which Chrysippus would n eces s a r i 1 y have

1 rejected. On the other hand the possibly Aristotelian influence which we have already detected in Epistle 113 might itself be due to the influence of Posi- donius, thus strengthening the case for Posidonian influence on the account of instinctive reactions.

Epistle 113, however, is certainly also unsatisfactory from the Chrysippean point of view in a further matter of language. We have already boted, of course, that in his account of walking Seneca seems to introduce a non-Stoic temporal sequence. Peculiar too is the fact that here, and here alone, he

I describes the instinctive reaction which precedes assent as an impetus.@a That term, which translates the Greek dppfi, and which is regularly used for an 'impulse' in the special Stoic sense of the word, is out of place for a reaction

I which, by the canons of 'De Ira', is purely passive, and which certainly precedes assent; impulses in orthodox Stoicism, as Seneca knows, 'follow' assent. However, in Epistle 113, Seneca talks about assent con f i rming this -. ~mpulse'. Yet it should be noted that if the offending word 'impulse' were

struck out, Chrysippus might approve of the rest. Careless expression is probably the answer here.

2. The Daimon and its Fate

A11 men are inhabitants of a common country, in virtue of the fact that they are all particles of god. Chrysippus might have said it, bur Seneca, like Posidonius, whom he quotes on the subject, makes a sharp dichotomy. Mind (spi7itus) is a holy spirit within the flesh "only suitable for receiving food, as Posidonius says";65 ir is a "god within" (deus int~s),~6 which has "flowed down".67 Seneca agrees with much of what Posidonius says on such matters, but that does not mean that Posidonius is his only source. Perhaps even Plato should be considered - Seneca certainly knew Plato - or the rather Neop~thagorean thinkers to whom we have already alluded. But exactly how Platonic or 'Pythagorean' Seneca became cannot be determined from his account of spiritus.

Can we go further by considering possible beIiefs in immortality? Appar- ently not, for the beliefs of Posidonius himself are not certain - though there are reasons to think that his views did not diverge substantively from traditional Stoicism.6"~ for Seneca, as has recently been demonstrated, at least

643 GRIMAL, Senkque, 332-333, is prepared to believe (wrongly) that Chrysippus would accept an 'impulse' before assent. For the correct view see 8. INWOOD, Ethics and Human Action in Earty Sroicism (Oxford 1985), esp. chap. 3 . Ep. 92.10.

66 Ep. 41.1 - 2; cf. 31.1 1; 66.12; 110.2; Vita Beata 24.3. 67 Ep. 120.14, in hoc pectus mortale deflrrxit. 68 Cf. R. HOVEN, Sto~cisme et Stoiciens face au probleme de I'au-dell (Bibl. de la Fac. de

Phil. et Lettres de I'Univ. de Like 197) (Paris 1971) 57-65, 93- 102.


four currents of thought are recognizable, but they can be explained neither in terms of the development of his thought, nor of the 'literary' form of particular writings. HOVEN has identified (1) the orthodox Stoic view of limited survival,69 (2) a Socratic alternative, in which death is viewed, in the manner of the 'Apology', as "either an end or a transition to another place", (3) an occasional 'Epicurean' tendency to deny survival altogether, and (4) a Platonic-Pyrhagorean strain, particularly strong in Epistle 102, which A B E L ~ ~ and others associate with Pos~donius, and which HOVEN" himself considers may represent Sotion's Neopythagoreanism. Be that as it may, it is clear that no single position can be affirmed as Seneca's consistent view. In a sense he seems uninterested; he is happy to say that morality itself gives us immortal fame when we have learned to live in the right way." Nevertheless, it must also be said that Seneca knows the 'orthodox' Stoic view and does not always abide by it. For it was not only his readings about immortality in Posidonius and his instruction by Sotion and Sextius which might have led him to unqrthodoxy; the variations to be observed in Seneca from traditional Stoic accounts of the "god within usn point in the same direction.

3. The problem of suicide

There is no doubt about the prominence of suicide in Seneca's writings. The eventual form of his own death cannot but remind us of that of so crate^,^^ and Tacitus and Dia agree that 'necessity' was brought to bear on him, namely the instructions of Nero. A11 Stoics held that the wise man could and sometimes should commit suicide, though technically life and death are matters indifferent. Socrates will teach you to die when you have to, Zeno before you have to, says Sene~a, '~ apparently meaning that a man can learn to judge when his time has come, sometimes from seemingly insignificant signs.7s The wise man, in fact, will decide to die either when prevailing conditions prevent him living "according to Nature", or when obligations to his country or his friends demand it, or when his moral integrity may be compromised by continuing ro live. In these matters Seneca follows the orthodox Stoic theory which points, at times, to a rational departure from life. But there is something unusual about Seneca's constant association of suicide with freedom. That is not to sat that Seneca was "interested in suicide as a vindication of free will",

69 HOVEN, Stoicisme, 109 - 126. '0 See, generally, K. ABEL, Poseidonios und Senecas Trostschrift an Marcia, Rh. Mus. 107

(1964) 221-260; cf. ID., Seneca. Leben und Leistung, ANRW I1 32.2, ed. W. HAASE (Berlin -New York 1985) 711 - 712.

" HOVEN, Stoicisme, 126. ' 2 De Tranq. 16.4. '3 Ann. 15.64. '4 Ep. 104.21. ' 5 So GRIFFIN, Seneca, 373-374. In 'Stoic Philosophy' (247) I wrongly suggested that

Seneca had misread the tradition about Zeno's death.

if that means that he thought suicide helped us with "the problem of free wilP.76 Certainly all rational acts are free; what is curious in Seneca is his constant singling out of suicide as the road to freedom. Admittedly life at the Court of Caligula or Nero was such that the freedom (libertas) either of the philosopher or of the Roman aristocrat was not easy to maintain - and could perhaps be found more readily in the beyond. Tacitus may imply that Seneca, dying himself, considered immortality - unlike the 'novelist' Petronius, who is apparently approved for avoiding talk of the immortality of the soul and the opinions of various philosophers (Ann. 16.19). But this is rather irrelevant, for whatever the reasons for Seneca's constant association of suicide with freedom, it is the fact that must be noticed and weighed against the background of traditional Stoicism. More than any other known Stoic Seneca links suicide and freedom: "Many gates to liberty lie open" (Ep. 12.10); "in any kind of servitude the way lies open to libertyn (De Ira 3.15.3).

"... See you that precipice? Down that is the way to liberty. See you that sea, that river, that well? There sits liberty at the bottom. See you that tree, stunted, blighted and barren? Yet from its branches hangs liberty. See you that throat of yours, your gullet, your heart? ... Do you ask what is the highway to liberty? Any vein in your body,"n

Seneca admits that there are irrational reasons for suicide which should be avoided - boredom, excessive hatred of I i fe ,7br a death wish (libido moriendi) - but his caution here is more than balanced by his eulogies elsewhere. It is true that Seneca exalted martyrdom in general; and there is no doubt that he regarded suicide as one among other possible forms of martyrdom. He praises the virtue of those who were killed by tyrants, like Julius Canu~ , ' ~ and those who faced threats of torture and death, like Luci- lius,SO from similar sources. But to say that is not to say that Seneca exalted martyrdom rather than that he exalted suicide;*' rather it is to say that he exalted both martyrdom in general and suicide in particular. It is the fear of death that the 'rational' suicide 0vercomes;8~ and that is a freedom which Seneca values highly. But suicide is a deliberate act; NOCK thought that in the time of Seneca it was "the Stoic form of martyrdom par e~cellence".~3 The example of Cato was supposed to show that it is particularly inspiring. It is hard to deny that Seneca's "non-technical rhetorical discussions" of suicide

76 A view wrongly attributed to me by GRIFFIN, Seneca, 383. 77 Trans. J. N. SEVENSTER, Paul and Seneca (Supplement to Novum Testamentum 4) (Leiden

1961) 58; cf. Ep. 77, De Prov. 2.10. '"p. 24.24. 79 De Tranq. 14.4- 10. $0 N. Q. 4, pref. 15 - 17.

GRIFFIN, Seneca, 386. Especially Epistles 70 and 82.

83 A. D. NOCK, Conversion (Oxford 1933) 197, quoted by GRIFFIN, Seneca, 387. But NOCK'S

evidence for "the time of Seneca" is largely Seneca, and his discussion points to the prevalence of suicide among non-Stoics.

SENECA AND STOIC ORTHODOXY

promote a certain glamorization of the act itself.E4 There is no reason to think of that glamorization as deriving from traditional Stoicism, or from Posidonius, or, as far as we know, from Seneca's own teachers; a ray of hope among the current brutalities of court life affords a more reasonable explanation.

4. The Ideal King and his 'Clementia'

"In the beginning Kings ruled Rome" (Ann. 1.1). Tacitus, like Seneca, knows that monarchy of some sort had returned to Rome with Augustus. In

I

Seneca's 'De Clementia', addressed to Nero soon after the killing of Britan- nicus, rex and princeps, the official and unofficial titles of the monarchy, as it were, are juxtapo~ed.~s Such language has both practical and theoretical importance. Seneca knew and admitted that the Emperor was a kind of king; he.therefore felt able to apply to him the discussions of kingship by Hellenistic political theorists.86 Such a procedure was both Stoic and Neopythagorean,87 and in the Stoic school goes back almost to the earliest days: at least to Persaeus, pupil of Zeno, who wrote a treatise 'On Kingship' (D. L. 7.36).

One of the characteristics of a king (in Seneca's official language a princeps) was clementia; and at the beginning of Nero's reign Seneca considered the theme twice: once in a speech he wrote for Nero to deliver in the Senate; once in the extant 'De Clernentia', composed, as we have noted, after the killing of Britannicus, designed in part to argue that it would be wrong to infer that the judicial abuses of Claudius' reign, which Seneca himself had satirized in the 'Apocolocyntosis', were about to return. Clementia, which carries something of the flavour of the Greek terms philanthropia and epieikeia, is a virtue of the absolute monarch who in some sense is above the law.88 It is not the equivalent of Aristotelian 'equity' which flourishes within a framework of law: equity is the 'rectification' of a law which is just. But the point may be pressed too far: Nero, or the ideal ruler of 'De Clementia', does not operate whol ly beyond the bounds of his own legal structure.89 On the contrary, as we have suggested, one of the aims of the 'De Clementia' was to persuade its readers that trials for treason (maiestas), of such a sort as to constitute a perversion of judicial structures for political ends, would not occur in the new reign. It is true that the dementia which Seneca advocates

84 GRIFFIN, Seneca, 384. Principes regesque (De Clem. 1.4.3; cf. 1.3.3; 1.7.7; 1.13.1; 1.6.1).

86 K. WEIDAUER, Der Prinzipat in Senecas Schrift de Clementia (Diss. Marburg 1950) 17. 87 Cf. L. DELATTE, Les trait& de la royautk d'Ecphante, Diotogkne et Sthinidas (Bibl. de

la Fac. de Phil. et Lettres de 1'Univ. de Likge 97) (Paris 1942). 88 SO K. BUCHNER, Aufbau und Sinn von Senecas Schrift iiber die Clementia, Hermes 98

(1970) 203-223 (Rpt. in: ID., Studien zur romischen Literatur, IX. Romische Prosa [Wiesbaden 19781 190- 211).

89 B~~CHNER'S thesis on this is approved by GRIFFIN, Seneca, 151.

is a species of justice,% and, perhaps more importantly, that it is a characteristic of the sage. Hence Seneca is setting Nero rather exalted standards; he is calling upon him to fulfil the tasks which the sage couId fulfil. But though we may object to Seneca's political optimism in such a comparison, there can be no objection on grounds of Stoic theory. The wise man is above the law in that he can and does use dementia - epieikeia; he is not above the law in the sense of one who would disregard just Iaws. The Stoic king is answerable to no man (D. L. 7.122), but he is, of course, answerable to reason. It is reasonable to believe that Seneca's account of clementia was influenced, though not formed, by Aristotle, and that we should take seriously Seneca's claim to rebut critics of Stoicism who hold that its philosophy is too harsh to act as a good guide for rulers;p1 in other words that, although Seneca's major concern is political, he is also anxious to argue with philosophically-minded objectors to Stoic theory. This interpretation is not refuted by the observation that Seneca is doing more than merely arguing with philosophers, nor by pointing out that the range of operation of dementia, as for example in the dealings of a conqueror with the defeated in war, goes beyond Aristotle's intentions in the 'Nicomachean Ethics'. The crux of the problem is that epieikeiu (Latin, in part, clementia) was suspect to Stoics as a weakminded desire to treat equal offences dissimilarly, while a rehabilitation of epieikeia so as to be acceptable to.Stoics could not be achieved without drawing attention, at least by implication, to its Aristotelian origins. To say that, of course, is not to say rhat Seneca's dementia is equivalent to AristotIe's 'equityY:9* it has no concern with subjects suitable for legislation (as in N. E. 1137B29), but only with the administration of Iaws already passed and assumed to be just. Seneca in fact makes use of Aristode's discussions, and perhaps arguments against them by others, for his own purpose; and his purpose is primarily to show rhat Stoics can justify monarchy without sacrifice of justice, provided that the wielder of dementia follows strict Stoic principks, i. e , that he is a Stoic sage untroubled by the passion of anger and obedient to the virtue of gentleness (xpa6qq) . That being so, it seems a mistake to suggesP3 rhat "Stoic doctrine ... seems to have ruled out precisely that mitigation of penalties which forms the main content of Seneca's clementia". For although the character of the princeps in the 'De Clernentia' implies the possibility of Nero's behaving like a Stoic sage, Seneca does not equate Roman law with that justice which, in an ideal state, would be the incarnation of right reason.

Clementia for Seneca is a Stoic virtue of the ideal king, and the principate offers the opportunity for an ideal king to rule. Some Stoics, like Thrasea

Yo Cf. RIST, The Stoic Concept of Detachment, in: J. M. RIST (ed.), The Stotcs (Berkeley: L . A . 1978) 269-272.

91 De Clem. 2.5.2ft'. 92 As argued by M. FUHRMANN, Die Alleinherrschaft und das Problem der Gerechcigkeit,

I Gymnasium 70 (1963) 512-513, and by T. ADAM, Clementia Princ~pis. Der Einfluc hellenistischer Fiirstenspiegel auf den Versuch einer rechtlichen Fundierung des Principars dutch Seneca (Kieter Historische Studien 11) (Stuttgarr 1970) 36, 90.

93 GRIFFIN, Seneca, 159.


Paetus, may have disagreed with that assessment, and Seneca may have worked to set his case before them. At least he may have judged them still open to persuasion to what (after all) is a genuinely Stoic position, for none was yet showing uncooperativeness towards the regime, let alone presenting the face of a 'Stoic opposition'. Thrasea Paetus, we recall, was consul in A. D. 56, and can be seen working to clean up the Senate by ridding it of Tigellinus' son- in-law in 57 (Ann. 13.33).

5. Slavery and sexual ethics

We have noted Seneca's Stoic unorthodoxy in psychology and established his proximate orthodoxy in a disputed matter of political theory. There are other problems about institutions to consider: the theory and practice of siavery, and the relations between the sexes. In his account of slavery,94 in fact; Seneca is unusual rather than unorthodox. It appears to have been the Stoic view, probably maintained by all members of the school, that there are no natural slaves;95 Chrysippus himself defined a slave as a 'lifelong hireling' (De ben. 3.22.1). Ideas of this sort are based on the thesis that our ruling principle is a part of the divine. Yet the unexpected conclusions which Seneca draws are also orthodox: there is no condemnation of slavery as an institution; freedom and slavery are in themselves matters indifferent; slaves should be spared brutality, not for their own sake, nor only on gounds of expediency, but because harsh treatment is morally corrupting to the master. Now many stoicizers and even teachers of Stoicism failed to draw even the minimally logical conclusions from the doctrine that all men are 'naturally' free. Hecaton, for example, the p p i l of Panaetius, thought that a slave could not earn the gratitude of his master. Hecaton is ignorant, replies Seneca, of the ius hu- manum. What matters in such a case is not a man's rank, but his intention (animus).96 The condition of slavery does not enter into the "whole man". His 'better part' is free of it.97 Such views - orthodox implications of Stoicism - Seneca knows are often unpopular.98 More normal language about slaves would call them "almost worthless chattels" (quasi nequam mancipi~).~'

94 SVF 111 352. This text o f Philo is rightly reclaimed for Chrysippus by GRIFFIN after being rejecred by W. RICHTER, Seneca und die Sklaven, Gymnasium 65 (1958) 205.

95 See especialIy Ep. 47 and de Ben. 3.18-28. How to treat slaves was a standard Stoic theme, comparable with how to treat women and children (Ep. 94.1): cf. Marcus Aurelius 5.13.

96 De ben. 3.18.2. W. RICHTER, (Seneca, 203) thinks this is due to Posidonius' Platonizing, but D,L. 7,121-122 suggests that it goes back to Chrysippus. Hecaton's attitude to slaves is also otherwise unorthodox: a master need not bankrupt himself to feed slaves when food is high-priced (Cic., de Off. 3.89).

y7 De Ben. 3.20.1. 9~ Ep. 47.13. 99 De Ira 3.19.2.

Seneca is very conscious of the fact that the institution of slavery gives particular opportunity for the vices of lust and angerY1m as are others of his contemporaries. Why does he.tolerate it? It is not that he argues that it is necessary for economic stability; rather it is apparently inevitable, hence indifferent. Tor a man, as has frequently been obs&ved, who talks more humaneiy about slaves than many of his contemporaries, including other Stoics, the fact that he does n o t advocate its abolition is a tribute either to his intellectual dishonesty or to his orthodoxy. Either Seneca really believed that siavery is ultimately unimportant, or he found it socially intolerable not to do so. In fact, he probably thought of his position as both orthodox, which

I it is, and consistent, In the context of his hostility to gladiators he refers to man as a "sacred thing" (res sac~a)~01 - and he opposes the "straightforward killing" (mera bomicidia) of the noon-day break at the amphitheatre;'O* but

( such remarks need not imply an outright condemnation of institutions in society, only of individuals who act viciously. One should treat a res sacra decently, as Seneca preached and to some extent practised in his own life, but opportunities for brutality do no harm to the victim in so far as he is good; they only harm the misguided, whether he be victim or persecutor.

From slaves to women is a short step in antiquity; and views of women in Greece and Rome often test whether the over-riding principles of a school

i are given substance in detailed moral proposals. Here again Seneca comes off well from a Stoic point of view. Despite the regular use of 'womanish' as a term of abuse,l*3 Seneca follows the wisdom of Zeno and Chrysippus (and specifically rejects Roman tradition) in lamenting that his mother Helvia had

I

been given no more than a smattering of philosophy.lw Women, he tells Marcia, are the equals of men in their capacity for virtue. Nature does not grudge them moral capability.los As equals they should be given equal moral rights as well as responsibilities. If chastity should be expected of a wife, it should similarly be expected of a husband.'" The same idea is to be found in Seneca's contemporary Musonius, and it was probably traditional. Loss of evidence alone may prevent us from recognizing it as part of the teaching of

I Zeno and Chrysippus.

EL. 95.33 (men killed for fun); cf. Ep. 7.2-3; de Tranq. 2.13. Ep. 7.3. C. E. MANNING, Seneca and the Stoics on the Equality of the Sexes, Mnem. ser. 4, 26 (1973) 170- 177. MANNING points out the importance of the individual 'nature' which the Stoics tell men and women to follow. That 'virtue' is the same for men and women was held by Cleanthes (D. L. 7.175). What matters is what a 'common' virtue means when converted into acts of practical life. Here the different personae of males and females must be considered. Ad Helv. 17.4. Ad Marc. n 16.1. Ep. 94.26.

SENECA AND STOIC ORTHODOXY 201 1

6. Some Platonic interests: Letters 58 and 65

Perhaps a clue as to when and where Seneca diverges from the paths of traditional Stoicism is to be found in his letters 58 and 65 to Lucilius. We know, of course, that Seneca's 'unorthodoxies' tend towards Platonism, and that he is fairly familiar with the writings of Panaetius and his pupils, and of Posidonius, who might supply that Platonism; but only the mistaken view that Posldonius wrote a commentary on Plato's 'Timaeus' has at times induced the belief that Posidonius must be Seneca's source for the Platonizing material in letters 58 and 65.1°7 A more popular suggestion about Seneca's source in these texts is Antiochus of Ascalon of the late Academy; but there are no good grounds for connecting Antiochus with Seneca in particular, and though he may have had some influence on what has been called the "metaphysic of prepositions" in EpistIe 65,Io8 he is a most unlikely source for the distinction between Forms and immanent ideas in Epistle 58 (since he himself more or less identified the two). In fact we probably need a single source for the two letters - which throws doubt on DILLON'S suggestion of Arius Didymus for 58 and probably Eudorus for 65 unless by "Eudorus" is meant "Arius quoting Eudorus". Arius, in fact, is the most likely immediate source for both letters. He might have mediated the Eudoran "metaphysic of prepositions" (Ep. 65);loY and WHITTAKER has argued strongly that his commentary on the "Timaeus', mentioned by Plutarch, 1s the sourcc both of 58 and of comparable subject- matter In Plutarch (De E, 39213 - D) ,110 The possibility of a single source for both letters, and that source being a handbook containing texts of Eudorus, renders the alternative possibility, namely Posidonius, less plausible.111 Such a conclusion seems confirmed if we take Arius also to be onc of the sources of Epistle 89, where Seneca opcratcs with what seems a uniquely Eudoran division of the subject-matter of moral into inspectio, impulse

E. g. E. BICKEL, Senecas Briefe 58 and 65: Das Antiochus-Posidonius-Problem, Rh. Mus. 103 (1960) 1-20. On the non-existence of Posidonius' commentary see J. WHITTAKER, Seneca, Ep. 58.17, Symb. Osl. 50 (1975) 148, n. 15 and K. REINHARDT, Poseidonios, RE 22.1 (1953) col. 569. W. THEILER, Die Vorbereitung des Neuplatonismus (Problemata 1) (Berlin 1930) (Rpt. BerlinIZurich 1964) 18ff. But see J. M. DILLON, The Middle Platonists (Londonllthaca 1977) 136. So DILLON, The Middle Platonists, 138. WHITTAKER, Seneca, 146 and ID., Ammonius on the Delphic E, CQ. 19 (1969) 185 - 192 (esp. 191 - 192). For Eudorus' commentary see Plut., De Procr. an. in Tim. 1013B, 1019E, 1020C. and cf., most recently, J. P. HERSHBELL, Plutarch's 'De animae procreatione in Timaeo': An Analysis of Structure and Content, ANRW I1 36.1, ed. W. HAASE (Berlin- New York 1987) 239. See also W. THEILER, Phi10 von Alexandrien und der Beginn des kaiserzeitlichen Platonismus, in: Parusia. Festschrift J. Hirschberger (Frankfurt 1965) 199 -218. In 'Eros and Psyche' (Toronto 1964) 64 I rejected the view of R. E. WIIT (Albinus and Middle Platonism [Cambridge 19371 71) that Arius is the source for Ep. 65. I agreed with him, however, that the ultimate source was Posidonius. I t appears that I was wrong on both counts. The immediate source in Arius, the ultimate, Eudorus.

(impetus) and practice (actio).l12 Arius, of course, was a Stoic, and as a friend of the Emperor Augustus, probably of no small interest to Seneca the politician. But Eudorus was a Neopythagorean, and interest in Eudorus' work might be connected in Seneca with the Pythagoreanizing teachers of his youth.

111. Some conclusions

Let us summarize the major areas in which Seneca seems to diverge from traditional Stoicism.113 He shouId be accounted more or less orthodox (indeed in some ways ultra-orthodox) on certain 'political' subjects (women, slaves, kings and the clementia of kings). The stranger features of his remarks on suicide probably derive from social conditions rather than philosophical objections to Stoic truth. He is clearly unorthodox on the soul as a daimon, and the dualism in his theory can also be found, at least on occasion, to have influenced his descriptions of instinctive behaviour and its moral context.

Suicide apart, therefore, Seneca's unorthodoxy, where it exists, is prirnar- ily in psychology. It might be supposed that worries about the explanation of moral struggles were more pressing than concern for the more theoretical problems of the unity of the human person which so affected Chrysippus. Both Posidonius and the teachers and teachings of Neopythagoreanism could have influenced him in this. Did the latter in fact do so? Curiously enough, Neopythagoreans in this age seem to have been more concerned with metaphysical speculation on the generation of the cosmos than with psychological and ethical matters - though that is not to say that they had no interest' in these. As for Eudorus, we are hardly in a position to comment; the source materials are lacking.114 One thing we know for certain, however, is that Eudorus' account of the 'end' of life was markedly Platonic: Socrates and Plato are said to have agreed with Pythagoras that the end of life is likeness to God (bpoiwq BE@). Yet we do not know whether in Eudorus such ideas were associated with Pythagorean speculation about the soul as a daimon.

Against the view that Seneca's unorthodoxies, where they are apparent in psychology, derive primarily from Sextius, or from other kinds of Pythagorean traditions derived, say, from his readings of Eudorus in Arius, is his lack of interest in working out a consistent account of the fate of the soul at death. In a passage considered earlier Tacitus ~ e r h a p s suggests in recounting the

"2 Cf. DILLON, The MiddIe Platonists, 122. Arius is mentioned by Seneca as comforting Livia (ad Marc. 4 - 6).

"3 Minor, or rather Iess prominent divergencies may occur where the Roman Stoics have lost touch with the reasons for Chrysippean distinctions. I noted (Stoic Philosophy, 126) necessity (cf. Cic., de Fato 41). Seneca (N. Q. 2.36) can talk of fate as the "necessity of things" and Marcus of the "necessity of fate" (12.14.1).

114 Generally for Eudorus see now DILLON, The Middle Platonists, 122- 126.

death of Petronius that the dying Seneca listened to readings about the immortality of the soul - perhaps Pythagorean-inspired, but more likely Pfato's 'Phaedo' or Aristotle's 'Eudemus'; yet in general his views of immortal- iry diverge from that kind of tradition. Our conclusion, then, must on balance be the old one: where Seneca diverges from orthodox Stoicism, it is to the influence of the Stoic Posidonius that we should principally look; yet his divergencies are markedly less than those of Posidonius himself. He has, in fact, mastered most of the traditions of the original masters of the school, even in areas where those rraditions themselves are somewhat conflicting. - - ~. Quintilian's description of him as rather careless in philosophy is unjustified.

Seneca has a Stoic's love of preaching: I can harangue against vice without end, he tells ~ s . 1 1 ~ But for all his admiration at times for the fashionable Cynic Demetrius, he condemns mere Cynicism"6 and holds that Cynic insensitivity, which he distinguishes from the virtue of orthodox Stoicism, should be avoided.117 Yet despite his high position in Roman society, we must also insist that with Seneca traditional Stoic thinking subordinates a purely 'Roman' attitude. POHLENZ was wrong to claim a new 'Roman' approach to the will in Seneca.fl8 What seems to guide his path, if anything can be said to do so, is a Stoic rendering of the old 'Pythagorean' call to "Follow God'l19; for to obey God is liberty.120 The philosophers, even the Stoics, can be wrong, as was Posidonius over the origin of ans,I2l but they are at least trying to do right; and hope for mankind lies with them. Scneca;like Marcus later, is prepared to say that life is a mere point in eternity,l22 but on the whole he is not pessimistic about the moral struggle. Indeed at times he verges on optimistic heterodoxy, for the possibility of being a sage is less remote for the practical Seneca than for his Greek mentors.123 It is worth while being a spiritual director; real progress can be made. There are abundant living examples of virtue and vice. and it is the exits and entrances of historical characters which give Seneca's own writing its strength. In the effete Maecenas,'14 the raving Caligula, Quadra the pervert, the brutal Vedius Pollio we see vice; in Cato and Socrates, and in the hoped-for recipients of Stoic good advice we see virtue. Seneca never wearied of recording and drawing Stoic conclusions from the epic moral struggles around him. Conscientia is almost his watchword. If he tends to concentrate on vice rather than virtue, he can hardly be blamed. For in his life, as in his plays, were the criminals and the criminally insane: ecce iam facies scelus uolens sciensque (H. F. 1300). Yet for all that, he insists, if you indulge your fears, life is not worth 1iving.lD

115 Ep. 51.13. 1% Ep. 5.1. 11' Ep. 9.3, ll"ee GRIMAL, Sb&que, 25. "9 De Vita Beata 15.6. I* De Vita Beata 15.7. Izr Ep. 90. Ad. Marc. 21.1.

GRIMAL, Sdnhque, 404. 1" Ep. 92.35. Ep. 13.12.

XI

Plotinus on Matter and Evil

N THE DISCUSSION which followed his paper "Plotin e t les Gnostiques*,' I M. Puech suggested that the language and thought of Plotinus concerning matter could be said to have developed. Before the break

with the Gnostics which is revealed in Enneads 3.8, 5.8, 5,5, and 2.9,

thinks M. Puech, Plotinus conceived of matter as a kind of evil substance, whereas he later came to regard it as %naginbe comme un miroir". After questioning, he explained that he inclined to the view that Plotinus had reformed the pessimistic dualism that can be found in his earlier treatises, if not abandoned it altogether, and he was ready to accept the implication that after the break with the Gnostics, Plotinus tended to abandon the suggestion that matter is evil.

The two treatises which appear in places to teach most clearly the inherent evil of matter are Enn. 2 . 4 and I .8. The former of these is the twelfth in Porphyry's list of the treatises in chronological order, and was therefore written between 254 and 2 6 3 A.D. ; the latter is number fifty-one and was composed almost at the end of Plotinus' life, probably in 269. The treatises against the Gnostics are numbers thirty to thirty- three in chronological order, all therefore having been written after 265; and those containing expressions suggesting that matter is mere negativity include 2.6 (I 7th in chronological order), 2.5 (2 J), 3.6 ( 2 6) and 6. j (w). Enn. 2 4, which, as has already been noticed, appears to contain the theory of matter as evil, also supports the view of i t as negativity. W e can at once conclude, therefore, that Plotinus appears to have maintained the doctrine that matter i s evil soon after he began to write and again at the time of his death, and that his break with the Gnostics did not, at least ultimateiy, affect his thought on this issue. W e may explain this by suggesting that the view of matter as negativity, which appears along-side the apparently more dualistic view in the early tract 2.4, obtained complete supremacy in Plotinus' mind for a period when his opposition to Gnosticism was at its most intense, but if this is so, (and I do not think i t can be proved), then apparently dualist views on this particular issue returned when the main struggle with Gnosticism was over.

r H. C. Puech, "Plotin et les Gnostiques, * Entretiens Hardt 5, Les Sources de Plotin (Geneva I 960) r 84.

All this - if true - seems rather confusing, and makes it very difficult to understand Plotinus' process of thought, let alone the reason for that process. It would appear then that talk of development in Plotinus' doctrine of matter does not help very much in understanding him unless we assume the unlikely hypothesis of a very brief change of view which was almost immediately reversed. More progress can almost certainly be made by taking up a few of the statements of Plotinus himself and attempting to decide whether his apparently contradictory views are in fact contradictory. I propose therefore to examine what he has to say about matter and evil, especially in Enneads I .8 and 2 4, and to show that these tracts are both internally consistent and produce a coherent picture when placed side by side.

In his Philosophy of Plotinus,' Dean Inge has recognized that the apparent difficuIties in the Plotinian doctrine of matter arise from "the interrelation of the two kinds of judgement - that of existence and that of value". This observation will serve as the basis of our own enquiry, and if eventually we find that the "two kinds" have merged again, this is not to disown Inge's dichotomy, but to stress that i t is only a useful guide to the teaching of Plotinus and would not have been acceptable as more than that to Plotinus himself.

Just as for Plotinus there are two worlds, the world of particulars and the world of Forms "yonder", so there are two kinds of matter, one "in this world" and the other "intelligible"2. Matter here is an image of intelligible matter which stands to i t as an archetype (2.4.5.). As is normal in the model-copy relationship, the copy is more vague and indefinite since it is farther away from true Being. Thus in this passage, although matter in the Intelligible World stands for Indefiniteness (dmtpta), matter "heren is more indefinite.

Intelligible and sensible matter are both involved with "otherness" (irccep6qQ. In the case of spiritual Beings, difference is the result of "otherness" (6.9.8). "Otherness" is present in every reality, except the One. As Arnou has writtens: "I1 (the One) est autre sans doute, mais I'altCritC c'est dans les autres." All Beings, that is everything associated with any kind of matter, possess "otherness"; intelligible matter is I W. R. Inge, The Philosophy OJ Plotinus8 (London I 929) Vol. I , 1 3 I .

2 This dichotomy excludes from the discussion the celestial matter that forms the heavens above the level of the moon. This matter is eternal and devoid of evil (Enn. 2. I .4.6-13. Cj. 2 .g. 8.3 p6), since i t is, as Plotinus puts it, zap& Oeoii, while its sublunary counterpart is only nap& r i jv yevopkvwv 8eSv (Enn. 2 . I .5. Cf. Tim. 69C). 3 R. Amou, "La SCparation par simple Alterit6 dans la 'TrinitC' plotinienne, " Gregorianum 1 I (1930) 1 Bg.

"othern than the One, that is than what is "beyond Being", matter "here" is other than Being (2.4.16).

Matter "heren, therefore, is not the same as "otherness"; it is a particular kind of "otherness ". It is "otherness " than Being, or "privation" (o~Lprla~<) of Being. Nevertheless, aIthough i t is privation, it is not Quality or a quality. It is not Quality, but rather a negation of Quality, and negations of qualities are not for Plotinus to be regarded as qualities themselves. Noiselessness, he maintains, is not a quality of noise or of anything else ( 2 -4. I 3 ) , rather it is an absence of quality jiprlpia). Quality is always a positive factor ( ;b 82 xorbv i v xa~acpciae~). Thus, since matter is without qualities, it is hard to speak of it as other than mere potentiality without potency. It is qualityless ( d i x o ~ o ~ I .8. I o), non-being (p;I 6v 2.5.4), only a potentiality of Being (2.5.5).

Nevertheless, although without qualities and "othern than Being, matter I has an individual distinction (Q16q5 2.4.1 3), which is, of course, not

its shape (for the possession of shape would involve at least a slight connection with Limit), or its qualities, but simple its relation of "otherness" than other things. This "otherness" is its nature (cpGo~~), a nature

I which is not essentially qualified but continually admits a flux of changing I qualities. Plotinus finds no difficulty in the idea of entities being un- I qualified, for, he says : "Is not Quality itself unqualified?" (2.4. I 3). If

this is so - and nobody disputes the existence and "discussability" of Quality - then the mere absence of qualities does not rule out the potential 1

Uexistence" of matter, or prevent its "possessing" a nature. Inge has suggested 1 that Plotinus' attempt to define matter as without

I qualities, yet in possession of a nature implies that in some passages he I

"invests Matter with powers of resistance to Form", and that this is unjustified. If', however, by "resistafice" he means anything more that the non-cooperation of something completely inert, he has been led

1 farther than is correct in attributing metaphysical as distinct from ethical dualism to Plotinus, by the latter's use of rhetorical terminology. This will become apparent from what follows.

Since then matter is seen to possess a nature, it is no great advance to the concept of its still having some sort of "existence*, although it is "other" than Being. Plotinus here makes use of the work on negation done by Phto in the Sophist. PIato had found i t necessary to begin to distinguish the kinds of negation, His conclusion was that "not being some thing" is not the same as absolute non-existence. Thus when we say that non-being is not 'beingn, we do not mean that i t does not exist, but

, 1 W. R. Inge, op. cit. 134.

156

that it is "othern than "beingn. In this way Plotinus can say that matter has no "being" (06% ~ & p ~ b elvat ~ X E L 4 GAT. I . 8. s), but rather is non-being ( ~ 4 char), and that "non-beingn has some kind of existence in that i t is identical with privation (2.4.16).

Since matter then has this strange kind of existence, it is recognizable by a strange kind of reasoning; Plotinus refers to the "bastard reasoning" of the Timaeus. It is a kind of reasoning which does not originate from h e Mind, but in some illogical way &Mdr Aoy~apG 06% &x vo8, &AAh ~ ~ v t j ~ 2.4.12) which shows the spurious nature of its object. In order to see matter, says Plotinus (1.8.9), we must make use of a kind of "counter-mindn, a mind totally devoid of all Form and Being. Mind must leave its own light, go out into an outside realm and suffer "the opposite of its own nature". Mind must become mindless to recognize what exists in some sense outside Being.

!t is evident that although Plotinus rejects the Aristotelian distinction between fihq and mtpqay (2.4.14)~ his conception of matter bears a certain resemblance to that which we can form of the "prime matter" of Aristotle. For Aristotle, the most fundamental existents in the sublunary world are the four Empedoclean elements : fire, air, earth and water. Each element, however, is theoretically divisible into "prime matter" and two of the "prime contraries". "Prime matter" does not exist by itself and can be regarded as analogous to Plotinian matter. We can say that it does not exist, and yet that it is not a complete non-entity.

Matter then for Plotinus is the formless, indeterminate substratum of things (2.4.6). It is compared with a mirror ( 3 . 6 . I J), but has not the 'realn existence that a mirror has over and above the appearances in it. The qualities of bodies that appear in i t only enter i t "falsely into falsity" (+sdtis st< +d6os). It is not visible like a mirror, and must not be thought of as an object in the way that a mirror is an object. The mirror is an analogy only so far as it too is the "receptacle" in which images appear. -

In the early treatise 4.8, Plotinus mentions two theories current among the Platonists concerning the origin of matter. Either matter has always existed, or its generation is the necessary consequence of its causes which were "before" i t (4.8.6). The xpb abrijs here certainly refers to the temporal creation of matter as opposed to its eternal existence. It is quite certain that Plotinus' final view is that matter exists eternally and is not in any sense a temporal creation, and it is highly probable that his support, even at this comparatively early date, was given to this view.

Nevertheless, as a teacher in the Platonic tradition, i t plainly suited him very well to mention both views, if such a general difference of opinion did not affect the specific teaching he was trying to illustrate, namely that even matter is not outside the scheme of emanation from the grace (xbpr) of the One. This being so, Brbhier's suggestion that, if matter has always existed, "It is a term distinct from the realities which proceed progressively from the One", is unfounded, at least as far as this passage is concerned. Plotinus is not concerned here with the question: 'Is matter the last term in the procession of the realities?" or with its alternative: "Does matter lie outside the scheme of emanation as a substratum?" He is mentioning, though here not attempting to resolve, the problem of whether matter has always existed and is created from eternity, or whether it only exists in time. Either way, i t is not apart from the procession of the hypostases. As Plotinus writes of the second alternative : OW bc ~ B E L ~ ~ p l g d v a ~ .

At this point, we must turn from "existential" judgements to judgements of value. For Plotinus, the Forms are perfect examples of Being, and Being is good. The Forms, therefore, are perfect examples of Goodness and, like all that is good, are so constituted as to give of their Goodness or "overflown into creation. All that overflows is good, and all that does not is evil. Evil is impotence, that inability to create which is the negation of existence in a system which equate existence and creativity. Thus Plotinus can speak of a cause of evil. This cause is quite outside the Ideal World, the World of Being; it arises below Being out of need, privation and deficiency (5.9.10) Not however that any deficiency is evil, for evil is absolute deficiency. What is to a limited degree deficient in Goodness is not evil; rather it can be perfect so far as its own nature will permit ( I .8.5).

Turning to the so-called dualist passages, we begin to see Plotinus' thought more clearly. Starting from Plato's Theaetet~s,~ Plotinus quotes with approval ( I -8.6) the view that evil exists by necessity since there must be an opposite to the Good. To the objection that, since the Good is pnqualified, it cannot have an opposite, he asserts that, in the case of two particular substances, there can be no contradiction in essence since they both possess a common element in matter - thus fire is compounded of matter, warmth and dryness, and water of matter, coldness and wetness

E. Brkhier (trans. J, Thomas), The PhiIosopby of Plotinus (Chicago I 9 5 8 ) I 80. Theaet. I 76A.

- but in the case of the Absolute and matter, their contrariety does not depend on quality or on genus, but on their extreme separation from each other, on their contrary con~position and on their contrary effects. Thus we have a scale of values. At the one end is the One, which overflows and is good; at the other there is evil which is impotent and therefore the cause, not of good, but of absence-of-good. Both are causes, as Plotinus says, although to make his paradox the more striking, he declines to make explicit the fact that their "causation" is quite different. They are both drp~al, where drpx-4 meins "extreme", but one is a beginning that causes the rest, while the other is a "beginning" that marks the end of reception rather than the commencement of giving. Thus although the Good and evil are opposing oippl, there is no evidence here of evil's having any active power to promote itself. Such language is only the strongest way of saying that evil is unable to produce and that production is good. The problem of the so-called "necessity" of evil, which PIotinus struggles to explain non-dualistically despite Plato's Timaeus, can be resolved by his theory of emanation, a solution not open to Plato. For in a theory of emanation, as there is a First, there must be a last. This last is the "farthest separated" from the Good and can be said to have contrary effects. There, as Plotinus says, is the "necessity" of evil ( I . 8 .7 ) . It is a "necessity" very different from Plato's expressed thought in the Timaeus, though a legitimate and perhaps essential descendant of it.

In Ennead I . 8 . 3 , Plotinus faces the question : "What is the relation of evil to Being?" If evil exists, he says, it is analogous to some "form" of non-being and involved with some of the things mingled with non-being or in some way associated with non-being. Evil is not absolute non-being ( ~ b ~ X V T E ? & EC3J 6vj but only "other than Being" and kv ~ o ; i ~ ~ ; 1 OGOLV. In this passage it is clear that "the things mingled with non-being or in some way associated" with it are such primary physical existents as the four elements. To speak of evil as analogous to their form is to explain how it comes about that they are so low in the scale of realities. It is as though their existence were governed from the bottom rather than from the top, since they are in a sense as near to non-being and evil as they are to Being, the Forms and the Good. Since Being is related to Goodness, it is obvious that evil must reside with ~b p+ ijv.

Evil for Plotinus has no qualities, since it is the negation of Form. Just as there is Goodness itself and "accidental" goodness ( I . 8.3) , so there is Absolute Evil and "accidental evil". As we know from many passages, the Good cannot be said to have qualities, since any attribution of

quaIity invoIves the attribution of defect. Nevertheless, this denial of qualities to the One does not remove it from the realm of realities, or from the sphere of philosophic thought. Similarly, although evil is formless (&V&EOV 1 . 8 . 3 ) , it has a quasi-reality, or rather a denial of reality. Such is its nature ( c p l i q r .8.6), such is the extent to which positive terminology - and the word cphcr~< again suggests a paradoxically positive character - can be applied to it.

III

It must now be quite clear that there are marked similarities for Plotinus between matter and evil. 30th are a kind of non-being, although not absolutely non-existent. Both are totally devoid of Form and quality, though they may be said to have a nature or character which is known by its "effectsn. Both are at the lowest remove from Being: one in the scale of existence, the other in the scale of value. Finally, these two scales are different ways of looking at the same metaphysical facts, for metaphysics in the Enneads is, strictly speaking, an indivisible synthesis of ontology and ethics.

When speaking from the ethical point of view, Plotinus takes up the powerful, if slightly rhetorical, position that the cause of evil is itself evil. Evil is judged by its effects, or rather lack of them, just as Goodness is judged by its overflowing abundance. Hence we can easily understand Plotinus' insistence that the unqualified impotence of 'utter lack" is itself evil ( I . 8.3). Since matter is in this impotent condition; it is evil ( I . 8.3 ; 5.9.10, etc. j. Thus matter is not only c?v~t8k0~ but 8ua&coG, aiqpd5, xruxbs. Plotinus has made dvei8eo~ equal 8ua~&o<, and equated utter negativity with positive harm. As he says in the closing words of 2 .4 .16 : "Matter is not poverty of wealth or strength; it is poverty of sense, virtue, beauty, strength, shape, form and quality. This is surely malignant lack of form (~UO&EO& ugly and evil." If matter lacked certain qualities and possessed others, it might attain a neutral state between good and evil. Since, however, it is absolutely destitute and possesses nothing (thus having no creative power), it must be evil. For Plotinus, what is not good, is evil. 'He who is not for me is against me." It is "positively" evil not to be good.

Plotinus' metaphysic can be likened to a descending number series from infinity to zero. The One is infinity and matter is zero. Although zero is nothing, i t is not "absolutely non-existent" and it can, paradoxically, have positive effects. X, when raised to the power of zero, for

XI.

example, is not completely unaffected by the process even though zero is nothing, for xO equals one.

We must now return to the great treatise against the Gnostics to see what Plotinus has to say there about basic matter, and to discover whether his opposition to Gnosticism has any connection with the equation of matter with evil. It has often been assumed that since the Gnostics can frequently be called dualists and the notion that matter is evil is "duaIisticn, there must be a connection between these two facts. It is accordingly surprising to find that while Plotinus has a very great deal to say about Gnostic views of the phenomenal world, there is little about "basic matter". His chief objection is to the Gnostic view that matter is isolated from the procession of hypostases - an objection which our exposition of Enneads I . 8 and 2.4 would lead us to expect. If matter is oupide the cosmic chain derived from the One, says Plotinus (2.9.3), the conchsion must be that the divine hypostases, the One, Noiis and Soul are limited in space. This is intolerable to a man whose view it is that the One is present everywhere in its transcendent fashion. Any kind of spatial limitation seems to him like an impossible walling-in of the Divine Beings and quite unacceptable. Plotinus, refusing to accept the limitations of the Divine, insists that Matter must not be separate from the chain of realities, but must constitute the final link.

Again, during his polemic against those who spoke of the "decline" (d vtijuct~) of the Soul and Sophia (2 .9 . I off.), Plotinus attacks their account because it leads to the assumption that the phenomenal world is an original principle. If this were true, he retorts (2.9. I 2), matter in the phenomenal world is also a "primal", which is impossible. According to some of the Gnostics, when the Soul "declined", it saw and illuminated the darkness that was already in existence.

To those who may have been willing to accept Plotinus' objection to the independent existence of matter in eternity, but were still defending their view of the Soul's "declinen by the suggestion that it did not "declinen into a pre-existent darkness, but created this darkness by its "decline", Plotinus replies that their own theory has shown that the cause of the "decline" is nothing but the nature of Soul, and that they are thus not justified in using the word "decline" is any derogatory senpe. Since Soul itself is the cause of "decline", the world or matter can not be. Thus either "decliningn is unnatural - which is impossible since this would imply attributing evil in the world not to the world (as the

Gnostics wished), but to the Supreme - or the "declining" is good and at the same time ultimately productive of matter. Thus, contrary to the Gnostic view, the world cannot be evil, and - which is more relevant to our argument - even the matter at which the series of emanations comes to an end is good so far as it is viewed as the product of a superior. It is only evil when looked at in itself and seen to be that final term of the scale of Being which is totaIly impotent.

Plotinus is also aware (2.9.5) of a view which makes matter the bestower of some kind of life. Here again we have a truly dualistic conception; here again the view rejected by Plotinus in his treatise against the Gnostics bears no similarity to any Plotinian statements about matter and evil such as to lend support to the notion that his views on the nature of matter had changed as a result of his struggle with Gnostic- ism. Plotinus protests that the Gnostics' introduction of a second soul, presumably an evil soul, which they "put together" (auv~arZa~) from the elements is irrational. This combination of the elements, according to the Gnostics, has some kind of life, while for Plotinus any blending of the elements can only produce something hot, cold, or intermediate between hot and cold, or again something dry, wet, or intermediate between dryness and wetness. Furthermore, comments Plotinus, if this "soul" arises later from the elements, how can i t be the bond which holds them together as elements? Plainly a bond must be at the least contemporaneous with the objects i t binds.

In short, the Gnostics are in error once again because they make matter a "primal" or at any rate prior to this kind of 'soul". In fact, they should admit that soul is prior if they wish i t to be any kind of "bond" for matter. The Gnostics, by setting up matter as a First Principle, rather than as the last creation of Soul in the way that both I -8 and 2.4 teach, are thus led into these logical difficulties. Such are the objections to metaphysical dualism that Plotinus sees; they clearly do not apply to the relationship in his own system between matter and evil, even if no development of his views on this theme be assumed.

For Plotinus, the whole sensible world is controlled by the world of Forms. Every thing has its prototype "there ". Even matter is represented. There is a Form of matter, although matter is lowest in the scale of things (5.8.7). Nothing is outside the dominion of creative Form. The Gnostics are wrong to separate matter in order to account for evil when there is no need to do so. The existence of matter in the Intelligible World is evidence of the connection of all matter with the hierarchy of Being.

1 6 2

It may be objected that Intelligible Matter and sensible mattcr have nothing in common but the name. Intelligible Matter is based on Being (2.4. g), and has a "defined and intellectual" life ; matter in the sensible world is a mode of non-being, has no life or intellection and is of itself a "corpse adorned". Intelligible Matter is eternal; sensible matter has no permanence other than that of admitting permanent change. Since, however, as Plotinus always asserts, this world is an image of the Intelligible World, and at the same time is based on matter (kt iihrS 2.+4)2 there must be Matter in the Intelligible World as well as here. Not only must Matter exist "there", but it must be different in all the ways mentioned above, since it is the archetype and sensible matter is only the copy. Any copy is for Plotinus inferior in all respects to its archetype and source. A just act might be described as "having nothing in common with Justice itself but a similarity of name", yet for any Platonist its derivation is from the Form of Justice. Similarly, matter in the phenomenal world may in a sense be compared with, and certainly derives from, its counterpart in the World of Forms.

A Source $ Confision

Throughout the Enneads, Plotinus draws heavily on thc Platonic writings. It is only rarely that he is willing openly to oppose his Master. This reliance, coupled with the fact that Plotinus is innocent of the suspicion that Plato's views may have developed, is frequently a cause of confusion; not least is this so in his discussions of matter.

When Plato first postulated the Forms, he was almost certainly thinking of giving an account of ethical qualities. From these, he passed to a consideration of mathematical entities and only later did he come to examine the possibility of their being Forms of substances. In the dialogues up to and including the Theaetetus, at least, he seemed to find no difficulty in the view that there are Forms not only of good qualities, but of bad. In the Republic 1 we find a reference to Forms of Justice and Injustice, Good and Evil, and it seems almost certain that the xuhbv xai

uiqpbv xui &ya0bv xai xuxbv which Theastetus and Socrates discuss in the Theaetetus and whose substance (orjoicc) is there described as viewed by the soul without the use of bodily faculties are Forms too.2

Although Plato finds no difficulty with the Forms of qualities such as

Rep. 5. 476A. Theaet. I 8 6A.

"evil", in the Parmenides Socrates baulks a t recognizing Forms of mud, hair and dirt. Sir David Ross 1 believes that this hesitation "was presumably due to the suggestion of unpleasnntness or else of triviality which such words suggested". Why, however, should Socrates find the Form of an eviI thing, i.e. dirt, objectionable, when he has already been prepared to tolerate a Form of Evil itself? What in fact is the difference between an accepted Form of Evil and a proposed Form of Dirt? Only, it appears, that one involves some kind of matter. In the Parmenides 2

itself, Socrates has already been in difficulties with Forms of more reputable substances, such as man, fire and water. When he is brought face to face with Dirt itself, his difficulties become acute although he is troubled why he should worry more about the Form of Dirt than about the Form of Man, He seems to fear that if he admits the Form of Man, he has admitted Forms needing "extensionality" and should therefore follow the same p-inciple and admit Forms of all substances despite the absurdities which this appears to entail.

In the dialogues following the Parmenides, as we know, Plato came to admit Forms of "reputable" substances without hesitation.3 It seems likely that he admitted Forms of Mud, Hair and Dirt also. I t has been sugested that his analysis of negation in the Sophist enabled him to dispense with such Forms as Evil itself and to account for all evil as imperfection and negativity. However, as Ross remarks: 4 "There is nothing to show that he ever took this line,"

In interpreting all this Platonic theory without any notion of Platonic development, Plotinus was faced with a colossal task. Furthermore, his misinterpretation of the Forms as not only ~er fec t exanlples but also as Active Minds made his task very much more difficult, for if he were to posit a Form of Evil, he would be immediately involved with a dualism of the extreme type in which good and evil minds struggle for control of the universe. Perhaps it may be alleged that Laws 10, 896E would support such a view. but i;must always b e remembered that the phrase 3 5 - . TE

E ~ ) E ~ ~ ~ T L B o < xui Gj< ~ d v a v ~ i ~ 8uvapkv~j~ k&py&<sa8a~ does not explicitly speak of an evil soul, but only of soul capable of producing effects that are the opposite of beneficial. Our discussion of the Plotinian doc-

W. D. Ross, Piato's T h w y $idea9 (Oxford I 9 5 3 ) I 69. Pam. I joCg-D9. Substantial Forms had, of course, been introduced in dialogues earlier

than the Pormenides, e .g , the Form of Bed in Rep. 597, but it appears that only later did Plato realize the difkrence their existence made to his general theory.

Cf. Tim. SIB; Wil. I ~ A . * W. D. Ross, op.cjt. 169.

trine of evil should suggest that such a phrase certainly need not involve metaphysical dualism. No will to evil need be assumed.

Since then Plotinus' Forms are Active Minds, there is no question of mud and dirt having their own Forms if dualism is to be avoided. Plotinus then takes advantage of the fact that Socrates' confusion in the Parmenides about such entities is never explicitly cleared up to interpret the passage as a straightforward denial of such Forms. Two seemingly contradictory reasons are given to account for the appearance of mud and dirt in the phenomenal world (5 .9 . r 4). First, we are told that they do not derive from the One, as do the Forms, and that there is no No:< in them, but that Soul, deriving from No:< and "taking other things from mattern receives them from this latter source. A little below, we read that they are the products of the Soul when it has reached the level of being unable to produce anything better; matter this time is not mentioned. By the phpse "taking other things from mattern, Plotinus means no more than that mud and the rest are nearer to "absolute otherness than Beingn than to the Forms. It is interesting to notice however that, although he has to neglect the Platonic passages suggesting that Evil may have a place in the World of Forms, he also finds it necessary completely to forget his Master's doubts about matter. It is primarily because of their quasi- material aspect, we remember, that Socrates in the Parmenides is hesitant about the Forms of substances. To admit any kind of "extensionalityn into the Ideal World was a step which Plato apparently took with considerable reluctance, for "extensionality" must have seemed liable to confuse Forms with particulars. When Plato finally introduced his Unlimited Dyad as an element in the Ideal World, he had revolutionized his own theory and abandoned his fear of any kind of material principle. Plotinus' taking over the Dyad and his interpretation of it as Intelligible Matter thus provides a solution to the question of matter at the base of the phenomenal world without the need to resort to dualism, since matter in this world is the image of Matter "yonder". Plotinus thus avoids two varieties of dualism; firstly, he rejects the notion of a Form of Evil, which for him must involve an Evil Mind, and goes so far as to

In Met, A. 988A14, AristotIe tells us that Plato made thegone the cause of good and the Great and Small the cause of evil. This can be brought into harmony with the Plotinian doctrine of Intelligible Matter if we remember that for Plotinus it is Intelligible Matter of which matter ahere" is an image. In the special sense which we have described, matter in this world is the quasi-cause of evil, and thus, indirectly, the origin of evil is Intelligible Matter, although this in no way diminishes the latter's goodness. Some similar doctrine of Plato would be sufficient to call forth Aristotle's remark in the Metophysjcs.

explain Plato's treatment of this subject as though the latter were a Plotinian; secondly, and this time following Plato's later work on the Dyad, he is able to account for matter without making it an evil principle as the Gnostics wished to do. By this achievement he produces the consistent doctrine of the relation between evil and matter which can be found throughout the Enne~ds.~

1 f am particularly Indebted for criticism of this paper in its original draft to Mr. F. H. Sandbach and Professor A . H. Armstrong. Any remaining errors are my own.

THE I N D E F I N I T E DYAD AND INTELLIGIBLE MATTER I N PLOTINUS

THE role and precise significance of Intelligible Matter in the philosophy of Plotinus has been neglected or dismissed with many questions unanswered. In view of the fact that, unless this role can be properly understood, tlie whole doctrine of the procession of the Second Hypostasis must remain mysterious, this paper is intended to shed light on two important agpects of that Hypo- stasis : the nature of Intelligible Matter itself and the relation of that Matter to the Forms. In order to show how puzzling these questions have appeared in the past, I may quote from Professor Armstrong's 77ze Architecture of thc Intelligible World in the Philus@Iry o f P l o t k . Annstrong (pp. 66-68) finds many difficulties in the Plotinian doctrine of Intelligible Matter and remarks as follows :

'This account [in Enn. 2.4.41 which makes of the intelligible world simply a duplicate of the Aristotelian sense-world, with the differences as regards permanence expounded in Chs. 3 and 5, is difficult to reconcile with PIoGnus's ordinary account of the world of N&s. NoCs here does not seem to function as Mind. . . . The principle of unity in the intelligible world is simply its matter. This is not only difficult to fit in with Plotinus's general thought. . . .'

'This doctrine [that the Ideas are produced because when NoGs contem- plates the One, it sees it as a multiplicity], however, . . . will not enable us to reconcile with Plotinus's normal thought the representation of the I d a as principles of division and multiplicity in Noes and "matter" as a principle of unity.'

Throughout these pages Armstrong maintains that the difficulties that for him arise in Em. 2. 4. 4 are the result of a taking-over by Plotinus of various Aristotelian ways of thlnlung which he is unable properIy to assimilate to his own thought. This paper is intended to show that, on these questions at any rate, Plotinus is able to make use of his Aristotelian material in a way that harmonizes most satisfactorily with the remainder of his philosophy.

To understand Plotinus' thought on Intelligible Matter, it is necessary to make a f w briefremarks on the process of generation of the whole hypostasis of Noijs. We may take it for granted that the One, in its super-abundance and from its self-contemplation, displays the chief characteristic of perfection as seen by Plotinus, namely creativity. It is our business here to consider the nature of the &hence from the One when it first appears, before it has returned in contemplation upon its source and become informed. We remember, of course, that, although it is neceSSiiIy to use temporal terms in describing this sequence of events, those events are in fact only prior and posterior in a metaphysical sense, since the Intelligible World is outside the command of Time.

The characteristic-if such it may be cded--of this first effluence from the One is Otherness (&-qx&-qs). In Em. 2.4. 5, Plotinus speaks of this 'otherness' and 'motion' away h m the First (the One) as Unlimited (aldpcaos). The

expression 'otherness' is common throughout the Enneadrl and its aspect of unlimitedness must be pressed so that it may be seen to mean 'neither simple nor multiform'. It is most important at this stage not to regard this Unlimited Dyad as itself multiplicity in the way that Sp&sippus appears to have done when he replaced the Platonic phrase bdpraos 6v6s by his own term vh+jSos.

Sir David Ross has rather misleadingly implied2 by his remark that 'the "great and small" is simply another name for what one of his [i.e. Plato's] foaowen (probably ~ ~ e u s i p ~ u s ) called, perhaps more happily, mh+j8os, bare plurality', that the difference between the views of Plato and Speusippus on this point is only a difference ofwords. This impression is most misleading when alIowed to bear upon Plotinus. Plotinus does not speak of the Dyad or Intel- ligible Matter as ~hij6o~. In this, as we shall see, he follows the doctrine of Plato and rejects that of Speusippus, which is very probably distinct.

In Metaphgsiw 1og1b30 ff., we read that the material principle must, according to Aristotle, be bad, whether it be called m%jOos or 76 civtuov ~ a i p6ya ~ a l p~pdv. The circ . . . E ~ T C construction here leaves no doubt that 'plurality' is the name given by one group of thinkers to what others call 'the unequal' and 'the great and small'. Similarly in 1og2b1 we are told that one thinker regards the-One as the opposite of 'plurality' while another, neglecting the term 'plurality', uses the phrase 'the unequal'. Finally in 1085b5 ff. it is said that the generation of numbers is as difficult for those who speak of the One and the Dyad as for those who speak of the One and Plurality. Admittedly Aristotle here continues by saying that the two views have little to choose between them since, whereas one party (Speusippus and his supporters) speak of Plurality in general, the other (Plato and Xenocrates) select 'the first plurality, that i the number two'. Here, however, Aristotle is led into misjudging the difference between the parties by his belief that the Indefinite Dyad is two things, or, as he often puts it, the Great and the Small. Had he realized that this was an error, he would have recognized the greater importance of the distinction of terms employed by Plato and Speusippus. For Plato the Great and Small was neither two things, nor indefinite plurality, but the potentiality of plurality. To call it mhijBos would thus be completely erroneous. Speusippus' position differed from that of Plato on essentials. He may well have thought fit to use the word mA+jRos for his own purposes, but this is no help towards an understanding of what role Plato may have intended his Indefinite Dyad to play.

Normally, when speaking of the b c t i o n of the Great and Small in the latest Platonic theory, Aristotle refers to it as Gvmodv.3 This is apparently in accordance with his own mistaken view of the Platonic generation of Ideal Numbers. In 1083a13, however, instead of Gvomoco'v, we find the form mouo- rrodv. This reading, given by Syrianus and E2, has been rightly preferred by Bonitz and Ross to nou& soco'v and is most helpful. I t shows that the function of the Dyad was not to be plurality but to make plurality. The difference between the views of Plato and Speusippus thus becomes clearer. I t seems extremely likely that the word mouo.rro~dv was used by Plato and his adherents, but that Aristotle, misunderstanding the whole theory, thought the finction of the Dyad was 'doubling' and employed Svovodv instead, under the mistaken impression that he was giving a less woolly account.

Taking care then to avoid regarding the Dyad in Plato as plurality, and I Cf. Em. 6. 9. 8. (Oxford, 1953h P. 184. a W. D. Ross, Plato's Theory of Ideasz e.g. 1082'15, 1083~36.

DYAD AND INTELLIGIBLE MATTER IN PLOTINUS 101

recalling that Platonic usage should be a guide to the understanding of Plotinus, we can now return to what we have described as an 'efRuence' from the One in the Enneads.

The most interesting account of the indefinite nature of this effluence is in Em. 2.4.3-and this must be given a detailed examination. Plotinus begins by telling us that even the undefined must not be altogether disregarded, even if its very nature implies that it is shapeless (&op+ov), provided that it 'offers itself' (napkX~~v) to what is metaphysically prior to itself. By way of explaining what he means by 'offers itself', he cites the relation between Soul and Notis. The conclusion we are to draw is that the Indefinite Dyad-as we may describe the effluence-returns to the One in a sirnilar fashion and is informed by it. In the chapter under discussion the Dyad is referred to as Intelligible Matter and fiu-ther information is given about it. We learn both that it has a certain sameness about it-as Plotinus strangely puts it, it has the same 'form' (~280s)- and that it is in a sense all things at once, so that it cannot change into anything which is not itself, These aspects make it the complete opposite of Plotinian matter in the world of sense.

We are still very far from grasping the nature of this Matter or Dyad at the moment of its generation, but we can now see that its importance lies in its 'offering itself' back to its Source, in its being a kind of potency. Fortunately we are helped to understand it further by the fact that Plotinus on several occasions uses the same metaphor to describe it-the metaphor of sight. Intellection, he says (5. 4. 2), which is the act of the hypostasis of No&, is indeterminate like sight (+LC)--this last phrase is rendered by MacKenna as 'a vague readiness for any and every vision'*-and is determined by its object. Similarly in 5. 3. I x we are told that the effluence-I use this word designedly, though Plotinus speaks rather confusingly of vo69 that is not VOG-sets out upon its return to the One not as Nok but 'as sight (64hcs) which has not yet seen'. And when it has seen the One it becomes an S$cs BoCa (line IO), the meaning ofwhich will later be explored. For the present we can say that the Dyad in its original state is like the faculty of seeing endosed in a dark room. Although it i s a potency, it is a sight that bas had no impression made upon it. I t is &ninw~os, as though staring into darkness, for all, light and impression must come from the One.

The Dyad or Matter then is a potentiality and, as 5.3. I I puts it, an & ~ E U L ~ or proclivity. This proclivity may, I believe, be compared with what Plotinus elsewhere describes as unconscious contemplation. In the eighth treatise of Ennead 3 he asserts that alI things, even down to the vegetable world, are striving (the word is +%&ac which brings us back to +ULS) after contemplation. If such an urge is the symbol of existence even among inferior beings of the worId of sense, it would be foolish to deny it to the substrate (76 J ~ ~ O K E ~ ~ E Y O V ) of the Second Hypostasis. The likeIihood is that the Dyad or Matter betrays in its +ucs towards the One that symbol of existence shared by all things with the smallest claim to reality.

It may be objected that we have here reached a very strange conclusion if we assert that Matter, even Inteliigible Matter, in its simple state, is endowed with some sort of contemplative force. And yet this is indeed the only kind of distinguishing feature we can find for it, and distinguishing feature it must have, for, as Plorinus telIs us in Em. 2.4.5, it has a life that is defined and intellectual

The Enneads, trans. MacKenna-Page2 (London, 1956), p. 401.

(dpmp&p ~ a i vocpdv). Thus we may say that this urge to contemplate, this seeing that awaits a sight, is the fundamental aspect of the Dyad-an active conception which underlies the whole Plotinian view of the Second Hypostasis. With this grasp of the nature of the earliest 'moment' in the extra-temporal act of the production of the Second Hypostasis, we should not be surprised that the urge for the supreme is the metaphysically prior aspect of the whole complex of reality which goes under the collective name of No%. It is in the light of this base that we should regard such passages as Enn. 5.8. 12, where the Second Hypostasis as Mind not only is regarded as prior to the Forms, but is actually said to generate (yew&) them.

Further evidence of an outlook where Noik is prior to T& vol).rd is given by Enn. 3.8. r I . Plotinus begins by again comparing the Second Hypostasis with sight, and explaining that like sight it must have both Potentiality and Actuality. Since it has these, he continues, it must be a complex of Form and Matter, as are all kinds of seeing. The next piece of reasoning is the key to the passage. The text reads 3x7 82 iv vg~ois. There can be no doubt that this means that the material element of the Second Hypostasis is not in Mind as seer but in the Forms as the objects of vision. There can fhrther be no doubt that this again implies a certain priority of NoGs to the vorl.rd. As we have already suggested, the Second Hypostasis regarded as Mind is in a sense the representative at a more advanced stage of Intelligible Matter which itself looks back at the One. Nevertheless, it is a curious though understandable reversal of terms to associate T& V O ~ T ~ , which must mean the F o m , with the material aspect of the hypostasis. MacKenna's translation1 of the phrase CAI 6.4 2v vor/.rois as 'the Matter in this case being the Intelligibles' is perhaps based on a text inferior to that of Henry and Schwyzer, but nevertheless it brings out this reversal of terminology, albeit in too heightened a form, for Plotinus does not say that Matter is the Intelligibles, but that Matter is in the Intelligibles. The importance of the passage is simply that if the Second Hypostasis be studied as a completed whole, the Forms stand in an inferior position to Mind.

The explanation of this superiority of the contemplative aspect of the hypostasis lies not only in the fact that it is concerned more with the highest entity, the One, but also that the Dyad, the metaphysically 'earlier' aspect of the whole hypostasis is, if anything, purely active, and a subject rather than an object of contemplation. In more general terms, if for the purposes of argument we regard the One, NoCs, and the Forms as all admitting of analysis 'themselves by themselves', we may say that the contemplation of the One by Nok in the form of Intelligible Matter is the cause of the very existence of the Second Hypostasis, whereas the contemplation of the Forms by No% is simply a description of the essence of that hypostasis. And for Plotinus the cause of existence is always more important than the essence, except in the case of the One in whom a quasi-existence and essence coincide, since he (or it) is mi causa.

When the Dyad, the Intelligible Matter, turns towards the One, it has, we are told (5. 3. I I), some vague presentiment (4dwaup) of the Unity it seeks, but is unable to grasp this unity and succeeds only in making for itself a vision of multiplicity out of what is eminently simple. The Dyad receives the One wAq&rdpwov (the reading of Henry and Schwyzer) ; it itself is the cause of this ~A+jOos (&A@JvEv). I t appears that, although the Dyad is not wA+Oos, it is the cause of the element of multiplicity in the Second Hypostasis merely by being

MacKenna, op. cit., p. 249.

DYAD AND INTELLTGIBLE MATTER IN PLOTINUS 103

'other' than the simpEcity of the One. Here we should recall our remarks about the role of the Indefinite Dyad in Plato, which we saw as an element bringing an end to the simple and introducing the multiplex. Further, we should emphasize that in the case of Plotinus to call the Dyad 'plurality' is doubly misleading. The objections to the term formulated with reference to Plato are also valid for Plotinus, while in addition the PIotinian Dyad is said to be in a sense every real thing and thus to retain a shadow of the unity of the One which is its source. Even pluraIity, for the Second Hypostasis, comes from the pne. In Ennead 6. 7. 15 it is said that the One gives what it does not itself possess: multiplicity. The Dyad, in its attempt to return to Unity, cannot support the Unity it is permitted to see. I t can only accept this Unity in the form of multiplicity, thus allowing the No+m~al complex, that is the fully developed Second Hypostasis, to come into existence. The sight that sees no impressions now sees the One, but only through the medium of its own 'otherness', and thus not as pure Unity but as the World of Fonns.

I t appears then that, in a sense, both the complex of Forms taken as a whole and the One may be described as 76 vo~dv. This becomes clearer if we look again at Em. 3.8. I I. We recall that in this chapter the operation of the Divine Mind is compared with that of sight. Plotinus points out that, for the act of &g to take place satisfactorily, there is required an object of sight (76 alo8q~dv). One would suppose that, since he has previously been discussing the relationship between the Divine Mind and the Forms, he would here say that for the act of inteuection to take place satisfactorily, the F o m are required as objects of Intellection. But instead of speaking of the Forms, he says that it is the Good (i.e. the One) that is needed. This should remind us that the One is the real object of the Divine Mind's Intellection and that the Forms are only a second-best. Noik sees the One as the Forms, but the intelligibility of those Forms is supplied by the One.

This notion of the One as source of intelligibility is the normal Plotinian version of Platonism, and that may be thought to account for it sufficientIy. Nevertheless the whole passage from 3. 8. I r is strongly tinged with Arii- totelianism, and it seems no coincidence that Alexander of Aphrodisias had interpreted certain doctrines of the De Anima of Aristotle in a manner which would have suited Plotinus very weI1. In his De A& Alexander offers a very novel and unorthodox interpretation of the v o k rrorq~r~ds. On pp. 88-89 (Bruns) he expounds his view that the role of the vocs woq-r~~ds is to give what is intelligible its intelligibility. In other words he holds that the vo3s T O L ~ T L K ~ S

exerts its effects not on the seeing mind, but on the objects of intellection. That the doctrine of Alexander is not Aristotelian has long been recognized; the account of it given here is that of Moraux, to whom I may refer for further e1ucidation.I As Moraux explains, the theory is an erroneous expansion of Aristotle's suggestion that the vocs womp-t~ds may be compared with light (De An. 3. 430~15-I 7). Nevertheless, put the comparison with light together with Afexander's interpretation that the v& ~ror~ucds is a Iight which shines on the objects of intelligence and makes them intelligible, and we have a doctrine very much to Plotinus' liking. With his quite obvious delight in seeing as much agreement between Platonism and Aristotelianism as can be made consistent with a findarneatally Platonic approach, he would find Alexander's account of

the ~ 0 % ? r a r ~ k fitting in very well with his own interpretation of the role of the Platonic Form of the Good in relation to the other Forms. Even the analogy with light would be shard by both Alexander and Plato. Clearly, in Plotinus' view, Alexander is in enor in his belief that the source of intelligibility is a voDs, but with the replacement of this by the One Plotinus can turn Alexander's interpretation of Aristotle to his own purposes.

To revert to more general questions, it is plain that the return of the Dyad to the One is the cause of the existence of the Second Hypostasis. In 5. I. 5 it is said that from the Dyad and the One arise the Numbers that are Forms-the word &,hs again occurs here-and in 5. 4. 2, a quotation fiom Aristotle's Metaphysics corroborates this. What is important at this point is to try to establish the condition of the Dyad when it has been 'informed' by its return to the One, for here iie the solutions to the difficulties before us of seeing how the Aristotelian Intelligible Matter is associated with the Platonic Indefinite Dyad.

The Dyad, as has been observed, can only grasp the One as multiplicity. This multiplicity constitutes the World of Forms, and these Forms can be said to define the previously undefined Dyad. The cause of the Dyad's being defined is .the One (2. 4. 5), but what existentially defines it are the Forms. Hence Plotinus' elliptical statement in Em. 5. I. 5 that the Second Hypostasis is shaped in one way by the One and in another by itself becomes somewhat clearer. Armstrong' has observed that this double 'informing' of the Matter of the InteUigible World can be seen by placing the teachings of 2.4.4 and 2.4.5 side by side, and professes himself baffled by it. Our previous discussion should have shown that this apparent paradox is normal Plotinian doctrine. We must now proceed to show that it is neither contradictory nor muddle-headed.

We have seen how, in the timeless sequence of the procession of the Second Hypostasis, the Forms are in a sense posterior and the products of Intelligible Matter. This means that Matter in the Intelligible World is in some respects in a very different position &-d-vis Form from matter in the world of sense. This, however, is what Plotinus tells us to expect, for in Enn. 2.4.3 he says that there are ways in which the natures of the two kinds of matter are opposite to each other. Intelligible Matter, we recall, has within itself the presentiment of Unity. Perhaps we may say that, although it is oldptmov, it is one ddp~mov, and that an all-embracing one. As such it must to some extent be a principle of unity in the Intelligible World, where the Forms stand for differences and differentiations. This view of the roles of Intelligible Matter and Form, when found by Annstrong in 2. 4. 4, is held to be hard to reconcile with Plotinus' normal thought about the Second Hypostasis. Since, however, we have found it to be a valid account of Plotinus' doctrine in a selection of tracts excluding 2.4. 4, we can turn to that disputed essay with more confidence.

We have observed that Forms arise from the One and the Dyad, and 2.4.4 begins by taking their existence for granted and asking what conclusions are to be deduced from it. If there are Forms, we read, these Forms must have both an element in common and a particular characteristic which distinguishes them one from another. The distinguishing characteristic is, says Plotinus, the feature of shape (popyhj). And if they have shape, he continues, there must be something to receive the shape-plainly this is the common element mentioned above-and this (something' must be matter or substrate. Thus it has

I A. H. Armstrong, The Architecture of the Zntclligible Universe in the Philosophy of Plotinus (Cambridge, rw), P. 67.

I

I DYAD AND INTELLIGIBLE MATTER IN PLOTINUS 105 I become clear that, if there is Fonn in the Intelligible World, there must be

Matter too, and the argument has, admittedly, been Aristotelian. The conclusion is backed up by a second argument which suggests that, since the world of sense is an image of the Intelligible World and is based on matter, there

1 must be Matter in the Intelligible WorId likewise, A third argument holds that an ordered system involves both Form and a place wherein Form may be lodged, while a fourth-most relevant to the present discussion-adds that, since in a sense the Intelligibb World is diversified, there must be a basic shapelessness which can be the 'unity' which accepts diversification, and that this 'unity' must be Matter. We may take it as proven, therefore, that a simple analysis of the s t a b quo of the IntelIigible World, which makes no allusion to

I the cause of generation of that World or to the Dyad, reveals that, since Forms are 'there', Matter too must be in evidence.

The last of the arguments cited above is particularly instructive, since it states that the divisions in the IntelIigible Wodd are an experience (ad8os) of

i Matter. The element that undergoes transformations is Matter-certainly an Aristotelian doctrine and again &direct opposition to Plotinus' account of bare matter in the sensible world, where 5hq is more akin to Aristotelian prime matter than to anything more real.

After a11 the arguments Plotinus tells us in passing that in a sense Matter is the principle ofunity in the IntelligibIe World. This remark, however, must be seen in its context. PIotinus is not examining at this point the generation of the Second Hypostasis, but the constitution and elements of it once it has been

i generated. Armstrong's remark that 'NODS here does not seem to function as Mind" is irrelevant, for the role of the hypostasis as Mind is not under discussion. We can thus say that Plotinus thinks of IntelIigible Matter in two aspects, and that these aspects must be kept apart. First, it is that efluence from the One which we may call the Dyad, from whose return to its Source is generated the 'fblly-fledged' Second Hypostasis; secondly, it is that same Matter now viewed as the base of the World of Forms constructed on semi- Aristotelian lines as a complex of Form and Intelligible Matter. Provided one accepts the theory taught by Plotinus to explain the generation of the Second Hypostasis from the One, these two aspects of Intelligible- Matter are thus seen to be not contradictory but complementary.

The feeling of uncomfortableness about the doctrine of 2. 4.4 is, despite our I arguments, liabk to centre itself around the idea that in making Matter the

principle of unity, Plotinus, led astray by Aristotelian analogies, is being false to his own genera! thought. We shall therefore add two fiwther arguments : the first will show that in the Intelligible World Matter has a specifically Plotinian

I claim to a certain precedence over Form; the second will discuss the role of 5Aq w q T j in the Aristotelian tradition and show how, in the sphere of Intel- ligibles, Aristotelianism and Plotinism are not as divergent as is frequently supposed.

The first point is soon evident. Intelligible Matter, the first effluence from the One, possesses by its very indeterminacy a kinship with the One which the Forms do not possess. As we read in Enn. 2.4.3, Matter 'there' is everything at the same time. It has nothing into which it can change, for it already possesses

I everything. This indeterminacy which can, on its return to its Source, yield any one of the eternal Forms, has of itself something more akin to the One

' Armstrong, op. cit., p. 66.

than have these later determinations. The Fonns are perfectly what they are; they are perfect Being. Intelligible Matter has a shadow of the superiority of 76 &&ELY~ in its potential of becoming all Real Beings.

Turning now to the Ar+totelii account of GAq voqmj, we find an unfortunately small number of texts that help our inquiry. The phrase occurs in three passages only: two in Met. Z (1036~9, 1037a4) and the other in Met. H (1045~34, 36). Alexander identifies it extension (510. 3, Hayduck), and Rossi admits that this explanation would cover the examples from Met. 2. The passage in Met. H, however, is clearly, as Ross points out, of a different kind. Here intelligible matter is the generic aspect of a definition, as, in the emmple given, the intelligible matter of the circle is 'plane figure'. Ross rightly concludes that Gh voqmj 'in its widest conception is the thinkable generic dement which is involved both in species and in individuals, and of which they are specifications and individualizations'. Accepting this account as correct, and recalling that the Plotinian Form is more akin to an Aristotelian species than to a sensible individual, we can proceed to the assumption that, if we understand the relation in the philosophy of Aristotle between genus and species, we may well shed some light on the importance of Plotinian Intel- ligible Matter. Fortunately this relation is not in doubt.

Just as one reason why the right angle is prior to the acute is that it is involved in the definition of the acute, while the latter is not involved in its definition (Met, roQb7), SO a genus, whose definition does not involve a discussion of its own species, is prior to those species, since their definition must involve a reference to their genus. The priority of genus to species is stated directly in the Categories (13. 15"4), where the genus 'animal' is regarded as intelligible even if there is no species 'aquatic animal', while conversely the intelligibility of this latter species depends on the genus 'animal'. Similarly in the To#& species is said to partake of genus while genus does not partake of specia2 The implication is that genus is prior.

It might seem at first sight as though this doctrine were contrary to the general trend of Aristotelian thought. As it is, it introduces a rather curious paradox, for, if genus is prior because it is prior in definition, one might suppose that it is prior not only to species but to individuals as well. Although Aristotle is certain that the individual does not admit of definition (Met. 1036'5)' it can only be discussed philosophically in terms of its species, and more widely of its genus. Hence one might suppose a superiority of both genus and species to the individual. This is not, ofcourse, the way in which Aristotle's mind works. Genus and species are one thing, individuals another. Philo- sophical d e s about priority by definition do not apply to individuals, which are in a realm where definitions do not exist. Hence Aristotle draws a sharp distinction between individuals and what Plotinus would regard as Fonns. Above this line, that is in the realm of universals, priority of definition means priority@ se. Genus being thus prior to species, and intelligible matter being the generic element present in a species, there is surely a sense at least in which intel&ible matter is prior to the species of which it is the base.

For Plotinus, therefore, looking at the Aristotelian doctrine as expounded above, and regarding many of what Aristotle would call species as F o m , the natural conclusion would be to follow Aristotle in allowing a certain priority

W. D. Ross, A Commmklry on ArirtoL's Topics 4. I. I ~ I ' I Z . Cf. Top& 4. 5. Mda#fpsiCsa (Oxford, rg53), p. 199. 126~18.

DYAD AND INTELLIGIBLE MATTER IN PLOTINUS xo7

to the JAq v q r j . What for AristotIe is the relation between 5Aq vor1,-,j (representing genus) and species thus becomes for Plotinus the relation between 137 vor)rrj (representing the first effluence from the One and now seen as the

I base of Form) and Form itself. There remains one minor difficulty. It has already been observed that

Alexander ofAphrodi i regarded the Aristotelian Gh voq4 not as the generic element in species, but as extension (6~chaurr). As Ross reminds us in the passage already cited,I this account of Alexander's is careless and inadequate in that it neglects the clear implications of Met. H 1045~34 ff. It would not take much acumen for a care11 reader of Aristotle to realize that Alexander, in the two passages where he alludes to intelJigible matter (51 0.3 ; 5 14.2 7 Hayduck),

I has not understood the doctrine Illy. The problem is, how carefdy did Plotinus read An'stotIe?

Fortunately light has been shed on this question in a recent article by Fr. Henry.' Henry has shown how certain passages make it clear that Plotinus

! must have studied Aristotle and Alexander's comments simultaneously. He further shows that Plotinus sometimes rejects Alexander's manner of treating a problem and returns to the Aristotelian original. The condusion of all this is that there is no reason to assume that Plotinus must have accepted Alexander's erroneous interpretation of SAT] v m ' , even if other Aristotelians knew no better. Plotinus would certainly have been only too pleased to have found in Aristotle an account of the relation of Gq vovn j and species which so well tallied with his own view of the relation of the Dyad and the Forms. We have fioticed earlier how Alexander's doctrine of the vocs ~ ~ T L K ~ S probably pleased Plotinus more than the Aristotelian original. With both Aristotle and Alwran- der at his disposal, Plotinus could select what best suited his own thought.

It may be said in conclusion that Enwad 2. 4. 4 offers no serious difficulties to an understanding of PIotinus' view of the Indefinite Dyad or Intelligible Matter. On this topic the thought ofPlotinus is consistent. It is skilfUUy woven together from sources both Platonic and Aristotelian in such a way as to be, if not exactly straightforward, at least defensible within the framework of ancient metaphysical theory.

Roas, Commcntaty, p. 1%. tote, Alexandn et Plotin', Errtretimr Hmdt P. Henry, 'Unc Cornparaim c h a Ar& v (Vandosumcs-GCnhre 1960), 4.29-49.

PLOTINUS AND THE DAIMONlON OF SOCRATES

IN THE tenth chapter of his Lifr o j Plotinur Porphyry recounts the story of a seance held in the Isaeum a t Rome. An Egyptian priest, he tells us, offered to evoke Plotinus' daimon, but when he had delivered his sum- mons it was not a daimon that appeared, but agod. As a result of meditat- ing on this experience, Porphyry continues, Plotinus wrote a treatise on spirit-guides (3.4) in which he attempted to explain why the guides of all men are not alike. Despite the assurances of the learned that Plotinus had no time for magic, even though he recognized it as a real power,' this tale of the seance makes us wonder about the precise importance Plotinus attached to spirit-guides and the origins of his belief in their significance. In this paper, therefore, I wish to investigate the historical background of Ennead 3.4 and of Porphyry's account of the seance.

Professor Dodds has reminded us that both the incident in the Isaeum and the composition of Ennead 3.4 took place before Porphyry's arrival in Rome and that the account of the seance is hearsay in which we cannot put much c~nfidence.~ Nevertheless, the treatise 3.4 is certainly a genuine work of Plotinus and its conclusions must be considered. In that treatise we find that a few people have a god (Bek) as their daimon and that these are the sages (3.4.6). Since it is certain that Plotinus' pupils considered their master a sage, we can understand how they came to believe that his daimon was a god.

Professor Armstrongs has clearly explained why Plotinus himself could never have called the "god" conjured up in the Isaeum a god at all. The God who is the philosopher's daimon in 3.4.6 is the One, and the One and Nok are far beyond the realm where magic can have any effect. This reaIm is defined in Ennead 4.4.43. All we can say of the story in Porphyry is that i t probably grew up partially under the influence of the doctrine of Ennead 3.4 where the sage's daimon is said to be a god. The story recounts the sort of practical demonstration that Plotinus' view is true which might have appealed to certain of his more superstitious foilowers.

We are therefore left with the text of Ennead 3.4 itself to help us understand the Plotinian doctrine of spirit-guides, but if we can see clearly the historical origins of some of the ideas in this treatise, we may incidentally throw more light on the passage in Porphyry's Life. Let us consider the latter part of 3.4.5. Here Plotinus offers an account of

'A. H. Armstrong, " W ~ S PIotinus a Magician z" Phrone~i~ 1 (1955) 73-79. 'E. R. Dodds, The Greeks and the Imationai (Berkeley 1951) 289. 'A. H. Armstrong, op. tit. (see n.1) 77.

PLOTINUS AND THE DAIMONION IS

spirit-guides which, he says, is supported by the Timaeus (90A) and which also contains a quotation from the tenth book of the Republic (62OE).

Timucus 90A tells us in fact that we should conceive of the most lordly kind of soul that we possess as a daimon which God has given each one of us. There seems little doubt that this daimon is equivalent to voOs or to the X O ~ L U T ~ K ~ U of the Republic. I t is wholly within us as a gift from God. I t is the directing element in our soul. Two passages from the Laws relating to the daimon, however, give perhaps a slightly different impression. Both 732C and 877A leave the nature of the daimon in doubt, but both seem to imply-more than does Timaeus 90A-the meaning "spirit- p idew or "guardian-angel." One might suppose that such a spirit-guide, though called a daimon, would not be the simple equivalent of vo%.

The notion of the daimon as the guardian of the fate of the individual- a ~ d as a guardian chosen by the individual soul-is clear in the myth of Er, especially at 620DE. Plotinus, as we have seen, alludes to this passage in Ennead 3.4.5, and tries to reconcile i t with the Timaeus. The two, however, are not easily to be reconciled. Whereas in the Timaeus Plato thinks of the daimon as voOs, in the myth of Er the daimon is a principle chosen by the soul, yet still in some respects apparently outside the soul, which watches over the soul's life. What is inside the soul should be different from what is outside; yet the word daimon is used for both.

Plotinus is partially aware of the difficulty of reconciling the passages. He is probably also aware that the Platonists did not always amalgamate them, for he suggests that other interpretations than his own lead to contradictions whereas his own does not. We shall look briefly at other Platonist theories about such daimones later; for the moment we should observe how Plotinus struggles to avoid making the passages contradictory. The daimon is not wholly outside, he says in line nineteen. This is a concession to the doctrine of the Timaeus, which would be denied outright if the daimon were thought to be outside voOs. Yet on the ground that as individual humans we h e a life to which it is superior Plotinus has to add that it is not bound up with us. This addition is almost opposed to the,Timaeus, but fits the Republic better. Again, the daimon is said to be ours, if "we" are our souls, though it is not the agent of our actions (OW Cvepy&v). I t is, of course, hard to see how the daimon of the Timaeus, if it is not the agent of at least our noblest actions, can be the same as voiir, as Plato says it is. Plotinus' interpretation of the Timaeus again seems very odd.

In Ennead 3.4 Plotinus devotes a good deal of space to the reconcilia- tion of the Timaeus doctrine of the daimon with that of the Republic. I t is a strange fact, however, that he says nothing of the iiaipbvrov, or divine sign, of Socrates, that aroused such interest among many of the Platonists.

I shall suggest in this paper, however, that those pupils who supposed that the seance in the Isaeum gave a demonstration that Plotinus' own daimon was a god, were thinking in terms of Socrates' daimonion. It is beyond doubt, as Armstrong has shown, that Plotinus supposed his own spirit-guide to be beyond mere conjuration, to be in fact the One itself. Yet for men without much grasp of the elevated Plotinian metaphysic, the phrase "spirit-guide" would suggest ideas of something like the daimonion of Socrates, or rather like their impression of the daimonion of Socrates. As we shall see, Plotinus himself may have felt that his spirit-guide was akin to the daimonion of Socrates, but the popular conception of that daimonion may well have been much inferior to his. We must therefore now look a t the history of the accounts of the Socratic divine sign itself.

The least extreme, and therefore probably truest accounts of the daimonion are to be found in the PIatonic dialogues. Apart from the Theages, of which we shall postpone consideration, mention is made of the sign in the Apology @ID, 40AB), Eurhypho (3B), Alcibiades I (103A, IOSA), Euthy demus (272E), Republic (496C), Phaedrus (242B) and Theaeteius (151A). The information we can derive from these sources is not great, but it is consistent. We sometimes find the daimonion called 8&v (Apol. 31D). We learn that i t is a voice (Apol. 31D, Phaedrus 242C). We learn that this voice is frequently heard by Socrates; it is r d etOeds uqfi&ou (Eutlrydemus 272E, Phaedrw 242B). Yet again and again, Plato insists that it never exhorts Socrates to a positive action, but continually restrains him from doing what is wrong. This view is expressed most clearly in Apology SID, but occurs again in the same dialogue (@By 41D) as well as in the Euihydemus (272E) and the Theaetetus (151A). The most interesting passage of all, however, is Phaedrus 242BC, because although Socrates here points out that the sign "always holds me back from something I am about to do" he adds that "I thought I heard a voice from there, which forbade my going away until 1 should purify myself." The addition of the phrase uplv Bv ~ u r ~ u o ~ a i seems to attribute to the voice some kind of hortatory power of the kind that the Platonic Socrates normally disclaims. I do not think it likely that this passage from the Phaedrus should be taken to imply an account of the daimonion a t variance with the other Platonic evidence, but I am not the first to believe that i t may well have been a source from which the idea that the voice gave positive commands was derived.

In Phaedrus 242C Socrates tells us that the voice forbade his going away till he had purified himself, since he had offended against the divine. He continues as follows: "I am a prophet, not a very good one, but . . . good enough for myself." There seems to be no direct connection between the daimonion and Socrates' being a prophet. Indeed he later speaks of

PLOTINUS AND THE DAIMONION 17

the soul, not the daimonion, as prophetic. But the juxtaposition of the daimonion and the idea of prophecy was too significant for certain Piatonists to pass over. Furthermore it is a fact that in Apology 40A the divine sign itself is called prophetic. For those who wished to put the &ology and Phaedrus together, the materials for a more elaborate theory of Socrates the prophet, whose power of prophecy derived from a divine sign, were ready to hand.

We can see that, even if the evidence is stretched as far as possible, the knowledge to be derived from Plato about the Socratic divine sign is scanty. This scantiness may well reflect the fact that Plato, who almost certainly regarded his master as especially gifted, felt awed in speaking of the daimonion. In Republic 496C the divine sign is said to have been granted to few if any before Socrates himself. This makes it certain that a daimonion of the Socratic type cannot be identical with the daimon in the Timaeus, for this is apparently that higher part of the human soul which everyone possesses to a greater or lesser extent. Nor can i t be the daimon of the tenth book of the Republic which each man is said to choose for himself. I t may however be a superior version of this, possessed by a very few specially fortunate mortals. In other words, the Socratic daimonion may have some kinship with the highest kind of daimon that can guide a human life, perhaps with the only kind that can give a first impulse to philosophy. If such is Plato's view of it, Socrates' daimonion was a manifestation that Socrates was guided by something superior to the daimones of other men, that he was under the especial protection of God and that his life fulfilled a specific purpose in the divine scheme. This is in fact the view which the Apology suggests. In 33C Socrates explains how the course of his life was laid down for him by God's commands sent by oracles, dreams, and any other means God chose. In 41D he tells the judges that the gods do not neglect the good man and that he believes that since his divine sign has remained silent during his trial it is best for him to die. His death does not mean that the gods have abandoned him, but rather the reverse.

This much and this much only does Plato tell us about the daimonion. Perhaps the most significant fact for later Platonism is that if the daimonion bears some resemblance to the daimon of the myth of Er, it is a superior version of it.

We must now turn to the evidence of Xenophon. His chief references to the divine sign are Apology 12-13 and Memorabilia 1.1.2-9, 4.3.12, 4.8.1, and 4.8.5. The account given in these passages differs considerably from that retailed by Plato. One of the most striking differences is that according to Xenophon the sign did not restrict itself to prohibitions. I n 4.8.1 we read that it told Socrates both what he should do and what he should not do. 4.3.12 repeats this. Furthermore, according to Xeno-

phon, the sign enabled Socrates to give advice to his friends. Those who followed this advice prospered, those who did not repented of it (1.1.4). Socrates is depicted as the wise counsellor whose advice is inspired by God. This leads to what we can only regard as a vulgarization of the whole concept of the sign in Xenophon's account. We saw in Plato's version how Socrates spoke of the sign as prophetic and how in the Phaedrus he calls himself, though not because of the sign, a prophet. In the Memorabilia (1.1.3-4) Xenophon compares the ability to prophesy given to Socrates by his sign with prophecies made by seers from the

i flight of birds and other such things. The only difference,,Xenophon seems to have seen between Socrates and the ordinary "prophet" is in the manner in which Socrates spoke about the source of his prophetic ability. Ordinary prophets, says Xenophon, say that they are exhorted

1 and discouraged by birds, but Socrates said what he meant, namely that the daimonion gave him a sign. Xenophon is, perhaps unconsciously, playing down the unique quality of the Socratic experience, which Plato had particularly emphasized in the Republic. Socrates the prophet is a more commonplace Socrates, but he proved extremely popular.

Again in the Apology Xenophon portrays his hero in the r6le of prophet, when in chapter twelve he makes him say: "How could I be introducing new divinities by saying that a voice of God indicates to me what I must do? For surely those who take the cries of birds and the utterances of men base their judgements on voices." An elaboration of the theme follows on lines similar to those in the Memorubilia, and Socrates says he can demonstrate the truth of his words by the fact that he has revealed the counsels he has received from the gods to his friends, and that his fore- casts have always proved correct. I t is hard not to conclude that Xeno- phon's concept of the daimonion is much more materialist than Plato's. In some respects he has tended to merge into the daimonion a daimon conceived entirely as a guardian in the manner of Plato's myth of Er, thus emphasizing the motif of prophecy. And Socrates was certainly not the only man who ciaimed the ability to prophesy!

The next stage in our investigation must be the pseudo-Platonic Theages. I am in agreement with the great majority of recent writers in

I regarding this dialogue as spurious. The evidence that it is a composition based on passages from genuine Platonic works, in particular the Apology, Theaetetus, and the first Alcibiades, is well marshalled by Pavlu4 and Souilht.6 Against such proof the doubts of Friedlander are of little significance.6 The extraordinary correspondences between Apology 19E and the age^ 128A, and between Apology 31D and Theages 128D by themselves

'J. Pavlu, "Der pscudopIatonische Dialog Thtagtr," Kimcr S t d i m 31 (1909) 13-37. 6J. Souilhk, Platon, Ocuorer Compktts (Budt) 13' (Paris 1930) 137-142. 'P. Friedlindu, Pluton 2 (Berlin 1957) 135-142, 299-302.

are very strong evidence that one of these works is a copy of the other, and few would suggest that the Apoiogy is not by Plato's hand. SouilhC has further pointed, in my opinion rightly, to the actual circumstances which led the author of the Theages to make Theages an important character in a dialogue devoted largely to a discussion of the divine sign.l There is a passage in the sixth book of the Republic where Socrates speaks first of Theages and then of the divine sign. In 496B he tells us that Theages-who is only introduced in this p a s s a g d i d not enter politics because of his weakness of constitution and chronic illness. He then adds that in his own case it was the daimonion which prevented him. The juxtaposition of these two ideas proved fertile in the mind of the author o i the Theages. Although there is no connection between Theages and the divine sign in the Republic, such a connection was easily imagined by the scholarly imitator.

Assuming then that the dialogue is spurious, our next problem is its date. Since Souilht has shown beyond doubt that it is influenced by the Thcaetetus, we cannot date it before 369. Alleged consideration of style cannot affect this point.8 Indeed, if the author is imitating mainly early Platonic works, one would suppose that, if his imitation is a t all good, the product would have some stylistic resemblances to the earliest works of Plato. That it has such resemblances cannot be used as evidence for dating it before 369.

SouilhC, however, wishes to date it to the end of the fourth century on the ground that in 125E-126A Theages says he would like to be a tyrant and would pray to be a godag Souilhk supposes that he is thinking of the divine honours voted to Alexander the Great, but this need not be the case. Even if the passage is taken absolutely seriously, Alexander was not, after all, the first Greek to receive divine honours. He had been anticipated in this by Lysander. Furthermore, Theages says that he does not desire (Bnr8vpci'v) to be a god, but rather that he would pray to be one (et[afpqv &v). The contrast between the two words is stressed. Theages presumably thinks that only by transcending the limits of nature could he be a god, and that therefore there is no point in desiring this. There is, we recall, a Greek phrase for wishful thinking. The object of wishful thinking is said to be b~o iov tbxais. Probably in this passage of the Theages, Theages means that it might be a pleasant day-dream to be a god, but it is a possible object of desire to be a tyrant. If this isso, whether the author of the Theages is thinking with Souilht of Alexander or with me of Lysander becomes irrelevant, as he cannot be thinking of anyone's

7J. Souilhb, Piaton 1Y. 138. UP. Friedllinder (Piaton 2. 142) attempts to use stylistic arguments without con-

sidering what the style of a good imitator would be like. 'J. SouilhC, Platon 132. 142.


divine honours at all. But if he is not thinking of divine honours, the evidence for a late fourth-century date disappears.

I have little constructive to offer on the problem of dating. Tha t the Thcagt~ is Iater than 369 seems certain. That it was written very long afterwards I find difficult to believe both because of the style-for the author manages to weave his snippets from Plato together without intruding transitional passages too suggestive of a much later age-and because, as we shall see, the later Platonists regarded i t as genuine. These arguments are not strong, but I should be prepared to risk dating the work to very shortly after Plato's death in 347. We know that Plato left the Laws unfinished; there has been a great dispute over the authenticity of the Epinomis. After Plato's death all check on the authenticity of works purporting to be his had vanished. The time was ripe for publishing spurious material as genuine. The Theages may then be dated tentatively to 345 B.C.

Assuming that the Theages is later than the accounts of the daimonion given both by Plato and by Xenophon, we can naw look a t the developments in the account of the daimonion which i t contains. The first is in 128D, immediately following a passage taken over from the Apo lou . Socrates repeats that the voice always prevents him from acting wrongly, but never gives a positive command-the doctrine of Plato and not of Xenophon. This is followed, however, by the remark that if one of Socrates' friends consults him, the voice may well occur and utter a prohibition. This extension of the activity of the "oracle7' to replying to the demands of Socrates' friends is Xenophontic rather than Platonic. Unplatonic roo is the list of persons who regretred the fact that they had nor taken Socrates' advice. The transformation of Socrates into the traditional wise man is evident in the stories of Cleitomachus and Sannio.

Stranger still, however, is the suggestion, made by Socrates, about the effects of his physical presence. It is of course true that the personality of Socrates drew men to hear his words; this is evident from both Plato and Xenophon. But the crude rendering of this theme in the Theages is a development-or degradation-introduced by the later writer. I t is said that the nearer one comes to Socrates, the more powerful is his effect, and that the best effect can be obtained by physical contact with him. Doubtless the physical presence of Socrates was commanding and magnetic-the Symposium is a witness of the fact-but Plato emphasizes the effect of his words far more than that of his body. It is his words, for example, that have the numbing effect described by Meno, and that make the philosopher like a "torpedo-fish" (Meno 80A). Gompen has completely missed the point in remarking of the Theage~ that "it is hardly possible to depict in a simpler and more convincing manner what to-day


we might style the charm and the spell of a great and inspiring personality."1° This is the hagiographical approach of which the Theages itself is redolent.ll This dialogue is in fact an early stage in the debasing both of Socrates and of the concept of his daimonion.

This retrograde movement is advanced a further stage by the closing speech of Theages. We have already seen Socrates as the traditional wise man and prophet whose prophetic powers derive from his daimonion. Now we see the next stage in a process which will help to usher in an age in which the conjuring up of daimones is an accepted part of the Platonic tradition. Neither Xenophon nor Plato says anything about offering sacrifices to the daimonion. I t is too personal a thing to be treated in

I

that way. Theages, however, has no such inhibitions. He will make trial of the daimonion by associating with Socrates, and if it does not speak he will be delighted and maintain the association. If, on the other hand, i t objects to his presence, he will consider the possibility of placating i t

I

with prayers and sacrifices and any other means the prophets may indicate.

The Theages was quickly assimilated into the Platonic tradition. Thrasyllus included i t in the fifth of his tetral~gies, '~ and when Diogenes Laertius (3.62) fists the spurious dialogues which were generally recognized as such by the critics, the Theages is not among them. One of these authorities on PIato is said by Diogenes to have been the grammarian 1 Aristophanes. Presumably Aristophanes regarded the Theages as genuine. HisjToruit is the middle of the third century B.C.

Later writers too were equally convinced of its authenticity-a fact which partly accounts for the spread of its unauthentic doctrines. In his Lge ojoficias (13.6) PIutarch cites the prophecy of doom which, according to the Theages (129D), Socrates uttered before the sailing of the Sicilian Expedition. Albinus, an aristotelianizing Platonist of the second century A.D., tells us that there are lecturers on Plato who start their courses with the Theages (Eiaaywy$ 5).

Legends about the daimonion began to accumulate. Cicero tells us that Antipater the Stoic made a large and interesting collection of them, and himself recounts a story about Crito of which there is no known source and which presumably derived from the Stoic's collection.13 I t is Socrates the prophet that interests Cicero.

The revival of Platonism in the Imperial period saw a further growth of interest in the daimonion. Plutarch, Maximus of Tyre, and Apuleius a11 wrote down their views on it. We must therefore look briefly a t this

'OR Gomperz, "Plato on Personality," The Personalist 22 (1941) 30. "£3. Gauss, Handkommentar zu den Dialogen Platof 1% (Bern 1954) 209. 12Diog. Laert. 3. 59. IaDe din. 1.54.

evidence in order to arrive finally a t the picture of the daimonion which would have been current among the associates of Plotinus. We may then compare this picture with that drawn by Plato.

In Plutarch's treatise De Genio Somatis the sign is first introduced a t 580C. The speaker, Theocritus, emphasizes its mantic nature and says that it was a guide in life which the gods gave to Socrates from his earliest years. This passage is cited by Friedlander as derived from Theages 128D, and if this is so--which is probable-we should notice how the trends away from the Platonic account, already observable in the Theages, are accentuated by Plutarch. The Theages says that the sign accompanies Socrates (aapelr15~wov); Plutarch says that i t is his guide ('RPOr06fy6v). IS he thinking of the guardian daimon of the myth of Er? Both the Theages and Plutarch, however, emphasize the genuinely Platonic view that the sign shows that Socrates enjoyed heaven's especial favour.

In De Genio 58 113 we hear that the sign was both positive and negative -this version presumably drove out the simpler Platonic account-and there is talk about its being identified with a sneeze, an identification said to originate with Terpsion of Megara but unacceptable to some of the company. Yet in view of such talk it is refreshing to read in 588C that Socrates had been heard to say that people who claimed to have had visual communications with heaven were imposters, but that he himself was most interested in anyone who claimed to have heard voices. The speaker at this point of the dialogue is Simmias-representing Plutarch himself, Simmias adds that when he and his friends discussed the divine sign they supposed it was not a vision but the perception of a voice, a voice analogous to those we think we hear in sleep, The view that the sign was visibIe--which could clearly be the basis for supposing it might be made visible by conjuration-is here rejected. I t is certain from the discussion of it, however, that such a view was current in Plutarch's day. The less material view given by Simmias is that Socrates' mind, being pure, unaffected by the passions, and having only the minimum of bodily contamination, was refined enough to enable him to hear the divine commands in his waking hours. Such commands in other men are drowned by the chorus of their passions."

In his account of the Socratic divine sign, Plutarch does not assimilate this sign to the daimon that is voiis in Plato's Timaeus. That he does not make such an assimilation was argued some years ago by W. Hamilton,16

"A similar account is given by Chalcidius (ch. 253). For the idea that in sleep men can Iearn the divine commands since they are then freed from the tyranny of the body and its passions, cf. Cic. dc div. 1.49, 53, 57.

16W. Hamilton, "The Myth in Plutarch's Dc Genio (589F-592E)," C2 28 (1934) 180, n,l.

PLOTINUS AND THE DAIMONIQN 23

and f need not expatiate on it. Such an amalgamation of Plato's thought- probably presupposed in Porphyry's account in the tenth chapter of his Lifc of Plotinus-would be strictly unplatonic, unless Plato's thought is regarded as monolithic. Platonic too is Plutarch's association of a theory of daimones with the care of the gods for men that is specifically discussed in 59314-594A. Yet, as in the case of Xenophon, in what way would PIutarch distinguish the daimonion from the daimon of the myth of Er, save by the admission that the daimonion of Socrates is superior to that of ordinary mortals?

There is little fresh information to be derived from the fourteenth and fifteenth discourses of Maximus of Tyre which purport to give an account of the daimonion. We hear in 14.8 and 15.1 of the care of gods for mankind. The only feature worthy of emphasis, perhaps, is the attempt that Maximus makes to show that it is not at all unreasonable to suppose that Socrates had a daimonion. No one, he suggests, is amazed at the

of the priestess of Apollo at Delphi, or of the priests a t Dodona and Ammon or elsewhere. All we can say of this comparison is that the uniqueness of the voice of Socrates, so emphasized in the Platonic account, is forgotten. Socrates is just one among many who have prophetic powers. Why indeed should he not have them, since they are bestowed on so many inferior mortals? The problem of the existence of daimones does not arise only in the case of Socrates; we must consider the nature and activities of daimones in general (14.6).

Finally we may look at the treatise of Apuleius entitled De Deo Socratis. In chapter seventeen we find the words si Socrates . . . hunc deum [the divine sign] s u m mgnovit et coluit. Colere presumably means at the least "to tend'' and at the most "to worship." Deum coluit presumably implies that Socrates worshipped his daimonion. We recall the suggestion of Theages that he might consider placating the daimonion with prayers and sacrifices. Here the notion that the daimonion is a kind of "spirit within," rather than a voice from God, is predominant. I suspect that the daimonion of Apuleius owes almost as much to the account of guardian spirits that occurs in the myth of Er (misunderstood) as it does to descriptions of Socrates' own life. Again, as in Maximus, we find that accounts of the daimonion have become merged with more genera1 theories of daimone~.

The notion of the daimonion as a "spirit within," like the "guardian spirit" that we found in the Laws, is further buttressed in chapter twenty, where, after explaining that the voice heard by Socrates and described by Plato in the Phaedrus was no mere human voice, Apuleius tells us that he thinks that Socrates not only heard his daimonion, but that he also saw it-an entirely new and significant variation. He bases this conclusion on the fact that Socrates not only claimed to have heard

a voice but also spoke of a sign. This sign is supposed by Apuleius-who thought of i t as a vision-to have been $ p e c k ipsius daemonis.

After this long and saddening account of the vulgarization of the concept of the Socratic daimonion, we must return to Porphyry and Plotinus. I t should now be clear that the spirit-guide conjured up in the Isaeurn bears a certain similarity to the daimonion as envisaged by Apuleius, but has little in common with the daimonion described by the Platonic dialogues. Plato's account of the daimonion is very restrained; Apuleius' is less so. In particular the divinity described by Apuleius can be seen with the eyes. I t could probably therefore be revealed to others

l by magic-as could the "spirit-guide" of Plotinus in the story of the Isaeum.

I t is of course irrelevant here that the "spirit-guide" of Plotinus turns out to be a god; Apuleius himself is writing De Deo Socratis. Presumably both Apuleius and those responsible for the seance in the Isaeum supposed that the sage had a higher kind of spirit-guide than ordinary mortals. Such spirit-guides, possessed in their opinion by Socrates and Plotinus, were gods.

All this is very far from Plotinus' own account of his spirit-guide which, as we have seen, is the One itself. Plotinus tells us little about how

1 such guidance is transmitted. Presumably he felt himself both exhorted and restrained by his guide-and in this respect was different from Socrates. Yet in the immateriality of his conception he is returning to the original master of the Platonists. In the superiority of the spirit-guide, as understood by Plotinus, to mere conjuration, we see the tremendous superiority of Plotinus to his contemporaries. Even as far back as the Theages we hear of attempts to influence the daimonion by other ways than by living the good life. The suggestion of Theages would have seemed to Plotinus as worthless as that of Amelius, who on one occasion wished to embroil his master in a meaning1-s religiosity.

I have already remarked that Plotinus has nothing to say of the Socratic daimonion. Perhaps he was aware of the superstition in which i t had become involved. His own account of spirit-guides derives principally from the myth of Er in the Republic. Yet he must have been aware that the daimonion of Socrates had by this time become inextricably mixed with more general theories of daimones, and, I believe, with the daimon of the myth of Er in particular. He probably also knew that, although Plutarch still distinguished between the daimon that is voGs (derived from the Timaeus) and the particular divine sign or daimonion of Socrates, other Platonists were more confused. And even Plutarch, in the myth of the De Genio, supposes that the voDs is able to wander apart from the body, and that in this respect it is akin to the daimonion- a daimon entirely free of bodiiy ties.

XIV

Yet we may ask, since Plotinus does not mention the daimonion, how do we know that Porphyry is thinking of it at all in his remarks about spirit-guides. I t should be clear by now that Porphyry's understanding of a spirit-guide differs radically from Plotinus'. Porphyry's is probably that of many contemporary Platonists. He is sure that certain kinds of spirit-guides can be conjured up. The spirit-guide of the Isaeum is certainly not Plotinus' voDs; it seems more like Porphyry's idea of a ' I guardian-angel." Such a guardian-angel-which can be made to appear

in bodily form-resembles Apuleius' version of the daimonion. This in its turn looks like a debased version of the daimon of the myth of Er.

Throughout the later tradition, the opinion had been growing that the daimonion of Socrates was akin in some ways to the prophetic powers present in seers. Maximus in particular losks at i t in this way. This would tally well with the fact that in the seance Plotinus is expected to have a daimon (as the seers would have had), but in fact has a god, as guide. In this he is like Socrates, whose daimonion too is often called Oebs. All in a11 we cannot but draw the conclusion that Porphyry's view of spirit- guides, made manifest in his account of the seance, is deeply influenced by the new accounts of the daimonion, while Plotinus, if he thinks of the daimonion in 3.4, does so rather in the earlier and less materialistic manner of Plato. Porphyry knows that spirit-guides differ in rank. This in itself makes it unlikely that he is thinking in terms of the daimon as vok. Plotinus, on the other hand, though he bases his theories of spirit-guides on the Republic and Timaeus, is far from these dialogues in his belief that the guide of the sage is the One, but perhaps less far from Plato's attitude towards the daimonion itself. At least Plato might have agreed that the duimonion represents the providence of the highest God and his care for mzn.

Plotinus must at the least have been convinced that, if the daimonion was really as his contemporaries supposed, it was not important to his philosophy. A second, and more attractive possibility is that, since he valued the Socratic daimonion but put little value on such spirits as could be conjured up, he believed that the account of the daimonion current in his day must be rejected. How his own treatise on spirit-guides was supposed by Porphyry to have arisen from the seance I have already discussed. The unlikelihood of Porphyry's account being accurate should now be recognized.

Back to the Mysticism of Plotinus: Some More Specifics

1.. I N T R O D U C T I O N

PHILOSOPHERS DIFFER in their accounts of their predecessors-but unevenly: there are more versions of Plato than of Hume. In the last half century at least two Plotinuses have emerged: one a mystic with philosophical pretensions, some of which are increasingly held to be well-founded; the other a latter-day Greek rationalist fighting for his Hellenic life against variegated approaching theophanies. Nowhere does this contrast appear more striking than in accounts of Plotinus' "mystical" experiences themselves. Are they the catalyst for his philosophical activities, the key he was vouchsafed to unlock the puzzles of the rather arid Platonism of his day, or did they arise (like acts of levitation) as a kind of bonus, o r even as an accident of his metaphysical success? Part of the difficulty in getting beyond such crude alternatives is that when we say that Plotinus held that our soul rises to the level of nous and through nous to union with the One, we are either not sure what we mean by nous or we are not sure what we mean by union. T h e problem about now is highlighted by our collective scholarly failure to reach an agreed translation (or even at least an agreed set of connotations) for the word. I shall return to this a little later. As for the other question, about the meaning of "union," I argued some twenty years ago that it refers to a union of the theistic type,l that is, that it does not suggest or imply that we are in fact ("in reality") identical with the One itself. As Hadot has again put it recently, %"me, dans l'experience mystique, ne coincide donc pas avec 1'Absolu (ce serait impossible)."^ T o many this has always seemed obvious,^ and

J . M. Rist, Plotinus: The Rwd of Reality (Cambridge, 19671, 2 13-30. P. Hadot, "L'union de l%me avec I'intellect divin dans I'expCrience mystique plotinienne,"

in Proclwet son Influence {Ziirich, 1987), 17. In a review of my Plolinu~ H . J . Blumenthal (Phoenir 23 [1g6g]: 326) described my dixus-

sion of Plotinus' mysticism as "a convincing demonstration of the almost obvious that is, but

XIV XIV

THE M Y S T I C I S M O F P L O T I N U S 185

certainly it is hard to suppose that any sensitive reader of the Enneadr could come away imagining Plotinus yelling (or even thinking) from time to time, "I am the One," or even "I was the One." But since there has been at least one substantive attempt to re-formulate the still surviving belief that Plotinus' mysticism is monistic, not theistic,4 I will begin with a brief resume of some of the arguments 1 used in favor of a theistic interpretation and then add a few further points of expansion and clarification.

By "theistic mysticism" I refer to the explanation of mystical experience in terms of the union of the soul with a transcendent being: the theistic mystic insists that despite his experience of union, the soul and that transcendent being cannot "ultimately," or "in the last resort," be identical. By a "monistic" , explanation I mean an explanation given by a man who believes that he is "ultipately" identical with God, the One, the Absolute, or whatever such name he gives to the first cause of the universe. Needless to say theistic mystics, on my account, can belong to many different religious faiths, or to none. Plotinus belonged to none in any serious sense; he is legitimately to be called both a theistic mystic and a non-practising pagan.5

My principal original arguments, which I shall not now repeat at length, that flotinus was a theistic mystic-some of which were foreshadowed by Arnou-were as follows:

1 . That Plotinus talks of the One making all things and leaving them outside himself, that is, that his One is both transcendent and immanent.

2. That, although human souls have no temporal beginning or end, the One (alone) is infinite being.

3. That Plotinus' language about two becoming one and returning to two suggests that the separateness of the soul as what I called a "spiritual substance" cannot be lost.

should not have been, necessary." More recently (in Aufiteig und Niedergang der riimischen Welt 36. I

[553]), in a survey entitled "Plotinus in the Light of Twenty Years' Scholarship, 1951-1971," Blumenthal raises the question whether "both kinds of mystic experience are basically similar and that the difference comes only in the subject's interpretation." I allude to this sort of problem below hut my concern is with what Plotinus believed to be the necessary philosophical explanation of his own experiences, not with whether he is correct in such an explanation.

4 P. S. Mamo, "Is Plotinian Mysticism Monistic!" in The Significance of tv"v'oplatonirm, ed. R. Baine Harris (Norfolk, Virginia, 1976), 199-2 15.

5 Note Plotinus' cavalier attitude to "institutional" religion in Porphyry's Vita Plotini [hereafter VP1,chap. lo, with thecomments of R. Goulet, in "L'oracled'Apollon dansla ViedePlotin," Porphyre, La ViedePlotin by L. Brisson, M.-0. Goulet-Caz6, R. Goulet, D. O'Brien (Paris, 1982), 408.

4. That the One is "other" than the soul, though all otherness resides in the soul-and does so necessarily.6

To all this I implicitly added (5) that self-abandonment by the soul means trust, lack of fear, moral and spiritual but not existential self-abnegation.

I did not, however, argue or imply (6) that by "theistic" I was using some kind of code-word for Christian, o r more-or-less Christian. Of course, Chris- tian mysticism is explained theistically, but not all theistic mysticism is Chris- tian, Non-Christian varieties, however, will have certain similarities, as well as certain important differences, from the Christian variety. In fact, since I would argue that a properly Christian use of the word "God" is importantly different from a properly Neoplatonic interpretation of the One as God, it is inconceivable that Neoplatonic mysticism should be specifically Christian, whether it is theistically conceived or not.

In my original statement of the case that Plotinus' mysticism is theistic, I could certainly have used expressions like "The transcendent One is the source and origin of all things," or "It is not identical with them." But the words I have just quoted were in fact not mine; they were written by a critic,7 who claimed, rightly, that they represent Plotinus' position. He also remarked of that position that "the One is not cut off" and that "its transcendence is compatible with its immanence." Such statements too are appropriate to the author of the Ennwdr. Why then does this critic-whose hesitations I take to be not untypical-insist that Plotinus' system is a "qualified monismn?8 My attempt to answer a particular critic may be construed as an attempt to relieve a more general and persistent unease.

Mamo's principal worries seem to be related to two claims which, in the footsteps of Arnou, I was prepared to defend: ( 1 ) that the soul and the One are two spiritual substances, and (2) that the finite soul and the infinite One can merge (in union) and separate afterwards. Mamo thinks that neither the One nor the soul should be called a spiritual substance. The One is not, because it is "beyond being." But "beyond being" does not mean simply "beyond the world," understood, as Mamo seems to want to understand it, as beyond the world of Wittgensteinian "facts."g By "beyond being," as I ex-

6 For uotherness," in addition to my comments in Plotinw (note 1 above), nig, see J. M. Rist, "The Problem of 'Otherness' in the Enneads," Le Nkoplatonisme, Colloque international du C.N.R.S., Royaumont 1969 (Paris ICJ~I) , 77-87, reprinted in Platonism and its Christian Hetdloge (London 1985), essay 8, and W. Beierwaltes, "Andersheit: Grundriss einer neuplatonischen Begriffsgeschichte," Archivfiir Bep;rfsgeschichte I 6 ( I 972): 166-97.

7 See Mamo, 2 0 1 .

8 See Mamo, 206. 9 See Marno, 2 1 3 , note 15 .

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T H E M Y S T I C I S M OF P L O T I N U S 187

plained,1° Plotinus means "beyond finite being," not "beyond existence." Thus the One is an infinite substance. Perhaps the word "substance" is bothersome, but only to those who insist on some special Aristotelian or Wittgensteinian sense for it. As for the soul, however, I shall argue below in what sense it is a spiritual substance, as it is, and what sort of union between infinite and finite f lotinus claims to have experienced.

Mamo thinks that talk of "spiritual substances" must be wrong because such phrases d o not belong with the images required to represent the mystical union. According to Mamo "the great monistic image is the river losing more and more shape in the sea,"ll and, he adds, "although Plotinus does not use it, it would be appropriate, as the sea is the source of the river to which the river returns." But the fact that Plotinus does not use this image is worth reflection. Perhaps he did not think of it at all. Or if he had thought of the image, he might have rejected it as misleading. For although he regards the One as the source of the soul (as of all else), there is little reason to assume that he would have thought the sea an ideal image of that source, and he would have thought far less of the claim that "losing more and more shape" is an apt and complete description of the union of the soul with the One. But perhaps, says Mamo, the "image of the stream being gathered back into the spring" would be better, for it would present the return to our fatherland of which Plotinus speaks (1.6.8.16 cE 6.9.9.38; 5.1.1.1). But perhaps this is a different image. If the water returns to the spring, it would be poured forth again. But perhaps, as from the sea, it would not be the same water? In that case Plotinus would not have accepted the image of a spring either, for we are thc same person after union with the One-we continue, that is, through time, and have the same personal identity. We do not become something else, nor are we like a Heraclitean stream or even a Hobbesian "ship of Athens" (entirely rebuilt, that is, by a gradual process, with new timbers). Both in body and in soul we are the same people; we relate the tale of our own "union." We may be benefitted by what we have experienced, but both Plotinus and Porphyry thought that it is "we" who have benefitted, that it is the same Plotinus walking about and describing his experience and indeed leading his ordinary "descended" fife.

But the image of a return to one's source is easily explained in what I have called theistic terms. It alludes to our awareness of ontological dependence on the One. The One is at the center of the soul, but not identical with that center. We are, each of us, spiritual substances, but our being is caused by the existence of the One, and when we return to the source, we identify, though

briefly, with our ground. We lose all awareness of ourselves as distinct-but what we lose is awareness, not existential reality. It is a moment not of realization that we are the One, but of the interiorization of the fact that the One is in us as the cause and reality of qur being what we are. Not that realization is a matter of self-awareness-that is surpassed, as we shall see-but simply of experience itself. And although our "upper soul" lives at the level of now, Plotinus does not envisage even the possibility that in this life any union with the One could be a permanent condition-even if the notion of permanency could be understood in some non-temporal way. And if a permanent union is possible after this life (cf. 6.9.10.2-3), its quality, as distinct from its duration, will be identical to what is already available to us.

A curious, but significant, feature of Mamo's arguments against Plotinus' system being what I have called "theistic" is his claim that theism implies a "gap between creator and creature."19 That indeed is true, but Mamo himself has noted such a gap in Plotinus, for the One is not identical with any of the others, including souls. Rather, he left them "apart from himself" (6.8.19.18, cf. 5.5.12.47ff.) Where uncertainty may arise, however, is over the nature of the "gap" between creator and creatures. The "gap" can be more or less wide, and certainly it is far less wide in Ylotinus than in any form of traditionally orthodox Christianity. For Plotinus does not know, nor would he accept, any notion of ex nihilo creation. But smaller though the gap may be, it is still significant. For the One is the cause of all else, and nothing else is the cause of all else. The "gap" between the One and all the others is perhaps obscured for the casual reader of the Enneads by the fact that Plotinus seems to concentrate more on the theory of the three hypostases and their interrelations. ~ ; t the positing of such a gap between the One and the many is Plotinus' way of treating one of the most fundamental themes of all Greek philosophy, and to recognize this is basic to any understanding of the ideas of the Enneads. (We may note that certain later Neoplatonists, such as Iamblichus and Damascius, seem to have thought that although Plotinus was well aware of the gap, he had not made it quite big enough.)

In the long run it is no explanation of the fact that Plotinus never claims, in any way, that "I am God," merely to assert that such language would appear "too crude and inaccurate": that if I were to talk in this way I might (mistak- enly) be claiming that "this ordinary man, this pitiful fragment of the cosmos, is the One." For, runs the objection, Plotinus' claim is that we can "become" the One only after the most arduous purification and simplification of the soul. But if we (more or less rightly) attribute that attitude to Plotinus, we thereby assert that we are not the One now. Thus the claim would be that we

lo Plotinus, 25-37. ' I See Mamo, 203. I s See Mamo, 200.

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become the One, but we are not the One. And the best interpretation of that idea is that "become" means "become more one-like" in the sense that although we cannot distinguish ourselves or even be distinguished from the One at that time (or better in that mode of being), we are not the One: momentarily, and as far as we are able, we are characterized by it. Mamo "confess~d" that he could not understand the view that the soul is "wholly characterized so as to become infinite." How, he asks, can its former identity still remain? The answer is that that identity, that human core, is itself given (irrevocably) by the One and is always maintained in its being by the One. What we experience in union is to some extent inexpressible-though I shall indicate a limited understanding of it below-but that is just what is meant by our designating Plotinus a theistic mystic. If reality could be fully expressed, there would be no "mysticism" at all. Plotinus' claim is precisely that union does occur, that in that union we transcend our own finite limitations and that our individual identity is maintained in time. The only alternative "solution" to the puzzle of union would be to say that in our ordinary lives we are simply a mklange of the One and something else, and that in the union, this "something else" is sloughed off. But Plotinus never describes human psychology in terms of such a melange, and if he did, he could never imply, as he does, that I have seen the Good (1.6.7.2; 6.9.9.46; cf. Porphyry, VP 23), only that the One has seen itself. Recent scholarship has made it clear that our soul is indeed what I have called a spiritual being-but only one among many such souls- and that the world-soul is its elder sister (2.9.18.16; 4.3.6.13).13 The other souls are our kin, but we are not even identical with them, let alone with the One itself. The diversity of such souls is not an illusion, for souls are, in Plotinus' language, "real beings." Ennead 4.9 considers, and rejects, the thesis that all souls are one, while maintaining, of course, that each soul is a unity.14 It is false that there is only one soul; Plotinus' claim is that every soul is at once similar to and distinct from any other.

If then the evidence about what, perhaps a little rashly, I called the union of spiritual substances, is as clear as I believe it to be, and if passages like 6.9.11 indicate that the self-realization of the soul in union with the One is the realization of a natural but &pendent immortality, why does the notion that Plotinus is a "qualified monist" still retain its curious appeal? Is it wishful thinking? Or habit? Part at least of the explanation may be that it is easy to assume that

'5 Cf. W. Helleman-Elgersma, Soul-Sisters (Amsterdam, 1980) and A. H. Armstrong, "The Apprehension of Divinity in the Self and Cosmos in Plotinus," in Harris, The Significance of Neophtonism, 19 I , reprinted in Plotinian and Chktiun Studies (London, 1g7g), chapter 18.

'4 Cf. H. J. Blumenthal, "Soul, World-Soul and Individual Soul in Plotinus," Le Nh#zton&m, 55-66, and "Nous and Soul in Plotinus: Some Problems of Demarcation," Plotino ed il Neoplato- nimo in Orienle e in Occidenle(Rome, 1974)~ 103-19.

"spiritual substance" must be wrong because it suggests the modern concept of separate person, particularly if we accept that Plotinus believes that there are Forms of individual men (as in 5.7).15 ~ h u s the argument would be that, if spiritual substances are persons, then Plotinus is no monist, but if they are not, he must be read monistically. As Armstrong has shown,l%hat we now usually mean by "person," let alone "personality," is not what Plotinus means either by our "upper soul" (5.1.10.13-18; 6.2.22.31-33; 4.8.8.2) or by the Form of an individual man. Plotinian "spiritual substances" are not to be thought of as persons. For, in Plotinus' view, the Form is an already "established" perfection, whereas we would say that if there is a perfect "me" he is in the making; he is what I shall become when I "beatify" my individual character, which is, itself, formed by a combination of genetic and environmental/social factors (plus the exercise of some degree of free will). Thus "person" will tend to designate my unique and perhaps ultimately private self,l7 something almost sacrosanct and the mode of my unique dignity. This "combination" could perhaps become a perfect "me," whereas Plotinus' view would be chat most of my genetically or environmentally conditioned qualities (what we should call my "personality") are mere accidentals, in fact to be sloughed off when the ideal "me" remains pure. And of course that bit of theory depends on the view that 1 (i,e., my individual Form) have always existed, a view which I (and presumably most of us) would regard as false. We conclude that Plotinus' "spiritual substances" are not persons.

Now since Plotinus thinks that "Socrates-himself" has always existed, he can then argue that when Socratcs "becomes" the One, he is "becoming something" that he is already. Hence, it can look as though he is already the One in some sense: at least the real "Socrates" is. But this is an illusion, despite the fact that for Plotinus Socrates-himself has always existed, and that "spiritual substances" are not persons. For although Plotinus thinks all that, he does not also think that the immortal Socrates-himself has always been the causative One, only that he has always been "caused" by the One. For Plotinus' theory suggests that although Plotinus respects my "individuality," his "individuality" is not the individuality of persons, nor indeed an individuality that should be

15 For some of the debate recently see J . M. Rist, "Forms of Individuals in Plotinus," CQ n.s. 13 (1963) 223-31; H. J . Blumenthal, "Did Plotinus Believe in Ideas of Individuals?" Phronesis 1 I

(1966): 61-80; J. M. Rist, "Ideas of Individuals in Plotinus: A Reply to Dr. Blumenthal," Revue Interndonab de Philosophie 24, no. 92 (1970): 298-303; A. H. Armstrong, "Form, Individual and Person in Plotinus," Dionysius 1 (1977): 49-68, reprinted in Plotinian and Christian Studies (London, 19791, chapter no.

Armstrong, Go. 17 The O.E.D. (s.v. "person") quotes from the Straits Times of 191 1 the curious (modern) legal

extreme to which this notion o f privacy has gone: "he let go my arms, held me round the waist with his right arm and used his left hand. He stooped to it. He put his hand on my person."

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acceptable as plausible, let alone factual. But this is not the place to consider Plotinus' non-historical account of human nature.

2 . T H E N A T U R E O F N O U S

But the "mysticism" of Plotinus is not simply the claim that our soul can be united with the transcendent One; it is also the claim that our soul ascends through naur to the One, and commentators seem to have found that concept of nous hard to explicate. The rest of this paper will therefore be largely concerned with this problem, with nous and with the Plotinian reality to which it refers. First of all, granted that any single one-word translation will be inadequate, how do we best render now in English? A glance at some of the attempts in various modern European languages will immediately reveal the chief difficulty. The new Sleeman-Pollet Lexicon Plotinianum offers "mind," "reason," "intellect"-a variegated start, but obviously compilers of lexicons have special problems: they are trying to find something for all the extant examples. And there may also be the "ordinary Greek" translation (like "corn- mon sense"), which will do for some passages, but not for all. No one would want to say that our souls ascend through common sense to union with the One. T o a modern philosophical reader "mind" may suggest the mind-body problem, but it would be generally agreed that if Plotinus has a "problem" of this sort, it would rather be the soul-body problem, the problcrn all Platonists inherited from the Stoics of the relationship betwccn the soul and the body if, as Plato has it, the soul is an immaterial substance.

Quite apart from that, "mind" suggests a faculty by which we work things out, resolve problems, do logic, and so on. None of that would be appropriate to Plotinus' now. Rather, these are characteristic activities of his soul, which works by calculation or reasoning (dianoia, logtsrnos). It is the special nature of soul thus to operate "discursively" or by the use of propo~itions.'~ Nous and its objects are certainly not Aristotelian premisses, or Stoic propositions or "sayables" (meanings?, lekta), says Plotinus (5.5.3.39ff.), for in Plotinus' version premisses and propositions involve predicating one thing of another; they involve a progression of thought. Or again we read that "The gods do not see propositions . . . but all of what is said to be there (scil. in the higher world) are beautiful images . . . not painted but real" (5.8.5.2off.). Plotinus explains himself further (5.5.1.40) by implying, rightly or wrongly, that the reason now cannot be identified as propositional knowledge of any kind (not merely that it is not propositions as understood by the Stoics) is that propositions tell us, for example, that Justice is beautiful, that is, they say something about the subject;

18 Cf. Blumenthal, "Nous and Soul"; also J . Trouillard, "The Logic of Attribution in Plotinus," IPQ I (1961): 125-38.

they do not concentrate our attention on the subject itself. And this is also because nous is timeless, but in propositional thinking the mind is spread out;lg it involves a logical, if not a chronological, transition from a to b. Now, on the other hand, is "all-together."

But the question is more complicated, as has been shown in a recent series of exchanges about whether, or in what sense, Plotinus offers us "non- discursive thought" as the activity of nous. A. C . Lloyd has also,raised the wider question of whether "thought" can in fact be non-discursive or non- propositional in any philosophically useful sense:O He concludes, indeed, that Plotinus does offer us non-discursive "thinking," but that he is mistaken and regressive in doing so: he is a star instance of those deploying a well- known "enigma" in Greek philosophy. Richard Sorabji, on the other hand, while agreeing that thought must be propositional-hence contact with the one is not a kind of thinking-argues that, despite the Enneads' apparent insistence to the contrary, Plotinus' "thought" (at the level of now) is propositional, but the propositions are propositions of identity. Plotinus, says Sorabji, argues that "the identity of intellect and its object guarantees self- thought."*l This, he continues, is confirmed by Plotinus saying that the self- thinking of now is self-thinking in the proper sense ( x u ~ i o g , 5.3.6.1-5). This is an interesting suggestion, and Sorabji may in fict have expressed something of what Plotinus would have wished to say. The difficulty, however, is that Plotinus does not seem to consider propositions of identity need be thought of "propositionally." We may wonder why this should be so, and Plotinus' answer may be that although "self-thinking" involves the recognition of identities, the formulation of such a recognition as a of identity is not to be thought of as an act of now, Thus the thinking of a proposition of identity is rather to be viewed as a mental experience which might at a lower level be formulated as a proposition. Sorabji's talk of the identity of intellect and its object conceals the problem that Plotinus does not say that the identity of intellect and its object generates propositions, or that the self-thinking of nous involves the most correct sense of self-thinking,*= where self-thinking is still propositional. For where Sorabji has "intellect," and "thinking," Plotinus, of course, has nous. But if "thinking" and "intellect" are incomplete or even misleading renderings of now for modern readers- though mediaevals would not have wo~ried-then we do not have to join

'9 R. Sorabji, Tim, Creation and th Continuum (London, 1983), 152.

R. Sorabji, 139-55; A. C. Lloyd, "Non-Discursive Thought-An Enigma of Greek Philoso- phy," PAS 70 (1969-70): 261-74, and "Non-Propositional Thought in Plotinus," Phracrir 31 (1986): 258-65.

" Sorabji, 15% " Lloyd, "Non-Propositional Thought," 259-60.

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Sorabji in seeing Plotinus' "self-thinking" as essentially or primarily propositional activity. For although "propositions of identity" may for Plotinus guarantee the intelligibility of other kinds of propositions, they are not to be classified as ordinary propositions, nor is their formulation the distinctive act of now. On the other hand we do not have to join Lloyd in worrying that, aIthough the activity of nous is non-propositional, it is also the enigmatic and indeed unintelligible phenomenon, non-propositional thought. For indeed, in Plotinus' view, to assume that thought must exist as propositions, even propositions of identity, is to beg the question.

Most of the English- and French-speaking translators of Plotinus want to assert, with Lloyd and Sorabji, that above all else now "thinks." Armstrong uses "thinking" and "intellect" in the Loeb translation; MacKenna had Intellec- tual Principle; Hadot uses "intellect" or "pensCe";23 Arnou uses "pensCe pure."24 These are some selected examples. Reale is willing to use "pensiero" in I ta l ian ;~~ I myself have gone for "divine mind" and have even committed "intellection" at times.~B Inge, of course, chose "Spirit" and Cilento uses "spirito",~7 but, using a random sample, I notice that he translates the title of Ennead 5.6 (xtei TOG t b Ejckn~iva tog bvtog pfi VOELV, etc.) as "cib che st& a1 di I$ dell'essere non pensa." So "pensa," "pensiero" and the rest are back. Is there no way of avoiding them? Indeed, is there any reason why we should avoid them?¶B Of course one reason is that all the "thinking" words seem to moderns to assert something "propositional," so that Plotinus' non-propositional "thinking" becomes unintelligible. But we need not assume he is unintelligible in advance. The case needs to be heard.

Let us go back to the Enneads and see what votiv, YOBS and their cognates seem to mean in the relevant contexts. The earlier history of such words indicates that a variety of meanings are possible, offering such ideas as non-

*s For example in "L'union de I'imc." *r R. Arnou, Lc &sir de Dieu duns la philosophie de Plotin (Paris, 192 I ) .

G. Reale, "I fondamenti della Metafisica di Plotino," in Graceful Reason, ed. L. P. Gerson (Toronto, 1983), 164 Reale's attitude is nuanced, but it is not clear that he is aware of the discursive/non-discursive problem. His remark "I1 Now e e essere e pensiero," is helpful, but still remains a translation of the problem of Plotinus' Greek, not a resolution of it.

'6 For a legitimate objection to this "neologism" see Lloyd, "Non-Discursive Thought," 266. * I W. R. Inge, The Philosophy of Plotinw, gd ed. (London, lgrg); V. Cilento, Enneadi (Bari,

1947-49). '8 "Geist" will often appear in German, but the problem of how to translate the activity of

G&t remains-somewhat similarly to the difficulties in English. Again in the revised Harder translation, the title of Ennead 5.6 appears as "Was jenseits des Seienden liegt, denkt nicht." A. H. Armstrong seems to think that the problem is insignificant (or to assume that it does not exist) when he writes on "Spiritual or Intelligible Matter in Plotinus and St. Augustine" in Augustinw Magister (Paris, 1954), 277 (reprinted in Plotinian and Christian Studies, chapter 7). In the course of his discussion he speaks of "spiritual or intellectual being."

perceptual "seeing," as in mathematics, or "realizing," or "intending to reach an intelligible goal."zg But only when we see what Plotinus himself says about now and its cognates can we see whether what he says is intelligible and whether we can find the right word to translate them into English or any other language. Plotinus' understanding of now is, of course, much influenced by Plato's usage in the Timaew and by Aristotle, but we should not assume that the primary sense he wishes to attach to the word will be limited by Aristote- lian precedents-even granted that he had a correct understanding of Aris- totle. Notice, furthermore, that, as we have seen, the Latin for Neoplatonic now is often intellectw (though spzlstw and intelligentia are early alternatives),so but we cannot argue from what the ambiguous intellectus means ("thinking," "understanding") to what now means, any more than we can argue from what essentia means to what tb zi 4v d v a i means in Aristotle. For originally at least the possibly special meaning of essentia (we hope) depended on knowing what zi, zi fiv dva i meant. And the ambiguities of zntellectm depend in part on the

1 complexities of Neoplatonic now. One of the most informative features of Plotinus' world of nous is its

I

I beauty. "Many times have I awoken to myself out of my body and have come into myself, going out of other things." "I have seen a marvellous beauty" (4.8.1.1-3)~ "But there the blooming colour is beauty, rather all is colour from the bottom up" (5.8.10.30). "The beauty has penetrated through their whole soul; they are not just spectators" (5.8.10.35-36). "If he sees it as something other, he is not yet in beauty" (5.8.11.20). It is what we should expect; Porphyry has told us that his master taught the ascent of the soul along the road prescribed by PIato in the Symposium (VP 23). Above all the ascent to now enables us to see the singularity and the unity of the living forms and to recognize their beauty. We find a world we hardly dreamed of.

But as Plotinus himself says in 4.8.1, we are awakened to that world. We

'9 For something of this history see K . von Fritz, "NoV^S, V O E ~ V and Their Derivatives in Homer," CP 38 (1943): 79-83; ' ' N ~ u s , v o ~ v and Their Derivatives in Presocratic Philosophy," CP 40 (1945): 223-42 and 41 (1946): 12-34; R. B. Onians, The Onpm of European Thought (Cam- bridge, 1954): 82-83; D. G. Frame, The Origiru of Greek N m (Harvard Ph.D. diss. 1971); J. H. Lesher, "The Meaning of NOYZ in the Postm.or Analyfics," Phrmsir 18 (1973): 44-68; and, of particular value for Plotinus, R. T. Wallis, "Now as Experience," in Harris, The Significance of Neoplatonirm, 1 2 1-30. Von Fritz' basic position, which is rightly influential, is that the "original meaning" is "realization through perception," from which develop the notions of "planning" and "intending." Lesher rightly emphasizes the varieties of possible senses by the time of Aristotle. But none of these prevents us from recognizing a basic sense in Plotinus.

so Notice the language of Marius Victorinus. s1 See especially Hadot, 14-15. In Plalinw (56, with note 4, and 195-96) I argued that 4.8.1

referred to the ascent of the One, ignoring the force of the 6hho in 6x6~ nGv zb & n o voqzbv Epauzbv i6~iroaq. In this I followed the interpretation of the Arabic author of the Theology of Arktotk (and of Ambrose), whom I now believe to have been deceived in the same way as I was.

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cannot use analogy, or deductive reasoning, to describe it fully. It is not merely a world whose existence we simply infer; it is a reality which we come to experience empirically, not purely by reasoning. We must see what is there by a kind of awakening (4.4.5.9). If you climb up to a high viewpoint, you see what those who have not climbed have not seen and cannot see. It is simply beyond dispute that we awaken to nous, that we realize that such beauty exists; our "mind's eye" sees it. But what do we see? We see the living forms and we realize that we ourselves belong among them. I awake to myself; I see a marvellous beauty of which I am a part (tq 0eiy EES ~a6tbv y ~ y ~ v q p i v o ~ , 4.8.1.5). Such passages can only be construed as the realization that each of us has another dimension, a spiritual dimension. When we awake we realize that we are spiritual beings. I say "spiritual" after some deliberation. For we need a wide enough term. A "spiritual dimension" will give us something of what Plotinus seems to see as an all-embracing spiritual sense (which is normally dormant, or, as he would prefer, of whose regular operations we are not normally aware). It is a sense in virtue of which we feel joy at beauty, at beauty out there as an existent of which we are a part, It does not comport a telling of what beauty is, but of a being beauty. To tell is to descend to reasoning (4.9.1.8, Aoy~ap6v). It is an "inner sight" (1.6.9.1) by which beauty is recognized, and you get it by seeing that you have it yourself; you have a beautiful dimension (1.6.9.8ff.). "This eye alone sees great beauty" (1.6.9.25). This beauty is not the One, however; it is a screen before the One or Cod (1.6.9.39). But through the recognition that we are this beauty, that we have beyond our ordinary experience of ourselves something that is beauty, we can come to the One itself.

i t is hard indeed not to render such ideas in English by saying that we are normally unaware of the supreme importance of our possessing a spiritual dimension, but that when we are awakened to the truth, all that is not directly illumined by the beauty of nous seems trivial in comparison. The seeing of this beauty is an exfieriencing, a being above our ordinary moral life. Hence, in so far as there is any awareness at this level, it is experiential awareness of the nature of oneself. When I look away from a mountain top I cannot express the beauty I see, but I "know" it is beautiful without reflection, without propositions, simply, as Plotinus would put it, by vision and contact. It is not the sudden flash of insight by which we "see" the answer to a problemsz-though this may be one of the sources of Plotinus' notion-for that realization is propositional, despite its flashing immediacy at times. Plotinus calls the vision perfect self-awareness, but there are two ways in which "Know thyself' can be achieved (5.3.4.7): through the soul (that is, propositionally) or kata noun, by

Wallis, 127.

first-hand experience. Yet it is not that realization of asztuation which von Fritz recognized as part of the original meaning of the word nous, though such a realization may be sudden both in Homer and in Plato. In Plotinus we "awake" to the awareness of what we are. But we are not aware that we are aware (cf. 1.4.10.22ff.), for that would involve a weakening of the experience itself. Now would seem to have awareness of itself, but not of what it is "doing" or that it is aware (cf. 4.4.2.3off.). For its awareness cannot include a progressbn of concepts, but a view, a comprehension, a possession of the intelligible world of itself.

Of course this awareness of itself cannot be mistaken (5.8.1.1-2), nor can it be forgotten. (That would be a bit like forgetting the difference between right and wrong.) That is, if my general interpretation is right, once we discover by experience that we are spiritual beings-not merely by knowing propositionally or notionally-we cannot lose such enlightenment or spiritual "truth" (5.5.3.2)- Above all the encounter with nuus is not primarily a matter of knowing something, or having an intuition of it, or mentally grasping it; it is the experience of meeting what we would call a new and all-encompassing dimension within us, what Plotinus calls seeing the spiritual cosmos, or the cosmos of unchanging value. For let it never be forgotten that the denizens of the kosms noZtos are Platonic Forms, living Platonic Forms, and that these Forms, as in Plato himself, are the sources of our human values in the moral world "below." Without them we would have no objective and unchanging values at all.

So that "discerning" within ourselves of a spiritual world, which we have called by the crude modern locution a spiritual "dimension," involves realizing that the world of now is also the ground of our moral and aesthetic words and propositions. We cannot think up an unchanging good as the source of value; we recognize it. So when Plotinus wants to say that we can wake up and realize that we are spiritual beings, beings who recognize unchanging values and objective truths (b t$ nbapy t+ VO@ cU#hvii o h i a , 4.1.1. I), what better way can he have of saying it than to say "Each of us is a spiritual world" (noup& vor&, 3.4.3.22)? For spiritual goods are important to all of us (like it or not) if they are important to any of us. And they are beautiful precisely because they exist. If they did not exist, they would be nothing; hence, thinks Plotinus, to exist as a good and a source of value like a Platonic Form is ipso facto to be beautifui. But again these forms are not static and inanimate goods, let alone mere propositions about the right and the good. They are living beings, and as such the goal and the achievement of our living desire. When we realize that we are spiritual, we have at the same time awoken a desire to be spiritual. When we realize that there is within us a world of goods, we want to get at that world, to grasp it, to be it ourselves.

But when we are that which we seek, when we live as spiritual beings, what

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then? There is no more. Hence, there is quietness. Plotinus speaks of the union with the One as self-surrender (6.9.1 I .23). If we have done that, we have no more to do, and the preparation for it is quietness and sileice. We wake to the spiritual world, the source of value; we look at it, we lose ourselves in it-but quietly. Thus we have?pu~ia; we busy ourselves no more (1.3.4.17ff.). We give up logic as though we no longer know how to write. For we are not in the realm of deduction and inference, but of self-evident first principles. Our goods are such principles (I .3.5.2). We no longer need a busy nature.33 Now will not need to bustle (5.3.10.47).

For Plotinus we do not need to realize our full spiritual nature in order to be able to lead an ordinary, decent moral life. On the other hand, if we do attain an understanding of this higher nature, we do not transcend the need for ordinary "goodness." As Plotinus points out in the course of his attack on the Gnostics, ordinary morality is not something to outgrow (2.9.15.38ff.). But granted that moral goodness is not something to outgrow, we should not allow the '"aesthetic" aspects of the recognition of ourselves as spiritual beings to assume too large an importance either. Although "beautiful" is a very incomplete translation of the Greek Kalon, there is no doubt that we are drawn by the splendor (the dyhala, to use Plotinus' archaizing term [5.3.8.32; cf. 6.9.4.181) of the world of nous. But not only is no "Gnosticizing" contempt for the ordinary moral life allowed to "those who have seen"; Plotinus also warns, in an apparently but not essentially unplatonic fashion, against our being misled by the excitements of spiritual beauty itself (5.5.12). This is not an attack on "intellectua1 pride'-that is a sin at the level of soul (cf. 5. I . I); it is a warning against spiritual pride. The love of the beauty of now presupposes, argues Platinus, that we are awakened to it; the desire for the Good (which is thus beauty's prior) springs from our very existence. All find the Good, he adds, uItimately satisfying. Whereas seeming beauty may satisfy, seeming Goodness does not and cannot. The argument seems to slide dangerously between sensible beauty and "spiritual" beauty, but Plotinus' main point is clear. Spiritual beauty is something we awaken to; it stirs us to pursue our goal, but it is not ultimately the goal to which our existence is directed. For whereas such beauty may seem to inspire excitement, Goodness more fundamentally inspires calm and peace. If any word apart from silence is appropriate to the final state of the ascended soul, it may be ~CnaOe~a (6.7.35.26; 6.7.34.30; cf. 6.9.9.38).

Hadot has rightly emphasized once again that the life of now has two stages, and that the higher stage that is now in love (6.7.35.19-33) involves the re-identification of now with itself as the primary outflow from the One. Thus our finite souls identify not with the One's infinite nature, which would be

33 Contrast Enn. 3.7.1 1.15 on +6o~ws nokvnedrypovos.

I

1 impossible, but with and within the first showing of the One's infinite power. We return and receive ( 'EJGL~OA~ TLVL x a l rcaeabo~fl, 3.8.9.2 I; 6.7.35.2 I). Be- yond that there is nowhere to go, and the aspirations of the soul are satisfied at

1 last. It is a return to nous before it is now (5.5.8.24).34 At this level the One may be called Beauty (often xahAo4, 1.6.6.21, 24; 6.2.18.1; 6.7.33.22), but this is the Beauty of Goodness which causes and surpasses all genuine moral, aesthetic, intellectual, and spiritual goods (1.6-8.34).35

It seems then unacceptable to limit our translation of now to words associated primarily with thinking rather than with being: being, that is, in a state of

I awareness of metaphysical reality, or rather, for Plotinus, of the living spiritual reality of the universe. If "thinking" in English means "thinking about," then it is even misleading as a rendering of now. And the experience of the union with the One is the identification of the spiritual self (the now) with its

I

source as far as possible. Anything further, anything "monistic," would be impossible. It would be to deny the most basic axiom of Plotinus' metaphysical world, that the Good is productive of others. Identity of self and One is logically impossible, but we may live again the life of the nearest and first showing of the One in the very joy of its first "moment" of existence. Thus there is really no English word capable of bearing the twin notions of "non- propositional" thinking and of spiritual experience which now serves to express; "enlightened or illumined self," which once might have done the trick, is now too debased by other connotations. "Spiritual self" is perhaps the best we can do and the activity of a "spiritual self" is to live on the spiritual plane9 If we assert that now "thinks," we must add that for a modern it may seem to be a very special sort of thinking.37

34 Hadot, 24.

25 Cf. my Plotinu, 53-65. 36 Cf. T. A. Szlezik, Plalon und Andoleks zn dm Nuslehre Plotins (BaselIStuttgart, 1979). 167:

"Das Wort 'Nus' bezeichnet fijr Plotin primar die Gesamtheit der geistigen Wirklichkeit." 37 I should like to thank the referees of the JHP for some constructive comments; they have

improved this paper-I hope sufficiently. And t should like to thank Laura Westra for provoking me to write it in the first place.

'Genuine California Burgundy: Beware of Imitations' (Daninos)

Unclarity may be helpful, even fruitful, in philosophy. Historians of philosophy, and, in so far as they are different. philosophers themselves, are

I often prodded by it to try more diligently to discover what a philosopher is getting al. If a thesis is hard to understand. it may rlor be merely muddled. Perhaps i t needs rephrasing; perhaps i t can be deaeloped into something

I clearcr and more persuasive; perhaps we have lost sight of its original meaning or context. At any rate, one of the most notorious and influential bits of phijosophical unclarity is Plato's account of the receplacle in the Tinuzcus (49A ff.: cf. Aristotle. Topics 6.1393B33ff.l. Aristotle thought that PIalo must have been making a crude attempt to grasp the notion of matter (Physics 4.20981 1-16). perhaps some sort of prime rnattcr,l or matter without qualities, though Pialo does not use the word 'matter' in the relevant sections of the Thaeus. But Plato's language in the Timucus makes clear the

1

sort of role the receptacle is meant to play: she is the nurse of bccoming (49A6). or its mother (SOD2, 51A4-5). She is the matrix of the physical world (50C2). Her nature (50B6) receives bodies and what appear to be sensible qualities (49D5ff.). the 'bodily' of 31 B4, whatever that is, from the Father or Demiurge as a human mother receives seeds. In hcr the qualhies appear (50C4-5) as 'copies' (p~prjpa~a) of eternal things, a strange sort of impressions, as in a mirror. But unlike mirrors. despite Aristotle, she is not material, but that site or ptace or container (52A8. 5284) in which material objects exist. Nevertheless, she is a third factor, along with forms and the Demiurge, recognized only by some son of 'bastard reasoning' (52B2) - that is. she can only be referred to, not clearly identified - to which appeal must be made if the world is to be explained. But she is independent of the forms and the Demiurge and is thc product of neither of them. And since she is somehow independent, she is the paranlee that a genuinely Platonic system cannol be monistic, that is, derived excIusively from a first principle or Om.2

Cf. R. Sorabji, Matter, Spce orrd Mnrion (lthaca. 1988). 33. Sorabji seclns to be mistaken in saying that Aristotle identified Plato's 'space' with his ouw (my italics) prime matter. but he is obviously right that from Plato's own day an identification of h e receptacle as . m e kind of prime matter was very widespread.

2 For no re on the relevant aspecL5 of the Tinroeus see 1. M. Rist, The Mirrd of Aristnflc (Toronto, 1989). 19 1-96.

For although her existence is tenuous, shc somehow clings to it 'lest she become nothing at all' (52C5).

Aristotle's puzzlement with this is not difficult to understand, and there ,

is no doubt that Plato's comparison of the teceptacle to a mother (who was often thought to make no active contribution to a conception. but, like a prenatal nurse, only to support the growth of a child) is as useful to him as i t is confusing to us. The problem with what Plato says is, roughly. how the quality-iikenesses turn into bodics, or become bodily. But although that problem is acute enough for Plato, he does not compound his difficulties by saying that the mirror-like mother is nothing at all; she still somehow survives I

as a being. a forerunner, to usc alien language, of a material cause seen as 'bare matter'. We see in her the origin, but not yet the reality, of that underlying matter which Locke callcd a 'something. I know not what' (Essay 2.32.2).3

\

Such, roughly, is the puzzling Platonic original, but my present concern is with the Plotinian copy.4 Plotinus has two kinds of matter, intelligible and sensiblc. I shall have nothing further to say about the intelligible sort. and I shall also prcscind from the whole question of the relationship between matter and evil. What I should like lo consider in this paper is the relationship bctween matter and actual physical bodies within Plotinus' monistic 1

framework: that is, a framework in which everything which has any claim to 'being' or existence at all, must somehow derive from the One. In particular, 1 shall focus on the problem of how a physical object (a body) emerges in (or

I

3 The text from Locke is the theme-music of Sorabji's Mottcr, Spore or~d Mntiorr (see note l above). Cf. also A, C. Lloyd in A. H. Armstrong (ed.), The Carnhridgc Hisrory of Lurer Grrck and Early Mcdiacvul P/rilosophy (Cambridge, 1967). 292. and R. Sorabji (again drawing atlention to interpretations of Aristotlc, Met. 7.1029A 12- 19) in P~tilnportus and rhc Rejection of Ari.rfo/eIiart Sriertc~ (Ithaca. N.Y.. 1987). 18- 19). As nlrcady notmi, it should not be assumed that Plotinus was (or thought Ire was) thc originalor of the notion of 'bodiicss matter'. Armstrong (in his Loeb Plntii~us Ilondon/Cambridge. Mass.. 19671. vol. 3, p.232. note 2) reminds us that borlilcss matter is a fcature of the Aristotelinnism on which Piotinus was nourished and which he discussed in his seminars (cf. Porphyry. V.P. 14); cf. Alcx. Aphr., D c Atiima 5.19-22 B ~ n s . My present concern. however, is not with the origin of this concept, but with what Plotinus does with it. In any casc. i t is at least possible that Alexander, i f not necessarily all second-century Peripatetics, retained enough grasp of what Aristotle originally intended by 'prime matter' or 'bodiless matter' - that is. that l

i t redly is a formal concept - to leave the notion philosophically Innocuous. For an introduction to the tricky waters of bodiless matter in the Aristotelian tradition before Plotinus see P. P. Matter, Zlmr Eitflum dcs Plotnrtischcti 'Tintaim' arrf dos Dorkor Plotirrs (Winteflhur, 1964). 202-207 and more gcncrally, in a romp through the agcs. Sorabji (note 1 above). See more generally P. P. Matter (see note 2 above), 2IX)ff. and H. Buchner. Plor i~s Miigfichkcirdehre (Munich/Salzburg, 1970), 7 1-75.

Plotinus' Body

on) a substrate of 'so-called matter' (2.4.1.1), seen, more or less as Plato had described it, as a 'receptacle of bodies' (2.4.6.1). or as a 'receptacle of forms' (2.4.1.2) - though 'substrate' itself is an Aristotelian word (cf. Plrys. 1.192A33) - when strictly speaking that substrate is no thing (but not nothing), and when there is no room for at least some of the ambiguities disguised in the Timucus by the langtlagc of physical parenthood. For although i n thc Tinracrrs thc Derniurge is mind, and imtnaterial. and imposes forms which are immaterial,5 the analogy of the father sowing his seeds in the mother-receptacle enables Plato to evade (under mythological language) thc problcm of how the irntnarerial can 'generate' ~ h c material: thc solid, tangible physical objecls.

Plotinus takes over thc Platonic receptacle (2.4.6.1; 2.4.16.6; 3.4.1.15: 3.6.14.30; 3.6.19.17-19) with some. but not all of the related language: i t is a nurse, a place. a mother. a sort of sizcless 'bulk' (ciy~oq, 2.4.1 1.34). or bctter a 'shadow of bulk' (3.4.7.13). though without body (3.6.6.3; 3.6.7.4) bccause bodies have size (2.4.8.21-22). and thcreforc quality. It is nor, apparently but interestingly, a matrix: that might perhaps suggest something too active. Abovc all, as we have seen. the receplaclc is a substrate (though thc word is not used in the Tinweus); it Iics inert, without size (and therefore I know not what), a receptacle of 'qualified' bodies (2.4.6.1), though itself qualitatively indeterminate. Its uniqueness ( i8~6rq~a) is to be identified as an othcmcss than all things, and as a 'deprivation' of all qualities (2.4.13.9-1 1). Thus, it is a shadow on which (rather than in which6) particulars, subject to the flux of becoming, appear, for in Plotinus' 'technical' idiom, if qualitics appcarcd irt matter. one would infer that they were crested hy matter.7 The mirror image, however, though it is a mirror wilhout glass, or any otl~er form, is developed more specifically, and the mirror itself is brought within the range of the causal power ultimately deriving from the One (1.4.10.13; 3.6.7.25; 3.6.9.16-19: Ml3.49). 00 this shadow-mirror a shadowy skelch - that is, the sketch that is physical objccts - appears (6.3.8.36).

Mattcr then is in itself a shadow. and sometimes that shadow becomcs or exhibits an 'image' of what is (1.8.3.8). Plotinus rejects the radical suggestion that, since i t has no size, it is nolhing at all, an empty namc (2.4.1 1.13): in fact

5 For an account of the implied relationship between form and the demiurgic Mind in the Tinroerts see Ria (note 1 above), 1Y&-205, but the truth or falsity of that analysis in no way affects what follows below.

6 2.4.8.23-25; 3.6.6.34; 3.6.7.2: 5.9.2.13-14; cf. I. N. Dcck, Nourrc, Cotrlentl~laliort ortd the One (Toronto. 1967), 75. For 'in X' as meaning 'created by X' (Hence the body is in the soul because it is created by the soul.) see R. Arnou. Le dki r dc Dieu rlurrs In philosq~lric clc Plorirt (Paris, 1921). 162-165; Arnou's is stilt in many ways the best book on Plotinus.

Plotinus' Body

that matter does not exist - a view with genuinely Platonic features - and that there are only qualities and 'size',8 Matter must exist in order to 'receive'; thus since it is not cornpletcly 'non-existent' (1.8.3.8; 2.4.16.3), i t must have a 'nature' (2.4.1 1.43; 4.8.6.18). It could not derive from the One if it were 'nothing at all' (though allusion could, of course, still be made to it); for it would then be 'something' not derived from anything. But then unless it were either identical with the One or sonlc inexplicable further causal 'principle' in the world - which PIato had held, but which for Plotinus is unthinkable - i t would have to be quite simply nothing at all. not even a shadow. But if i t were nothing at all - but only speakable as if i t werc something - it could not be thc bearer of anything. That is why Plotinus finds it appropriate to think of i t as like a corpse adonled (2.4.5.18). I t is not nothing at all; it is 'something' which can do nothing, and experience nothing (3.6.10.24-26), which is simply inert precisely because i t has no character and no form - in that at lcast like the nurse and unspecifically characterized womb of the Tinlacus. Thus matter plays the 'role' of magnitude (It is its 'nature' to be conceived like that in an 'imaginary representation', 2.4.1 1.33.9 though, as we have seen, without itself being any bulk exccpt the curiously sizeless sort (2.4.1 1.34).

Is Plotinus then dealing in what we might prefer to call a fonnal concept of matter, rather than with any kind of physical object? Is mattcr something which we must invoke to cxplairt the nature of physical bodics but which is itself no kind of physical object? Certainly not, for a formal concept is not only idcnlified by but also conccivcd in our minds. A formal concept could not be a last product of the One, nor could it begin to do the philosophical work which Plotinus demands of matter. For matter is not part of the rlcscripriorr of physical objects (or 'bodies'). but part of their nature. It plays a cosino1ogical role, even if i t can do so neither actively nor (in the ordinary sense of the word) passively. For forms are inscribed on it even though i t cxpericnccs nothing, for if it could have expericnces. i t would be some thing to have experiences. Thus, as we shall scc, if it can bc changed, i t can only be changcd 'accidentally'.

We may wonder whether Plotinus could have extracted himself from this 'tockean' dilemma. His options were certainly restricted: he cpuld have insisted that the lowest level of 'reality' from thc Onc is not bare matter, but something at icast minimally formed; or hc could have claimed that physical

8 Cf. the later back-reference in 1.8.15.1 and A. H. Annstrong. 'Thc Theory of tlic Non- Existence of Matter in Plotinus and the Cappadocians' in Phliniort and Cltristirnt Stdics (London. 1979). essay VIII.

9 Thc translation is Armstrong's.

objects at their most minimal are formed ex nilrilo; or he could have attempted to 'save' Plato's 'original position that the receptacle is an ultimately independent principle in thc cosmos. But, as we have seen. the last alternative is unacceptable to him since it compromises the principle that all derives from the One. (Where else could i t 'come' from?) For reasons which do not need to be expiained here. but which spring from thc common Greek assumption that Parmenides was right to insist that nothing comes from nothing. ex niltilo creation is not even directly considered. That would seem to leavc only option 1 as a possible alternative to the position which Plotinus does in fact maintain. U u t why should Plotinus not allow that the creativity of the One comes to an end with whatever body possesses the smallest possible 'amount' of form? We cannot be sure, but reasons may be surmised. If a being has any form at all, i t may bc supposed 10 be crcative - at least in the sense of being somehow able to affect what is done to it; in which case it would no1 be thc last. But why can Plotinus not say that the last being is that which is in no way creative? That, in fact, is what he does say, and, as we have seen, what is unable to create is matter, the corpse adorned. Hence his difficulty appears to lie in the fact - which he apparently takes to be axiomatic - that only that which has no form is wholly uncreative.

If we ask what further assumption lies behind such an axiom, wc are probably brought up against Plotinus' unwilli~igness wholty to abandon Greek vitalism. TO exist in any finite form is in some way to live (cf, 3.8 passim). There is no precise cut-off point - which is much more than to say that there is no precisely definable cut-off point - bctwecn the animate and the inanimate. Similarly (and perhaps even more importantly) the case of,fire ('which almosl escapes bodily nature', 3.6.6.40-41: cf 1 A.3.20) suggests thal there may be no unambiguous demarcation between the material and the immaterial: a view which. as we shall see, serves Plotinus in good stead. In any case, there can be no formed matter (or body) without creativity or at least affcctivity: hence whatever is fonncd in any way cannot be the 'last' product of the Onc. Thus. while Plotinus cannot avoid holding that the last product of the Onc must both exist 'somehow' and be totally without form. hc must also allow it to have a 'nature'. though its nature cannot be that of a being (3.6.6.8); for if it had the nature of a being. i t would havc a character or form.

Part of the difficulty of understanding Plotinus' position is terminological, and before considering his attempts to identify what 'matter' is not in more detail - by way of considering various proposals of othcrs about what it is - we should try to make the terminology clearer. We havc seen that Plotinus will allow that matter can be called some kind of substrate. It is

Plotinus' Body

not, of course, the only substrate, or the only kind of substrate. Any lower item in the Plotinian hierarchy is a substrate for its superiors. Or (in another use of the term) Man and a particular man can be called 'substrates' of one's feclings and activities (6.3.4.33). In the latter case a sensible is the ultimate subject of reference: when we refer to A's actions, these actions are only intelligiblc if we think of the man (and the form) lying behind the sensible appearances. But there is no need lo be confused about what kind of substrate matter is; it is a 'physical' object considered to be devoid of all its qualities. yet as a physical objecl 'underlying' everything above itself.

But if matter is a substrate, it is neither an I~ypostasis nor an ousia. Plotinus presumably regards nous and the Forms as the clearest examples. indeed the paradigmatic examples, of an /lypo.rtu.~is. Sometimes he is prepared lo say even of the One that it is only a 'sort of hypostasis' (68.7.47). but when being less of a 'negative theologian' he will apply 'hypostasis' to the One readily cnough (e.g. at 6,8.15.28), and generally he will hold (for examplc against d ~ e Gaoslics) that there are three hypostases:lO the One, rroris and soul. 1 1 At the moment, howevcr, we need spend little time on the term 'hypostasis'. Suffice it to say that to hesitate over calling the One an hypostasis is similar to hcsitating (or refusing) to call the One an ousia. Rather. on Platonic authority. the One is 'beyond ousia'. Thus if an hypostasis is a finite being, tllcn the One may not be an hypostasis, though in one placc (6.8.20.1 1 ) its activity is said to be like an hypostasis. But, in so far as an hypostasis is an active power, a cause of its sequents, thc One is an hypostasis; and so is Soul. On the narrower account of hypostasis as being, the Onc is not an hypostasis, but Plotinus is not much cot~cemcd with that. For there is little reason to confuse the One with a finite being, even an eternally finite being. Hence hypostasis in its stricter sense can be used of it to refcr to its primacy as cause.

From our present point of view, however, what matters about all the hypostases is that they are active - they cause their sequents - and that they are eternal and unchanging. If anything is even partly material (3.6.12.10). il is not strictly an hypostasis, though, as Porphyry seems to put it accurately enough, 'things in themselves (that is, immaterials) give an appropriate share in their p w e r to bodies by the hypostasis that arises from their inclination towards them. For this inclination supports a secondary kind of power that is connected to bodies' (Scrtknriac 4). Thus, since 'nature', when viewed as a power of the soul, is active as the creator of the world of plants (what we

10 Three hypostases in 2.9.1-2, and in the title of 5.1. but the title itself may bc due to J'o~P~Y~Y.

I 1 On the application of 'hypostasis' to the One see Deck (note 6 above). 9.

might call the lower reaches of the animate).lz Plotinus is even prepared on one occasion to call i t an hypostasis on its own (5.2.1.26).13 1 take it, however, that this is merely a somewhat imprecise way of referring to the active, creative part of soul, so strong is thc linguistic pressure to tolcrate the title hypostasis for any creative phenomenon.

At all events, the One IS always the One, nous is always itself, as arc thc Forms which are constituents of it; the Soul is always soul. always creative, bul as an hypostas~s, bough not in its parts, always unchanging. (It is only thc partial soul which falls.) For our purposes, what matters about the three

I

hypostases is [hat they arc unchangi~lg rrulity. In contrast to all of them, what lies below the levei of soul, the products of soul. are changing. Just as in thc universe of Plato himself, so there is a dichotomy in the universe of I'lotinus; there arc beings which are eternally unchanging, and 'beings' which changc. The latter group. strictly speaking, arc not beings but becomings. They are 'so-callcd' beings (6.3.5.1). The lowest of them, matter, is once described hyperbol~cally as a tendency or striving towards hypostasis, towards stable. finite and creative existence. But we should know by now that such language IS l~ttlc more than an example of the pathetic fallacy. For the 'desire' of matter can bc nothing more than gaping formlessness and possibility.l4

I Yet be sure that there is no suggestion that even the 'so-called' beings do not exist. Unlike evcn Porphyry, Plotinus (in this following strictly Platonic language) does not use the word 'hyparxis'. by his time thc normal word for existence, though the corresponding verb appcars in the Etrtreods. He merely assumes @ace Gilson)fS that the One, Nous, Soul. physical objects and even matter exist. Their disti~~ctiveness lies in the unchangeabiiity or changeability of their natures, and corrcspondingly in whether they are individually cternal or only eternally of the same sort: thus, particulars are always (eternally) particulars, but always they are changing particulars.

The existence of the world k i n g established, our problem can now bc identified as that of characterizing Plotinus' view of the nature of physical objects (that is, of bodies) against a background of matter itself. From lime to time Plotinus considers and rejects a number of suggestions about the ~iaturc of matter which, if true, would have important implications as to the nature of

4

what is 'sketched' on matter, namely the physical objects. Wc shall, therefore,

12 3.8; cf. 3.4.1.3-5; 4.4.27.1 1-17; 5.2.1.26. 13 For furher comment see J. M. Rist, Plotirrus: The Road to Reality (Cambridge, 1967),

92-93. l 4 Cf Arnou (note 7 above). 64-68 on activc and passive desire. on the Poros and Penia of

the Symposium in Plotinus. 15 E. Gilson, B c i q and Some ~hiio.iop,ker.i2 (Toronto. 1952).

Plotinus' Body

first notice a few views he rejects, in order to understand the account of matter we have presented thus far in a little more detail, before returning directly to our particular concern, the physical objects of the world.

Various Gnostics had suggested that matter is pre-existing, but forrnless - not entirely unplatonically, though their favourite image, that of darkness, is not to be found in the Tiniaclrs. Nevertheless, their vicw was that i t is a pre-existing darkness. Soul descends to this darkness, and somehow illuminates it (2.9.1 1.2). The result of this illumination is sornc sort of active power, able to produce 'soul-like' images (~iSwXa ~ ~ J U X L K C ~ , 2.9.1 1.14). Plotinus' chief objection 10 this is precisely that i t turns 'matter and an image' into a maker, and that thus since matter is 'darkness', the maker of thc physical universe is evil. Furthern~ore, i f the 'darkncss' already existed, 'Where did it come from?' If the soul made i t by darkening, i t is not pre- exislent. If it did exist, then how did soul 'decline' towards it? The objcctivc of this questioning is thus to show either that darkncss pre-existcd (and thus u first principle of the world is evil), or that if it did not pre-exist, then the 'naturc' of the soul is solely responsible for its own decline. Thus, the soul would be evil, It is worth noticing, of course, that there is a sense in which the soul's rlature (that is, its folnta or pride in the case of individual souls, but not presumably. in the case of soul as a whole) really is responsible for its decline even in Plotinus' own account. bul Plotinus does not want to raise that complication here. His argument in 2.9 is ad lrnntirtcni against the Gnostics. at lcast to the extent that, whatever the reasons for the soul's (or for somc soul's) decline. the consequences of a pre-cxistent 'darkness' arc unacceptable: that is. that a basic evil principle is incompatible with thc other principles of a neccssarily monistic world-system.

The Gnostics, and others, supposed that the soul (or Soul) descended in time: that the creation of the ordered world is a temporal cvent. That. i t should be needless to say, is not Plotinus' view.16 It is legitimate. he would

-

l 6 D. O'Brien has claimed that I attributed this view to Plotinus in two different sets of comments on Etitr. 4.8.6. In 'Plotinus and the Gnostics on the Ciencratipn of Mattcr'. in Ncoplalotrisnr atrd Early Chri.~tiun Tlroirfiht: Essays itr Hotmur of A. H. Artrrsrrotr,q (London. 1981). 109. lie says that 'Rist continues to believe that matter. for Plotinus, is generated', and that 'there is a temporal generation of matter'. His footnote refers to Pkolitrrr.r: llrf Road ro real if.^ (Cambridge. 1967). 1 18- 1 19, and 'Plotinus 011 Matter and Evil', Plrrotresis 6 (1961). esp. 157-158. Happily, my remarks were as follows: 'Plotinus' .second alternative is therefore that even i f matter is a temporal creation, not even so i s it apart fro111 the One, for how could the One not be equal to any achievement? The fact that this is riot his ow81 view (new italics) makes the words 'not even so' ... doubly appropriate' (Plotirrus p. 119). In the Phrotrcsis piece I observed that 'It i s quite certain that Plotinus' final view is that matter exis& eternally and is not in any sense a temporal creation, and it is highly probable that his support, even at this coniparatively early date. was given to this view.' Ah, for rigour in Neoplatonic

allow. to say that matter is generated. but not temporally generated. One hopes that the word 'generated' is not tnisunderstood. Of course, if matter were not gcneratcd. i t would exist on its own, and if it cxisted on its own it would have a certain power of its own, if only to exist on its own. But if i l had a powcr of its own, it would have some sort of a form of its own - which incans that the door is at least open for it not o~ily to have thc 'activity' of existing. but necessarily some sort of activity of affccting, for inPlotinus' view the two necessarily go togclher.l7

But if i t had the power of 'actively' aflcc/irlg. i t might even be the cause, as the Gnostics thought, of some sort of 1ife:ls and if that is true, then Lhc whole Plolinian universe is overturned. Thus, matter cannot bc any kind or pre-cxisting darkness; rather it is an absolute privation of form and eternal

I being, and quite without possessior~ of any sort of dangerous quality (1 .R. 10.14) .- except that its non-possession can be found curiously attractive to the falling soul. Yet i t is not inappropriate for Plotinus, a philosopher proud of his membership in the Platonic tradition, to hold that a cnrpsc (for that we have seen matter to be) can exercise (though inertly) a strange fascination: Lcontius in Plato's Rcprhlic, the star example of an 'acratic'. finds looking at corpses perversely attractive (439E6440A3).

Before proceeding to our 'knowledge' of matter. we should finally note that the Stoics too (as wcll as, supposedly at least, the Aristotelians) knew of a yualityless variety, for as Plotinus put it in at lcast Stoic temlinology. 'quality exists in affirmation' (ri) 6; noibv i v ~ a t a + a m ~ , 2.4.13.23); hence matter must be 'qualityless' (anotns 1.8.10). Nothing if nof characteristically 'ecumenicai' when he wishes, PIotinus can now throw in further Aristolelian language. For Plotinus' matter looks like what Aristotelian matter was oftcn supposed to be. and he himself strengthens the misleading assimilation of Platonism, Stoicisnl and Aristotelianism, as we have already noticed. by calling i t a 'deprivation' (2.4.13.9-1 I ; 2.4.16.3) - anothcr Aristotelian term of which Plato in the Tiniacus is innocent.

I f matter is other than being. i t is becoming, not wholly non-existence, though a unique form of 'becoming' indced. since in itself i t does not change. having nothing to change from or to. I t must be referred to, not mcrely as a total absence, but as a total absence of form. When we spcak of its indefiniteness and sizelessness (2.4.10. [Off.; 2.4.12.33-34), we do so in an odd

studies; cf D. O'Bricn. 'Neoplatonic Studies in England: A Plea for Rigour'. Rnwr dc Philosophic Avrcierrrw 4 (19%). 299-303.

17 Cf. E,m. 5.4.2.27-33. with 2.5.2.31 and C. Rutten. 'La doctrine des deux actcs dam la philosophie de Plotin'. RevPhil. 146 (1956). 100-106.

18 Cf. 2.9.5.16-1 R on the Gnostics' 'second soul' composed of the physical elenlcnts.

way. Plotinus refers, of course, to the bastard reasoning of the Tintoeus, but gives an even odder explication of it. We reason about matter (GAq), but our reasoning does not derive from the mind (presumably because we cannot 'cnvisag' what we are discussing), but in 'a vain fashion' (KEVI~S, 2.4.12.33). That is, we can talk about matter, form propositions about it, or. as we would say, refer to it propositionally, but in propositions which do not refer to any 'simple' (formed) thing. Our propositions about what we cannot envisage, but of which we form a 'spurious mentai-image' (2.4.10.9). arc about something we spcak of as q i t were somc particular thing, but which is no particular thing.

Elsewhere, Plotinus suggests that the process of 'referring' involves the 'reconstmction' of our mind as 'another mind'. sincc what it sees is not its own (1 A.9.15-23). It is natural for the mind to pick out clear objects, each, in the case of forms, distinct. But now the mind, in order to envisage darkness. bas to leave its own light behind; otherwise it would not be ablc to sce its contrary. And when we 'conceive' darkness, we grasp the formlessness within ourselves (1 A9.16): a comment as informative on Plotinus' view of our own metaphysical structure as it is of his .difficulties with the concept of referring. In any case, note that the idea of darkness is back in this late (#51) treatise: darkness is 'not-mind', that is, not-form, not 'its own'. But t l ~ e mind 'dares' to see it. Plotinus adds, invoking a word which not only suggests something out- of-character, but often something rash; there is a sense in that in referring to somclhing formless, the mind is getting out of its depth;l9 wc cannot understand how it functions. A parallel which might give some (limited) idca of the perplexity Plotinus wants to express would be an attempt to envision recurring decimals rather than to use them mathematically. -

For the tolnta of individual souls sinning see 5.1.1.4; for a denial that roltltu motivates the world-soul (as it does various Gnostic equivalents) see 2.9.1 1.21-22. In the first case rolnia is a desire to be self-supporting. independent of the 'Father'; in the second i t refers to the attempts of various arrogant 'principalities and powers' to create from their own power and on their own authority. I t is not clear in our present passage (1.$.9.I8) that the tokia of the mind in 'referring' to - inemore Plotinian language 'envisioning' - matter is sinful, but the language suggests that i t is at least risqu6. A second passage, similarly baffling, is to be found at 6.9.5.29. again of ttorrs. but this

,time of rtorts 'facing up to' living apart from the One: for discussion see I. M. Rist. 'Monism: Plotinus and Some Predecessors', HSCP 69 (1965). 329-344, esp. 34 1 The= may be a brond distinction to be drawn between Gnostic robtra which tries to climb to heaven. to the 'first God', and the Plotinian version which tries to forget about him, son~etimes (regrettably) o f necessity; cf., perhaps, 3.8.8.34-36, where there may be direct echoes of the Neopythagorean habit of calling 'procession' lolnra. Note that in both 1.8.9. I9 and 6.9.5.29 the verb d+iarqpi or its cognatcs is associated with mlma. That suggests that in every case tolma has something to do with turning (contrast cpisfrophc) in the regrettable but necessary 'wrong' direction, but that to do so is not r~eccssat~ily one's own fault.

plot inus ' Body

We conclude, then, that Plotinian matter seems to be both proposed and conceived on the basis of Plato's account of the receptacle, but a receptacle rcdescribed - with Stoic and Aristotciian help - within the parameters of Plotinus' own monistic universc whcrein everything other than absolutc non- entity must derive from the One. But those 'Aristotelian' and Stoic descriptions of prime matter and qualityless substance respectively may affect the Plotinian concept of matter in other and more unexpected ways. In considering the original Platonic rcccptaclc, we noted that Aristotle misrcpresentcd it as a 'material cause', thinking, roughly. tllat it must have somc kind not merely of bulk, but of solidity. Though he is mistaken as a Platonic exegetc, his mistake arises through genuine philosophical puzzlement, for if matter is not solid, where does the solidity of physical objects come from? It might be supposed [hat it cannot come from the mind, if that is supposed to be immaterial. Perhaps it is spirited out of the air, o r more preciseiy out of the nictopkor in which the construction of the cosmos is viewcd in terms of its begetting by father Mind on mothcr receptacle. But therc was always something wrong with that when Plato seemed to takc advantage of it, and Pidinus, who does not treat the receptacle a s all 'indcpendent' causc (or even factor), has the opportunity to remcdy it. But perhaps tile Stoic language that matter is qualilyless subsvatlce (combined with tllc adoption of a supposedly Aristolelian 'prime matter') enables him to cvadc tllat opportunity.

Stoicism being a 'materialism' (or perhaps better a vitalism), qualityless substance is still 'material'; it would slill scem to have a certain solidity -just what Plotinus must have known that he needed to discover somewhere. Rut his problem, of course, is yuitc diffcrerlt from that of the Stoics. Tliey have no need to account for the materiality, or solidity. of physical objects; that. for thcm, is a givcnd2n Everything that is real is material. at its thinnest an air currcnt. perhaps. But the reduction of thc existence of solidity to a non- problem is no legitimate solution for Plotinus. For him. the problem of the origin of solidity in a world in which reality is immaterial would seem to be subslantive. His solution seems to be at least startling, if not convincing. T o see what it is, and to evatuate it, we must turn at last to his descriptions not of matter, but of physical objects themselves.

20 As A. Gracset points out {Piohis artd the Stoics [Leiden, 19723. 13). tliougll Plotinus was well aware of S~oic idcas of qualityless matter, he could not (and did not) accept their view that such matter is 'being' (3.6.6.3-7; 6.1.27.2fl.). For their part, the Stoics could not accept Piotinus' 'offensive' description of matter as dead, as a 'corpse', for thcn matter (Tor the Stoics 'subsh~cc') would receive qualities in a wliolly unstoic way.

Plotinus' Body

It looks as though Plotinus wants to define loss of form as itself being solidity; using a metaphor, one might say that to bccome formless is to become crass, where mindless crassness would leave one both physically and psychologically 'thick'. Now if loss of form is to becomc material. the converse might also apply, and we have already noticed how in the case of fire we seem to identify an item on the very boundary of becoming immaterial. Within the realm of the i~ltclligibles there is contemplation, and production is a by-product of contemplation. In 3.8.4 nature describes her life, saying that 'Whcn I contemplate. the lines of bodies come to be as if they fall away from my contemplation'.zl Presumably from lines we get planes, and from planes we get solids. For lack of unity brings plurality and plurality brings extension (6.6.1.8ff.). But that extension is itsclf a by-product, an 'implication'. virtually an accident of contemplation (2.9.3.16; cf 4.8.6.20).

In 6.3.8.18-21 Plotinus defines sensible substances as a combination (ov~14dpqo~s) of qualities and matter.22 That might seem to be a Stoic- sounding description, since the Stoics talked about the blending of qualityless substance with quality - which latter is itself material, that is. an air-current, In Plotinus' (crudcr) version the qualities are somehow stuck togcther on matter, thus forming the apparent unity of a sensiblc body (6.3.8.21; cf 6.3.9.3). Matter, as he has said earlier (6.3.4.3). is a base and 'seat' (i'6pa) for form. though form of course is not 'of matter', that is, a quality of matter, but par1 of thc compound (6.3.4.16) or mixture (2.4.12.8) to which we give the name 'body'. Thus, when form and matter are coagulated, we have a qualified sensible substance. Yet though the so-called substance is a mixture (6.3.8.26),

1 il is a mixture of non-equal 'parts'; the matter is sterile (6.3.8.35). As we have secn, it is rather the shadow for a sketch draw11 out by the desccndit~g qualities,

Rutten once claimed - not for the first time - that Plotinus' system is a pure idealism.23 that the objective realism of Plato has disappeared. and that while k i n g in the intelligible world has been reduced to knowing, non~inalism reigns supreme in the realm of sense. That is certainly wrong. and it is

21 Cf F. R. Jevons, "Lumping' in Plotinus's Thought', AGP 47 (1965). 139: 'Contemplation can produce material bodies'. See also his 'Dequantitation in Plotinus's Thought'. Phrot~csi.r Y (1 964). 65-71. though Jevons seems to go wrong in claiming that Plotinus diffcred from Plaio in removing quantities as well as qualities from tltc receptacle.

22 Cf. K. Wurm. Sitbstatrz u d Qualiriir (Berlin. 1973). 255. 23 C. Ruttes, Les cafcf~orics ddi ntorrclc sa~~iblc dons Ies Etrt~Eudes de Plotitr (Paris 196 I ) .

unnecessary LO rehearse the refutations once again here.24 But the unsatisfactory solution of Rutlen highlights a genuinely serious problem. Whcre does h e 'body' of physical objects. and of matter itself, come from? Ruttcn's vicw, in effect, is that i t does uot come from anywhcrc, that i t is essentially an illusion, at least as far as we are concerned. For us the physical world consists of no more than thoughts. That is wrong; for Plotinus the physical world is composed. by the imposition of sketches which 1ook like forms, of mirror-imagcs of forms. But Plotinus seems to have rephrased Plato's problem, and even to have cxacerbatcd it by denying the receptacle any trace of 'independent' status, perhaps partly deceived by an unusable Stoic rnodcl of qualityless matter. For while Plato supposed that the sensible is generated in the strictly non-formed, glass-Icss and womb-likc mirror, Plotinus has preserved the glass (or rathcr the effect of glass in a bulk which cannot be characterized as glass), simply because, it appears, bulk just cannot arise from nothing - an alternative which, as we noted in passing, he could not consider to be philosophically kosher.

As we have suggested, if the specific bulk, the sheer solidity of physical objects does not arise from nothing, it can only arise, in Plotinian language. 'from its priors'. Thus, encouraged by the 'Stoicizing' notion that certain rnatcrial objects 'verge on' the immaterial, arises thc strange thesis we havc suggested: that for Plotinus. literally as well as metaphorically, by losing form, by thinking less 'clearly' or more 'muddily', one comes to exist - and thing come to exist - as crass, but accidentally. as a sideeffect.

Furthermore, this crassness becomes marked by the qualities which soul in~poses on it. But then how docs the immaterial quality mark (or mix with) the material? The Stoics would havc wanted an answcr to lhat - i t is part of their general challenge to the Platonists as to how thc material (is. body) can form a unity with the immaterial (Le. the soul, if it r e d l y is immaterial). Plotinus, as we shall see, has a general, i f less than philosophically powerful. answer to that. For although his images might suggest that the qualities blcrrd with the indeterminate matter, in something of the Stoic manner. Plotinus only admits that they transform it by adorning it - in a sense a transformation from death lo apparent life, certainly from inertness to the apparent capacity to be activc, affected and even sensible. For Plutinus is careful about the languagc of mixing. There is no real assimilation, only an association, or, he would be willing to add, a 'presence' of the immaterial with the crass, just as elsewhere (e.g. 4.3.22.3) he is willing to talk more generally, -

Z4 For sensible comment (in a generally sound book) .see M. 1. Santa CNZ de Prunes. b grtdw clrr mmde seruihk~ datr.r la pf~ln~c~~phie dc Piotitr (Paris. 1979). esp. pp. 13 1 - 32. See also in more detail Wunn (note 22 above).

Plot inus' Body

and Platonically enough, of the presence of soul to body.25 (But here again Fests&rjfi with a battle of Plotinian burgundy. He might find that though it is he softens his problem 'Stoically' by making a comparison with (quasi- material, it is lacking in body, o r has only the appearance of body, k i n g in immaterial) fight k i n g present with air: the light is present with thc air but reality rather flat: little more than a corpse 'mixed' with none o f it.)

Of course, though Plotinus' position is hardly defended, the Stoic altcmative is wildly counter-intuitive. One thing that must be in Plotinus' mind - and not unreasonably - is that we should be ablc to predicate both justice and fattless of a human being without indisputably committing ourselves, as the Stoics would suppose, to the view that such predication entails that fatness and justice must be material, i.e. that justice must bc something Iike an air-current.

Rutten's solution, that Plotinus is an idealist, would avoid this difficulty too: iinrnaterials would blend with one another. The fact that Rutten thus 'solves' the problem for Plotinus, and solves it wrongly, mcrely leaves the probfetn for Plotinus to solve. How does the immaterial even associate (or mix), let alone blcnd, with the material: o r perhaps. since the material is stcrile, how does the immaterial 'insinuate' itself into the material with the effect that the material becomes qualified. Rutten's solution would have left Plotinus with immaterial physical objects; Plotinus seems to be lcft with thc more rcalistic. but philosophically unexplained, compounds. Thus the explanation of the receptacle has left him not only with the thesis that solidity or 'body' ariscs simultaneously with the end of form, being simply the accidental 'crassness' of things, but also (again) in need of a thesis to account for the rciationship of thc immaterial with the rnatcrial.

The problem about the relationship between the material and the immaterial is not new to Plotinian scholarship, or indeed, as we have seen. to criticism of Platonism by pl~ilosophical opponents like the Stoics. The problem of the 'disappearing' body of things, o r rather of the mysterious and non-metaphorical appcarancc of their 'body' has been less prominent, though it is certainly an ancestor of the problem that bothered.Locke about the 'something. I know not what'. In fact, since the mysterious something was often attributed to Aristotle, in the guise of various sub-Aristotelian theses, it is worth noting that various later versions of Plotinus' attempt to save the Platonic receptacle contributed (though not entirely) to giving the Aristotelian dog a bad name.

But that is another story. Suffice it to say that in offering this paper in honour of Godfrey Tanner, I should advise him against celebrating his

--

*5 For the presence of the soul to body see also 1.1.4, and for quality coming to matter 2.7.3.6.

116

26 It occurs to me that Plotinus might claim that my problem with his view of sensible objects is at Icast partly misconceived, since I failed to take due account of the fact that his primary concern is with their causc or origin. My reply would bc that in discussing the rarrsc of sensiblc objects lie 11aq lost sight of the fact that he isdisussing sensiblc 01)jccts.

XVI

PSEUDO-AMMONIUS AND THE SOUIJBODY PROBLEM IN SOME PLATONIC TEXTS OF LATE ANTIQUITY

Platonic philosophers in later antiquity, such as Plotinus and Porphyry, as well as their Christian heirs as diverse in philosophical talent as Augustine and Nemesius of Emesa, wanted to offer or attempt a better account of the relationship between soul and body than Plato had given them. From Plato come some standard comments: that we are a soul using a body (Ale. 1, 129C-E); or that the soul wears bodies like clothes which can be discarded (Phaedo 87B); or that the soul is present to the body; or that the soul is woven through the body (Tim. 36E2), at least,in the case of the world-soul. The problem about all this, as the Stoics pointed out,' was that it assumed some way in which the corporeal could intelligibly be said to associate with the incorporeal to form a single substance, e.g., a man, who is thus a metaphysical unity capable of being the single responsible source of, inter alia, moral behaviour. Against such a claim the Stoics held that the sort of unity required could only be achieved by the unification of strictly material substances; hence the soul must be a material substance.

Stoic criticisms were worrying, and had to be answered. In his Lfe of Plotinus (Ch. 13), Porphyry tells us that he questioned Plotinus for three days on how the soul "is present to the body," indicating that this was a key question in the school, comparable in importance to the problem of the relation of Mind to its objects, the Forms (Ch. 18). Plotinus' various attempts to solve the problem-many of which later affected the tradition-can be found from the beginning of his "literary" career in 4.7 (chronologically no. 2) through 4.3 (no. 27), to 1.1 (no. 53).2 The "instrument" theory of the body is considered in 4.7.1: "Man has a soul in him and he also has a body, whether as its instrument or attached in some other way." In the late 1.1.1, the same point recurs. Pleasure and pain, Plotinus says, either belong to the soul, or to the soul using a body, or to a third thing; and this

SVF I1 790-792. For further comment see E. L. Fortin, Christianisme et culture phzlosqphique au n'nquke sikcle (Paris 1959) 1 17.

In general, see H. J. Blumenthal, Plotinus'Psychology (The Hague 1971) 8-19. Plotinus also concerned himself (e.g., in 4.7.g5) with refuting the Aristotelian account of soul as ntelecheia, but that does not directly affect the problems of this paper.

Reprohoed h m the American Journal ofPhilology 109 (1988), pp. 402-415. Reprinted by permission of the J o h Hopkins University Ress.

PSEUDO-AMMONIUS AND THE SOUUBODY PROBLEM 403

third thing may be a mixture (migma) or something coming from a mixture.

I do not wish to linger on Plotinus' replies to the critics of Platonism. What I want to do is comment on some of his language, and on what he does not say. He alludes to the possibility of there being some kind of special mixture of soul and body, though he does not commit himself to it. He does not give a clear impression of what the mixture could be like, only what it is not like; that is, it is not a Stoic "total interpenetration of bodies." In 4.3.22, he suggests that it may be Iike the presence of (immaterial) light in air. Here light is "present" to all of the air but "mixed" (mzgnutai) with none of it, so that it can be said that air is in the light, not that light is in the air. Light, of course, comes from fire, and analogously, says Plotinus, the "powers" of soul are present where necessary.' The special probIem of PIotinus' soul remaining above and only its powers (or some of them) going with body may be noted. What we have- at the least-is a notion of the "presence" of soul to body; but no special kind of mixture or union of sou1 with body is given a precise formulation.

Much later in antiquity, we come across phrases which occasionally (but not usually) denote a special relationship between soul and body;4 in particular, we find that soul and body are united "without confusion" (mugchutos h t h i ) . I shall refer to this sort of language, whether applied to the soul-body relationship or not, as AH. In addition to referring to the soul-body relationship, AH frequently refers to the relations between two immaterial substances, such as souls or Platonic Forms. One of the sources for AH in this sense is Plotinus, Enneads 1.8.2.19. It is my first objective in this paper to identify more of the origin or origins of AH. Standard wisdom insists that this goal has been achieved already. D ~ r r i e , ~ they say, has shown that by comparing Chapter 3 of Nemesius' De Natura

' Cf. also heat and air in 4.4.29. E.g., in Nemesius' De Nahm Hominir (p. 134, 1-1 1). 1 refer to Nemesius by

page and line of Matthaei's text (reprint Hildesheim 1967). H. Dorrie, POrphyk' S)n"m&u Zelemata (Munich 1959), but Darrie's work was

in part anticipated by H. von Arnim, "Quelle der Ueberlieferung iiber Ammonius Sakkas," Rh. MUF. 42 (1877) 276-285. H.-R. Schwyzer has a more nuanced view. He holds that all our knowledge of Ammonius comes through Porphyry, but also that parts of Nemesius refening to Arnrnonius do not really refer to Ammonius at all, Ammotaim SaRRar, der Lehrer Ploh'm (Rheinisch-Westfdische Akademie der Wissenschaf- ten 1983) 72-73.

XVI


Huminis with Priscian's Solutiones ad Chosroen, we may conclude that both texts depend solkly (though Darrie admits a slight exception to this) on Porphyry's MisceUaneow Questions (Summikta ZdtEmata) about the Soul, a work mentioned by both Nemesius and by Priscian, and apparently alluded to by Proclu~.~ Hence AH in all uses is Porphyrian.

But despite its very wide acceptance7 there are a number of oddities about the state of philosophical history "revealed" by Dorrie which may give us pause: (1) On Dorrie's account, Porphyry, while fully aware of the problem of the relationship between soul and body, and the Stoic arguments against Platonic or Platonizing positions, began to use A H to identify the special Platonic relationship required; and he did this, of course, in Miscellaneous Questions. But, (2) it is puzzling why, if Dorrie is right, the phrase does not occur for soul-body relationships in other passages of Porphyry; especially those where the relationship of soul and body is actually discussed; most especially in those where the notion of "union" (hencisis) appears, but where AH does not.' The nearest he may seem to come is Sententide 37 (p. 43,2 Lamber~)~ where hencisis does not appear, but where the Plotinian term "presence" is linked with lack of "confusion." But this passage, as we shall see, deals importantly with soul-soul, not soul-body relationships. And in Sententide 3, speaking generally of the relationship between corporeals and incorporeals, Porphyry also talks of the "presence" of incorporeals not "in place" but by a certain "attitude" (schesis). This word appears again in some passages of Nemesius claimed for Porphyry by D6rrie"-ofi oopanlc~q oh62 r o r n ~ Q ~ &Ma KUTB qtutv-coupled with further Plotinian and Por- phyrian language: the soul is bound by the body like a lover by his

For Priscian, see Supp. Arist. Gr. 1.2.2 (Bywater); Proclus, In Remp. I 234 (apparently from Miscellaneous Questions); Syrianus, In Met. 191, 27-28.

' E.g., by J. PCpin "Une nouvelle source de Saint Augustin," REA 66 (1964) 53- I07 (cf. review of Dorrie in REA 63 [I9611 236-239-"ce qui est sQr, c'est que le ntoplato_nisme avait ainsi form6 une doctrine de I'AH de l'ime et du corps," p. 239); also Blumenthal (n. 2 above) 9, n. 4; A. Smith, Pmphyry's Pluce in the Neoplatonic Tradition (The Hague 1974) xii; S. Gersh, From Iamblichus to Eriugena (Leiden 1978) 200. R. T. Wallis, Neophtonism (London 1972) 1 1 1 accepts Ammonius Saccas as the genuine originator of AH, as does M . R. Miles, Augustine on the Body (Ann Arbor 1979) 13. Interestingly, and perhaps wisely, W. Deuse avoids the complexities of AH in Zur mittelplalmischen und neuplatonischen Seelenlehre (Wiesbaden 1983).

E.g., Sent. 28 (p. 17, 5 Lamberz), 37 (p. 44, 3, 9 Lamberz). Cf. W. Theiler, "Ammonius und Porphyries," Entretiens Hardt 12 (Geneva

1966) = Unterswhungen rur antiken Literatur (Berlin 1970) 533. "Dorrie (n. 5 above) 178; Nemesius, p. 135, 13ff.; cf. 136, 10-137, 3.

beloved (female this time) not only by attitude (qEoe~), but by inclination (ponfi) and disposition(6iaetan).

(3) Although it is true, as Porphyry points out (V.P. 13), and as the Enneads themselves make plain, as we have seen, that Plotinus discussed the relationship of soul and body, he did not use AH. From this it is argued that AH for the soul-body relationship is the language of Porphyry, who, if Dorrie is right, certainly talked of hencisis of soul and body not only in the Sentedae but in the reconstructed Miscel- h o w Questions. For Iet us be clear what DBrrie's hypothesis implies. It is this: that although the problem of soul-body relations was discussed by both Plotinus and by Porphyry, AH was used in connection with these relations by Porphyry alone (in a Stoicizing mood according to Dijrrie), but only in the Miscellaneous Questions as Dorrie himself has reconstructed the text of that work.

(4) Dorrie himself admits (though his followers tend to disregard his caution) that Porphyry's Miscellaneous Questions is not the only Neoplatonic source of Nemesius." He talks of an indirect source of what he insists is Porphyrian material, of Porphyriana incertae sedis. He is not the first to have realized the need for some kind of second source, especially for material in Nemesius' Chapter 2 about Iambli- chus,12 but he follows von Arnim in holding that this second source must also be Porphyrian. He has no grounds for that assumption, though it might, of course, be true. At the moment, however, the question should remain open.

Let us now consider something of the meaning of AH, as it appears in Nemesius and Priscian. Its context is vaguely antiStoic; hence we need to know what the Stoics thought a sugchusis is. Fortunately we know the answer to that in sufficient detail for our present purposes: it is a mixture of substances of such a kind that in the mix both the "qualityless substance" (Stoic ousia) and its material qualities perish.'' It is important to notice that a "confusing" of this sort is to be distinguished from what the Stoics called "total blending,"

l ' Dorrie (n. 5 above) 147ff. l2 W. Telfer (in his commentary and translation of Nemesius, London 1955)

argues (p. 296) that there is material different in style and thought about Ammonius in Chapter 3 which compels us to posit a second Neoplatonic source. Von Arnim (see n. 5 above) thought that knowledge of Ammonius via Theodotos must come from Porphyry.

IS Cf. SVF I1 473 (p. 154, 15-19); also I1 472 on "destruction of the original qualities." For more general discussion of juxtaposition, mixing, blending and "confusing," SVF I1 471.

XVI


such as the mixing of wine and water. In the case of "total blending" the original elements can (at least theoretically) be separated out again, as with a sponge soaked in oil." What this entails is that for a Stoic the phrase "total blending" would also cover the kind of "unconfused unity" which the later AH came to designate, for total blending, in so far as it is "reversible," is unconfused. Hence the problem at issue, as a Stoic or anyone who understood Stoic terminology would realize, is not whether we need a new bit of jargon (i.e., AH) to denote a blending in which all the elements are at least theoretically recoverable-for the Stoics can cover that eventuality in any case-but whether such a "reversible" blending is possible for a material and an immaterial substance. The Stoics, of course, had denied this, and from the philosophical point of view it should be noted that the mere coining of new terminology (AH) does not indicate that a problem has been solved (except in a trivial and merely verbal sense in that presumably AH is somehow different from other blendings), but merely that it has been identified. So that if Porphyry did introduce AH for soul-body relationships, it would be reasonable to ask what the content of the language actually is. For Porphyry, by all accounts, was a not inconsiderable philosopher, and he should not be simply assumed to have identified the recognition of a problem with its solution-provided only a new piece of jargon is introduced. In fact there is a certain amount of evidence that, if' we leave aside the use of A H for soul-body relations claimed by Dorrie for Porphyry in the Miscellaneous Questionr, the Neoplatonists reserved the phrase AH not for soul-body relations but for the relations of immaterial substances such as souls or Platonic Forms.15 Of course Dtirrie may want to say that Porphyry's use of A H is part of his attempt to "Plotinianize" Stoic physics,16 but that would be merely to beg the question as to whether the use of AH in Nemesius and Priscian for soul-body relations derives from Porphyry at all. For it does not folIow from the fact that Porphyry used AH for the relationships between incorporeals that he also used it for soul-body relationships. A prtori it may indeed make it less likely. The chief

l 4 SVF I1 471 (p. 153, 1 1 , 21-23). l5 Cf. Procfus, In Rmp. I. 234 Kroll; E l m . Theo. 176; Syrianus, In Met. 119, 27-

28. l6 D6rrie (see n. 5 above) 160-161.

reason for asserting it is simply the view that Porphyry is the only source of theories about AH.

Let us therefore begin again by looking at what Nemesius says about the use of AH for soul-body relations. This may seem, however, only to lead us into further trouble, for the notion is attributed by Nemesius to "Ammonius the teacher of Hotinus" (Ch. 3, p. 129, 9). This is the second time Nemesius has mentioned Ammonius. Earlier he is cited (Ch. 2, p. 69, 13) along with Numenius the Pythagorean in a doxographical passage as arguing against the Stoics for an immaterial soul to hold the body together. There is apparently an error here somewhere, since Porphyry tells us elsewhere that Am- monius wrote nothing." That is generally (though not universally) accepted by modern scholars, and the explanation normally offered for the texts of Nemesius is that it was Porphyry who inter alia attributed AH to Ammonius. But in view of the fact that Plotinus (and the pagan 0rigen)18 and Porphyry himself (at least outside the Miscellaneous Qwstions, according to Dorrie) do not use A H at all for soul-body relations-despite their great concern about the matter- it is hard (though perhaps not impossible) to believe that Plotinus' teacher Ammonius used it in this sense; and it is also hard to believe that Porphyry was unaware that Ammonius did not use it. Thus if the fragments of "Ammonius" in Nemesius are merely repetitions of Porphyry, we are forced to conclude that Porphyry (or perhaps his sourse) deliberately put about the false impression that Amrnonius used the offending language for body-soul relations. Yet again the only reason to believe that this is true is the theory of Dorrie's about the sources of Miscellaneous Questions; that is, the claim that Porphyry is the sola source for the Neoplatonic material in the relevant parts of Nemesius and Priscian.

Now the fifth-century Neoplatonist, Hiero~les '~ a pupil of Plutarch of Athens, also thinks he knows something about Ammonius the teacher of Plotinus. What he knows-some of which perhaps "Just ain't so"-is to be found in his De Providentia, as epitomized by Photius (Bibl. 214; 251). First of all Ammonius attempted to har-

" Cf. E. R. Dodds, "Numenius and Ammonius," Entretimr Hardt 5, La sources de Plotin (Geneva 1960) 24-30.

See K. 0. Weber, &ig- der NeuplatoniRer (Munich 1962). l9 See now I. Hadot, LcpobIhRc du Ndoplatonism akxandrin: HitrocILs et S i m p l i n ~ ~ ~

(Paris 1978).

XVI


rnonize the major teachings of Plato and Aristotle-a project which might be attributed to all sorts of Platonists, with some truth. Nevertheless we should notice that in Porphyry's remarks about Ammonius in his Life of Plotinus nothing is said about such a harmonization.

It seems to be the case that at the time of Nemesius (late fourth century) and of Hierocles (early fifth) there was circulating under the name of Ammonius (who, according to Porphyry and Longinus [V.P.] wrote nothing at all) a set of doctrines, probably including AH in relation to the soul-body problem, which were supposed to be the work of the teacher of P l o t i n ~ s . ~ ~ These doctrines may have had several sources, one of which may have been Porphyry, but that does not entail that AH as used to describe soul-body relations must be Porphyrian, let alone that Porphyry advocated it in his Miscellaneoz~s Qwstions. For the moment let us tag the author of this material pseudo-Ammonius. Further evidence for the origins of this Ps- Ammonius seems to be provided by Priscian, who in the prologue to the Solutiones not only mentions Porphyry's Miscellaneous Questions, but also, and as a quite distinct s ~ u r c e , ~ ' the writings of a certain Theodotus "ex collectione Ammonii scolarum" (p. 42 Bywater). So that it becomes highly likely that in addition to Porphyry's Mircellaneous Questions the writings of Ps-Ammonius in Theodotus are to be included among the sources of Priscian (and probably of Nemesius also, for here could be the second Neoplatonic source which even Ddrrie allowed to be necessary in places)-unless we resort to the assertion that Porphyry himself is the only source for the otherwise lost collection of sayings of Ammonius made by Theodotus; that is, that Theodotus is either identical with Porphyry or a source of Porphyry, or a mere copier of Porphyrian texts. But the only justification for that would seem to be if we knew that Porphyry was the only philosopher knowledgeable enough to produce the Am- monian material-and again this just ain't so. Priscian at least would

20 Suspicions along these lines are implied by E. Brthier, Hirtoire de laphilosophie, 1 (Paris 1943) 450. Hierocles himself uses AH (though not of soul and body), but his reference cannot be taken to demonstrate use of teachings of Ammonius, for the usage here seems to be widely Neoplatonic (Phot. Bibl. 214, 172A).

Schwyzer (n. 5 above) 48 suggests that Priscian found the nam; Theodotus in the SummLta ZZtEncatd and mistook it for a separate source! This is clearly an a priori rendering of Priscian's text, but Schwyzer disposes well enough of attempts to identify Theodotus with the Theodosius of V.P. 7.18.

have denied a theory like that; he thought that Theodotus and Porphyry are distinct. Indeed apart from a desire to maintain Dorrie's thesis-a motive we have met before-that all Neoplatonic material in Nemesius and Priscian is Porphyrian, there is no reason to assimilate the two.

For what it is worth, we should also mention at this point that the only indisputable Porphyrian text of Nemesius (p. 139, 1-140, 5)-that is, a text where Nemesius says explicitly that he is quoting Porphyry, and indeed the Miscellamous Questions-contains no mention of AH, though it does d u d e to Porphyry's attempt to explain how the soul is present to the body (what he calls the hen6sis of soul and body), and it uses a correctly Stoic phrase.

Ps-Ammonius (or Theodotus) presumably wrote in Greek, and there is no reason to think he was ever translated into Latin. That means that if he (or she) was the first to use AN of the relationship between the soul and the body, we might expect to find such language missing, say, in Augustine, despite Augustine's concern with Neopla- tonic problems in this area and despite his certain knowledge at some times of his life of some of the works of ~orphyry.~ ' And that is exactly what we do find. In a fairly early work On the Morals of the Catholic Church (A.D. 388) we meet the standard Neoplatonic definition of man as a rational soul using a mortal body (1.27.52); while in the City of God (c. A.D. 425) Augustine quotes Vawo on the problem of whether man is a soul, a body, or the two "together" (19.3.4)-the last being a view which the Resurrection might seem to and elsewhere Augustine will call man a mortal rational animal (De Ord. 2.31). Most discussed in this connection, however, is letter 137 (A.D. 412) where Fortin, following a simiiar line to Dorrie's, argues that Augustine too is impressed by Porphyry's AH for soul-body relationship^.'^ What Augustine in fact says of most interest is that we (our persons) are a mixture (naixtura) of soul and body.'6 The context of this is Christological, and neither Plotinus nor Porphyry

'' I do not need to enter now upon the much controverted problem of when Augustine first began to take notice of Porphyry (rather than Plotinus).

2s For further references on these matters see C. Couturier, "La structure mktaphysique de l'hornme d'aprhs S. Augustin," Augwtinus Magister 1 (Paris 1954) 543-550.

'' See Fortin (n. 1 above) 11 1-128. 25 Cf. Ep. 169.8, where.both soul and body and (in Christ) the Word and man

are one persona.

XVI

PSEUDO-AMMOXIUS AND THE SOUUBODY PROBLEM 41 1

ever committed himself to the claim that we are a mixture of this kind. Plotinus does indeed consider the possibility of it, as we noted earlier, in 1.1.1, but the matter remains open. Nemesius, however, ignores the possibility that "mixture" is an appropriate term altogether. After writing d prj-ct: ijvoral y4-c~ nap6~~lrat p@c: ~C~pazal, he asks only, What kind of union is involved?, and then gives the AH of Ammonius. Mixture language, on the other hand, as Fortin notes, appears in Priscian (p. 51, 4) but that would seem to indicate, if anything, a different source for Nemesius and Priscian. As for Augustine, he says that it is unreasonable to object to the mixture of two incorporeal substances (Christ and the human soul) if we are prepared to allow even a mixture of air and light (Ep. 137, CSEL 44, p. 110, 7), that is, two corporeal substances (note that for Plotinus light is incorporeal), when they are not "corrupted" by the blend. Fortin claims this for Porphyry-and there is no doubt, as we have said, that Augustine at this time is familiar with some of Porphyry's work-but note that Augustine does not have AH: there is no inconfusa, no unio, only mixtura. Granted that Augustine knows Porphyry at the time of this letter, therefore, his remarks about mixture are still apparently non-Porphyrian and AH is absent. The source could be anyone who knew Stoicism, such as Varro, and even if it is Porphyry (despite "mixture,"), the text does not know that Porphyry used AH for the soul-body relation. The Stoics in fact say that mixing (mhis) is appropriate for this (SVF 11 471, p. 153, 10). We shall suggest below why Augustine too might find mixing very appropriate. There is a further interesting feature of Augustine's discussion: he slides from talking about the mixture of two incorporeal~ (God and the human soul) to the mixture of an incorporeal and corporeal (God and the human being). In fact he simply assumes that there is a doctrine of some kind of mixing not only of incorporeal~, but of corporeal with incorporeal. That is indeed an assumption which Plotinus would not have underwritten without modification, but it still does not elicit AH even in a passage where the person of Christ is being discussed. Thus we may conclude that no evidence is available here for the technical AH phraseology. That is what we should expect if our thesis that AH for soul-body relationships originates not with Porphyry (whom Augustine knew) but with someone else (such as Ps-Ammonius) whom he did not know.

At this point it should perhaps be added that the claim of PCtpin

to have found AH in Augustine's Trinitarian speculations look much more promi~ing?~ for there the terms would be applied to relations between incorporeals-and that is the use to which, as we have seen, various passages of pagan Neoplatonism bear witness and which may well go back to Porphyry. For it seems to be the case that AH was regularly used by Neoplatonists (from Porphyry on, perhaps), not to refer to soul-body relationships, but to describe the inter-relations of "Platonic" incorporeals.

Like Augustine, Nemesius (p. 137,4 ff.) compares the relationship of soul and body to the union of the Divine Logos with a man. Nemesius' text is probably somewhat earlier in date, and his procedure is different. First of all, after arguing to an AH of soul and body and attributing it to Ammonius, he then goes on to apply the same idea and the same terminology to Christ. Later he calls Porphyry to witness: he subscribes to a relationship of immaterial soul and body; that is good evidence for a similar relationship in Christ. But Nemesius' concern is polemical: he wants to use AH against the followers of the neo-Arian Eunomius. Augustine too is replying to doubters, to those who want to know how Christ could be God and man, but he has no particular theologically trained opponents in mind. The difference may be significant, and the terminology is certainly different. Augustine's doubters are puzzled about how God is "mixed" with man so that there shall be one personu of Christ. Nemesius is concerned with Eunomians who deny a complete h k i s : it is not kd' owiun but only h t a dunameis hkatmou (p. 142, Z), a possible Plotinian or Porphyrian attitude." Perhaps the debate centered on what acugchutos entailed: the Eunomians seemed to have supposed that a hen6sis of owiai would involve "confusion." Against this Nemesius repeats that the hedsis of soul and body involves no confusion of one with the other; in other words that it is truly asugchutos. Can we deduce from this something further about the origins of AH itself in soul-body contexts, now that we have levered it free from necessary ascription to Porphyry?

A neat solution to the difficulties which arise in our attempt to chronicle the origins of AH in contexts not of the relationships of incorporeals, but of the soul-body relationship, can be found if we

PCpin (n. 7 above) 92-100; Dc Trin. 9.4.7; 9.6.9, etc. " Cf. E m . 4.3.22.12 ff.; but Porphyry talks this way too of dunam& (see Smith

In. 7 above] 2-7).

XVI


examine the possibility that this usage is of Christian origin. Certainly, as we have seen, if it was so used by Porphyry, he seems to have had little success in persuading mainline Neoplatonists to use it in this way. On the other hand an early Christian use may be found in Eusebius' account of the union of the Logos with flesh in Mary's womb (Dm. Ev. 10.8, PG 22, 776A).

In fact, as we have argued, we must look at the sources of Nemesius and Priscian a little closer. Priscian, in his prologue, lists a number of authorities, including Porphyry's Mkcellaneozls Qwstzons and Theodotus' collection of scolae of Ammonius. In Nemesius we noticed that A H in soul-body relations is explicitly attributed to Ammonius. Hence we have argued that the Ammonius sections (and perhaps other parts) of Nemesius and Priscian come from the same Neoplatonic, but non-Porphyrian source. Perhaps that source is also t h ~ source of the otherwise undateable references to Ammonius in Hierocles. Theiler observed some time ago that Hierocles should not be assumed to get his material only from Porphyry.28

On the other hand Theiier (following von Arnim) gives too much credence to the easy solution that, if Theodotus was the source, he is to be identified with the Platonic scholarch mentioned by Porphyry in the Life of Plotinur (20.108). But it is not clear that Longinus (who is quoted as the source of Porphyry's knowledge of that Theodotus) thought that that Theodotus wrote anything at all; and in any case it is hard (pace von Arnim) to see why scholarch Theodotus should have been able (or even willing) to compile the sayings of the undoubtedly obscure Ammonius of Alexandria. It also seems odd that Porphyry passed over in silence the fact that Theo- dotus of Athens had already compiled a collection of important material relating to the master of his own beloved teacher Plotinus. In any case we have seen some reason to think that AN in the area of soul-body relations is a fourth-century phrase. This is obviously far from certain in view of the inadequate state of our evidence, but if it were true, it would argue against Theodotus of Athens as a plausible source.

Alas, we are now back to the general problem of "Ammonius, the teacher of Plotinus," but I am not concerned here with Ammonius himself, on whom I have no light to shed. Rather I am interested in

W. Theiler, "Amrnonius, der Lehrer des Origenes," in Fwschungen rum Neuphlonismw (Berlin 1966) 37.

the growth of the Ammonius legend. I have raised the possibility that AH in soul-body contexts originated in Christian, not pagan, circles. Kow Eusebius the ecclesiastical historian already thinks (on the authority of Porphyry) that Ammonius the teacher of the Christian Origen, as well as of the pagan Origen and of Plotinus, had himself been a Christian. He also thinks that Ammonius remained a Christian and wrote many books, including one on The Harmony of Moses and Jesus. These later claims are certainly bizarre for the historical teacher of Plotinus, but they serve to locate "Ammonius" in a Christian milieu, as does the claim in Hierocles that he was "theodidaktos" ('God-taught')-a word which does not simply mean 'self-taught', as Inge supposed, but which the lexica show is specifically Chri~tian.~'

Of course the harmonizing of Moses and Jesus is interesting too; it is not a favorite theme of Christian writers. They might want to write on the harmony of Moses and Plato, or to accept the view that Plato was Moses translated into Attic Greek, but the chief reason for harmonizing Moses and Jesus might seem to be the wish to compose an anti-Gnostic tract, to show that the 0 . T. Creator or Demiurge is identical with the N. T. Redeemer. But there is no other indication that "Ammonius" or his treatise were particularly concerned with Gnosticism. In any case the main point is that "Ammon- ius" is now not only an ex-Christian, as Porphyry is said to have portrayed him, but a permanently Christian author, which Porphyry knows he is not. The most economical explanation of all this is that some time after Porphyry the Iegend of the Christian Ammonius was built-up, presumably at least in part by Theodotus, whoever he was; its beginnings are visible in Eusebius. But whoever Theodotus was, all we can surmise further of his date is that he is earlier than Nemesius; in other words he is an early fourth century figure, writing in Greek. Why would he compile "doctrines" of Ammonius which contain theological speculation (of a philosophically rather inadequate sort) about AH and perhaps also make allusion. to the harmonizing of Moses and Jesus known to Eusebius? The best guess is that he is writing agaimt Porphyry, against the enemy of the Christians, trying

29 W. R. Inge, The Philosophy of Plotinw 1 (London 1918) 115, n. 1, and I Thess. 4.9. The word is used of Antony by (?)Athanasius in the Lye of Antony, 66. For Hierodes on Ammonius see Phot. Bibl. 214, 172A and 251, 461A. For more on theodidaktos, see Schwyzer (n. 5 above) 85.

XVI XVI

PSEUDO-AMMONIUS AKD THE SOUUBODY PROBLEM 415

to show that the teacher of Porphyry's own master was himself a Christian, and a Christian with Christian theological interest in the AH of Christ in his human and divine natures.

It may seem conjectural; and it is. But the circulation of pseudo- Ammonian views (presumably "edited" by Theodotus) is a reasonable explanation of all the data available, including the fact that Nemesius at least believed that AH in soul-body contexts comes from Ammon- ius. It is also better than Dijrrie's alternative which is to assume that we should simply substitute Porphyry for Ammonius in Priscian (and in Nernesius), despite the fact that there is no independent evidence

I

that Plotinus or Porphyry or the pagan Origen or even Proclus and the Neoplatonic commentators seem to know AH in forms with which Nemesius and Priscian are familiar, namely as describing the relation of the soul and the body. Neither Plotinus nor Porphyry (except as reconstructed by Dbrrie) used AH for corporeal-incorporeal relations (though it plainly was used at some time for this). It appears rather to have suited Porphyry for the mingling of incorporeals where a real unity is to be found.

If I am right, the Neoplatonists of Plotinus' school did not use AH in any attempt to answer Stoic objections to the Platonic view of

I

the unity of the human person. Replies to the Stoics did not go beyond what we find in the Enneads (with its theory of presence) or beyond Porphyrian talk about hen6sk (but not AH), or the related doctrine, perhaps originating in the myth of the Phaedrus, of the body as an expression (or logos?) of the soul in a "fallen" environment, . Hence when Augustine writes in letters of the mixture of soul and body, as we have seen, his inspiration is probably just as much Stoic (perhaps from Varro) as Neoplatonic, as is suggested in Book 19 of the City of God. When in Book 13 of the City of God (Chapter six)

I Augustine speaks of the pains of death as arising because the soul is torn from its embrace complexw) with the body, this is more urgent than the Neoplatonic remarks found in Nemesius (as noted earlier) that the soul is bound by the body like a lover. to his beloved woman by its inclinations and disposition. For the Neoplatonists are giving a metaphorical description of the tendency of the body to lure the soul into unreality, for the body itself is, to a greater degree, unreal. But in the C i t ~ of God Augustine is concerned with the Resurrection of the body (and thus with the unity of the human person) in a way

impossible for an orthodox Neoplatoni~t.~~ To express ideas of this sort Augustine would have found Stoic accounts of mixtura more helpful than Neoplatonic ones; certainly, as we have seen, his remarks on mixtura are far from Porphyrian, though he knows Porphyry. In fact Tertullian had trodden a similar Stoic road in his De Anima, and for partly similar theological reasons.31 AH for soul-body relations was probably not even available to Augustine, though he used AH in his Trinitarian theology where it suited the relations of incorporeal~. Indeed the theory goes nowhere near solving the problem of the unity of the human person; it merely states that there is such a unity. The Christian "Ammonius" may have thought it philosophically helpful; more likely he merely said that Christ is united to the body by AH just as the soul is joined to the body. In other words, the phrase got into the soul-body problem for theological, not philosophical, purposes, and of course its theological use spread ever wide to Chalcedon and beyond. Fourth-century theologians were not above the coining of neoIogisrns or the recasting of existing technical terminology.

If we have learned nothing from this enquiry about Ammonius the teacher of Plotinus, or of late Neoplatonic success in solving the soul-body problem, we have perhaps learned something about the indisputable growth of the legend of the Christian Ammonius.

See, with care, Miles (n. 7 above). " Tertullian also uses m confwum in a Christological context of the two natures

in Christ, but each nature is cmporeal (Adv. PTM. 27.37-39). Cf. M. Colish, The Stoic Tra&bn from Antrqwiy do the Early Mi&% Ages I (Leiden 1985) 23.

PSEUDO-DIONYSIUS, NEOPLATONISM AND THE WEAKNESS OF THE SOUL

Suspicions, Charges and Interpreratwns

Edouard Jeauneau has done much to enrich our awareness of the influence of the mysterious author of the writings of "Dionysius the Areopagite" on subsequent "spiritual" texts. But it is by no means clear that what we call "Dionysian spiritu- ality", as perceived by many mediaeval Latin Christians and their Reformation successors, is a faithful representation of the concerns of the author of the Dionysian writings himself, In my present discussion of these concerns I shall assume that the corpus dionysiacurn was composed some time between the Henoticon of the Emperor Zeno (A.D. 482) and the conference in 532 between the orthodox Chalcedonians and the moderate "monophysites" of the party of Severus of Antioch. Within this period the latter years seem more plausible than the earlier, but let that pass. 1 shall return to questions relating to milieu and even to more precise dating later,' but I shall simply refer to our author as Dionysius. It would be amusing if that were his real name.

Over the centuries a number of features of Dionysius' theologizing have been found disturbing. In a brief essay I cannot hope to discuss all of these, or even do justice to those major ones on which I shall concentrate, but I want to consider several "charges" against Dionysius-not counting forgery-which have arisen in distinct historical circumstances, but which I believe to be interrelated. I shall argue that recognition of such interrelationship will help us understand what Dionysius sees as his major philosophical (and practical) aims.

The first charge against Dionysius is that he is a monophysite, that is, that he is to a greater or less degree dissatisfied with the Council of Chalcedon when it pro- claimed that after the Incarnation Christ existed as one hypostasis in (not from) two natures. Now whatever the intellectual credentials of this dogma, its basic intent is clear. The "Fathers" of Chalcedon, or at least those who not only knew what the1 were doing but were not merely intimidated or pursuing non-spiritual goals, wished to emphasize that Christ was truly God and truly man. In particular they wished to emphasize his humanity, against those who drew their inspiration from what they took to be the views of Cyril of Alexandria and who were later to form first an anti-Chalcedonian party and eventually a breakaway "monophysite" church.

For general discussion of such matters see (for example) R.F. Hathaway, Hierarchy and the Definition of Order in the Letters o f Ps-Dionysius (The Hague. 1969) esp. 31-36.

For a more or less xcurate account of these proceedings see recently W.H.C. Frend, The Rise of the Monophysile Church (Cambridge. 1972) 35-49. For caution in the use of Frend see L.R. Wickham, in JTS 24 (1973) 591-599. The theological mood of the times can be grasped from the foIlowing contempomy quotations (indicating Dionysius' need for caution): 'The Christ-hater to h e gdlows", "Down with the Judophilev, "Ler Ibas bum", "Cut in pieces the man who divides the Christ".

XVII XVII

PSEUDO-DIONYSIUS, NEOPLAMNISM 137

One of the fears of the anti-Chalcedonians was that any talk of two natures in Christ Jesus might suggest a diminishing of the divinity of the victim of Calvary and hence an apparent weakening of his salvific power. For only God, as Cyril at least wanted to emphasize,3 could overcome death-which includes our death. The Chalcedonians, on the other hand, saw matters differently. One at least of their basic concerns was that unless Christ in Jesus is wholly man, and man in his soul and body entirely, then whatever of man is not in Christ cannot itself be "saved". Hence the possibility of human salvation is removed if Christ's humanity is under- played.

Accusations that Dionysius is some kind of monophysite are heard as early as 533. At the conference between Severians and orthodox to which I have already referred, Hypatius, bishop of Ephesus, accuse\Dionysius of being a fraudulent partisan of the condemned views of Apollinarius, who claimed that Christ either had no human soul at all, or at least only a "rational" one. "Apollinarian" at that time had both a genuinely historical reference and was also a "code word" for anti- Chalcedonian, or monophysite; and the suspicions of Hypatius on this issue, though in a less extreme form, have been echoed by many modem scholars who have repeatedly attempted to identify Dionysius as one or other of the "monophysite" leaders of the period: he is Severus of Antioch, according to Stiglmayr (this is by far the most interesting such ~ l a i m ) , ~ Peter the Iberian (of the monastery of Maiuma, the port of Gaza) acco;ding to ~ o n i y l a n n , ~ Peter the Fuller (patriarch of Antioch) according to Riedinger. Without assuming the results of our forthcoming discussion of the notorious "Christological" passage of the fourth letter, we may note that the cautious and learned Roques, attempting to defend Dionysius as orthodox, will only conclude that if we go by the "letter" of what Dionysius says (as distinct perhaps from the spirit) we cannot impugn his

3 On Cyril's concern with the overcoming of death see K.P. Wesche. "Christologicd Doctrine and Liturgical Interpretation in Ps-Dionysius", Sf. Vladimir's Theological Quarterly 33 (1989) 69, n. 51. I have profited much from this article, though. as will appear below, I cannot accept Wesche's conclusion that for Dionysius "the liturgy primarily is a 'show' " (73).

4Lorenzo Vdla later voiced similar suspicions (Omn. Op. 1, ed. Garin. 852B). 5"Der sogenannte Dionysius und Severus von Antiochien", Scholastik 3 (1928) 1-27, 161-189;

contra J. Lebon, "Le Ps.-Denys et S6vbre d'Antioche", RHE 26 (1930) 880-915 and 28 (1932) 296- 313. 6E. Honigmann, "Pierre I'Ibhien et les Qrits du Ps-Denys l'k6opagite". Mkm. de I'Acad. Roy.

de Belgique (Classe des Letores) 47 (Brussels, 1952). Contra I. Hausherr, "Le Ps-Denys est-il Pierre l'Wrien?". Orient. Christ. Period. 19 (1953) 247-260; R. Roques, "Pierre 1'IWrien et le 'Corpus dionysiacum"', Rev. de ['Hist. des Rel. 145 (1954) 69-98.

7 U. Riedinger, "Ps-Dionysios, ps-Kaisarios und die Akoimeten", B Z 52 (1956) 276-196. Contra J.-M. Homus, "Les rech. dionysiennes de 1955 ti 1960". Rev. d'Hist. et Phil. Rel. 41 (1961) 22-81. I myself (in a deservedly buried piece "In Search of the Divine Denis", in Seed of Wisdom noronto, 1964) 136-137) drew attention to the fact that Dionysius might have had a career somewhat similar to that of the "monophysite" philosopher and theologian Philoponus (for whose life see now R. Sorabji, "John Philoponus", in Philoponus and the Rejection of Aristotelian Science [London, 19871 1-40). Hathaway @. 12, n. 1, above) notes the oddity that Philoponus, who is both monophysite and well versed in the philosophy of Proclus, appears to take Dionysius as a genuinely Apostolic figure. Is this mere philological blindness in Philoponus, or does he know more about Dionysius than he discloses?

orthodoxy,' and that he seems (on Christology) to be substantially or tho do^;^ while a more recent enquirer suggests that it can be more or less taken for granted that Dionysius is a monophysite working within the hopefully eirenic framework of

10 Zeno's Henoticon: "We can be sure though that his chief inspiration was the Christian faith".

The second "charge" against Dionysius is that he is a Platonist or, in modem terms, a Neoplatonist follower of Proclus. I use the word "charge" here 6ecause the

11 accusation, in its modern formulations, springs in the first instance from Luther, and appears in its sharpest form in Anders ~ ~ g r e n . ] ' Since the end of the nineteenth century few serious scholars have denied that Dionysius is partially dependent on Proclus (and probably on other Neoplatonists as well),'' but Luther had in mind something much more serious than dependence. The essence of his remarks about Dionysius, though he had no philological work with which to back them up, is that Dionysius' Platonism distorts his Christianity, that Dionysius is nominally a Christian, really a Platonist. More recently such beliefs have been developed by a number of scholars, perhaps especiaIly by Vanneste who thinks of Dionysius' mystical writings as unrelated to any genuine Christian "experience", b$g an echo of Neoplatonic mystical techniques with a rather thin Christian veneer.

I t should be observed that to say that Dionysius is a Neoplatonist (which up to a point is now universaIly agreed) is not necessarily to charge him with being a nominal Christian, or a Christian who does not really know what Christianity is about. In a sense the debate about Dionysius' Christianity or lack of it is similar to the now more or less defunct debate about whether Augustine was corwerted to Christianity or to Neoplatonism in 386. It is now often said that the question is ill posed; that in fact Augustine was genuinely converted to what he believed to be Christianity, but to a Christianity which was widely believed to be teachable in

8 R. Roques. L'Univers dionysien (Paris, 1954) 315. 9 Ibid., 305. l o Wesche (n. 3. above) 54. 11 Plus plaronizans quam christianizans: from The Babylonian Captivity (1520). Weimar: Krit.

Ausg. 6.562. l 2 A. Nygren, Agape and Ems (Eng. trans. by P.S. Watson IPhiladelphia, 19531) 576-593: "In

Pseudo-Dionysius the pure and unadulterated Eros motif assumes the position of the deepest spiritual meaning of Christianity" (577).

l3 The basic and widely accepted work of Koch and Stiglmayr was published in 1895, but much has been done since. See especially the various pieces of hard evidence provided by H.D. Saffrey, "New Objective Links between the Ps-Dionysius and Proclus", in Neoplatonism and Christian Thought (ed. D. O'Meara) (Norfolk, Va 1982) 64-74.

t4 See J. Vanneste, Le mystire de Dieu: Essai sur la slrucrure raiionelle de la doclrine mystique du Pseudo-Denys 1'Arkopagiie (Brussels, 1959); and in a slightly moderated vein in "Is the Mysticism of Pseudo-Dionysius Genuine?" Int. Phil. Quart. 3 (1963) 286-306. See also B. Brons, Gotr und die Seienden: Un~ersuchungen zum Verhijltnis von neuplalonischer Metaphysik und christlichen Tradition bei Dionysius Areopagiro (GCiUingen, 1976). The most powerful reply to this kind of reading of Dionysius is an Oxford thesis of A. Golitzin. Mysragogy: Dionysius the Areopagite and his Christian Predecessors (Oxford, 1982); but despite Golitzin the influence of Brons will be apparent in my own discussion. See also (against Vanneste). P. Scazzoso, Ricerche sulla struttura del linguaggio dello Pseudo-Dionigi Areopagiia (Milan, 1967).

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Platonic language and to share a number of important beliefs with the Platonists. Thus Dionysius, while certainly being a Neoplatonist, could be a genuine (though possibly misguided) believer in Christianity. Hence there are two questions, not just one, about the quality of Dionysius' Christianity. The first question is historical: Did Dionysius genuinely regard himself as a Christian, and as a Christian willing to use Neoplatonic language and theories to help promote Christianity? (If he did so regard himself, his "veneer" of Christianity may be factual enough, but he is not, as some interpreters think, merely out to prolong the life of Neoplatonic beliefs by dressing them up as ~hristianit~.") The second, and theological, question would then be: Even if Dionysius regarded himself as a genuine Christian (whether "monophysite" or Chakedonian would not matter in this case), is his "Christianity" so warped by anti-Christian philosophizing that Luther was basically correct in his assessment of it? Luther, we recall, was not merely accusing Dionysius of being a monophysite heretic; he was accusing him of being a pagan in his most basic beliefs. What Luther meant, of course, was that in Dionysius' mfsticisrn there is no place for the theologia crucis, no place for a proper account of grace. We shall have to return to this charge which is, as we have seen, at first sight very different from the matter of anti-Chalcedonianism, later on.

I say "at first sight" deliberately, for it may turn out that there is some relationship between the two charges (of paganism and of monophysitism) after all, whether Luther recognized it or not, if there is anything in either of them. It might seem that there is no immediate similarity at all, for Luther's attack on Dionysius, primarily directed at the Mystical Theology, is to be set in the context of his general hostility to "monkish" piety, to the supposedly pagan attempts to climb up the ladder of a~ceticism to an unlawful mystical communion with God, a communion based on a theology of "works". But such an attack might seem to be powerful not only against a Chakedonian form of monasticism, but against any anti-Chalcedo- nian version as well, for even the strong-arm men of both "orthodox" and "monophysite" groups were frequently the adherents of monkish piety. The bands of Egyptian ruffians, in particular, who were prepared to intimidate and to murder in the "interests" of Theophilus and Cyril, as well as those of the "heretical" Dioscorus, were largely drawn from the ranks of the tonsured. From Luther's point of view Dionysian piety, whether claimed for the Chalcedonians or the anti- Chalcedpians, would be monkish. But in fact, as we shall see, although Dionysius' attitude to monks and their asceticism would have seemed bad enough to Luther, our author places monks (whom he often and oddly-perhaps after Philo-calls "servants" [therapeutae EH 6.533A; Ep. 8.1093Cl) below the clergy in the hierarchy of the church: though above the laity. And the higher up the hierarchy, the more perfect the degree of illumination. It is important that Dionysius'

15 This seems at times to be the view of Hathaway (n. 1, above), particularly when he suggests that the violently anti-Christian Damascius, or one of his close associates, might in fact be the author of the corpus dionysiacum (26-29).

PSEUDO-DIONYSIUS, NEOPLATONISM

I I piety is ultimately a piety for bishops rather than for monks; The explanation of

this may turn out to be iliuminating for his general position. I

Dionysius' Christianity

Whether or not Luther was right about Dionysius not being "really" a Christian, the modern claim that he only pretended to be one is a non-starter. Dionysius thinks he is a Christian, and his writings, especially the hierarchies, are soaked in what he clearly thought of as Christianity. Vanneste has tried to escape this obvious interpretation of the text by wishing to separate the more Christian

I and the less within the Dionysian corpus: to separate, that is, the Ecclesiastical and Celestial Hierarchy from the Mystical Theology and the Divine Names. But there is no justification for such a separation. Although Western Latin readers of Dionysius may have emphasized the Mystical Theology more than the Hierarchies,

1 that is a matter of the "reading" of Dionysius, not of the intentions of Dionysius himself. It is a particular merit of some of the more recent studies of Dionysius to

17 have emphasized this point. For despite its Neoplatonic appearance, the Trinitarian hymn at the beginning of the Mystical Theology and the wealth of Scriptural, detail and Scriptural knowledge to be found in the Divine Names suggest an author who is not only soaked in the Christian Scriptures, but also convinced that a Neoplatonic reading of them is genuinely Christian. The Neoplatonic hymn

I at the beginning of the Mystical Theology is of the same kind as the "Neoplatonic" hymns of Synesius and Marius Victorinus. Whatever our judgment of the Christian qualities of all these texts, there can be little room for doubt that their au-

I thors, for simihr reasons, regarded them as Christian productions. Hence, without further ado, we must assume the corpus dionysiacum to be

desiderately Christian, while still admitting it to be saturated with the Neo- platonism of Proclus. But if post-Reformation thinkers may suppose that such a combination is a delusion at best and an outright piece of bad faith at worst, can we perhaps reconstruct some of the reasons why Dionysius, whoever he was, may have believed himself to be neither deluded nor insincere? Perhaps we can approach this question by way of considering certain important features of post-Plotinian

I

Neopla to~~m which may have encouraged Dionysius to believe that a genuine synthesis was possible. At the end of our enquiry we shall see that, although he was interestingly right about the plausibility of a synthesis, he had to underestimate or

I ignore a number of features of "orthodox" Christianity. His need to engage in such an enterprise helps explain why his synthesis leaves him open-and must leave him open-both to the charge of "monophysitism" and to the (ultimately related) charge of offering an account of redemption which gives Luther some further legitimate ground for theological anxiety. Out of this enquiry, too, may come-inci-

l6 For Dionysius' clericalism see recently Wesche (n. 3, above) 59 and P. Rorem, Biblical and Liturgical Symbols Within the Pseudo-Dionysian Synthesis (Toronto, 1984) 31-39.

l7 See especially Golitzin (n. 14, above) and Rorem (n. 16, above); also A. Louth, "Pagan Thewgy and Christian Sacramentalism in Denys the Areopagite", JTS 37 (1986) 432-438.

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dentally-some further light on the "political" aim, the spiritual origins and even perhaps the identity of Dionysius himself. Naturally only a sketchy treatment will be possible in the short space available; hence I shall concentrate much of my analysis on the well-trodden temtory of the letters, especially letters 4 ,7 and 8.

A Crisis in Neoplatonic Ethics

Obviously "Neop1atonism"-a modern term, of course-depends on Plato. But its dependence is not merely that Neoplatonists commented on Plato's texts, treated them as "scriptures", appropriated and misappropriated them for their own purposes. Part of their inheritance from Plato was those philosophical issues on which Plato's own views are unclear, muddled, fallacious, or contradictory. Since the Neoplatonists treated Plato as a systematic thinker, and thus paid little attention either to the dramatic context of the claims of the speakers in Platonic dialogues- including the remarks of Socrates himself-or to the fact that Plato's thoughts developed and even changed substantially on important philosophical issues, they were liable to be confronted with even more apparent confusion (which they then wished to synthesize away) than is apparent to the modem philosophical reader of the dialogues. Of these "confusions" and "problems" in the Platonic text, the one most relevant to our present discussion is the question of how it is possible to improve one's moral and spiritual life.

Stated briefly, the difficulty is as follows. If I commit crimes, or more generally act immorally, I develop bad habits. I begin to descend the slippery slope. Wow do I check my fall and manage to start climbing up again? Plato provides answers, or at least the outlines of answers, in the Republic, particularly in his remarks about the true nature of the soul in book 10. One of the explanations of the fact that we can improve is that we are never wholly corrupt, or even wholly damaged. Our inner self, like a pearl in an oyster, or, in Plato's account, like the sea- god Glaucus who retains his identity though encrusted with refuse and debris, remains intact, or, as some of the Neoplatonists, notably Plotinus, would put it, "undescended" (Enn. 4.8.8.1-4; cf. 5.1.10.17ff.). But although this theory helps Plato in his philosophical dilemma, it is not enough to ex6icate him completely. The existence of a pure core of the self provides us with something of a foundation on which to rebuild our moral character; a necessary but not, however, a sufficient condition for moral improvement. Plato presumably escapes from the net by holding that the pressures of a good (perhaps even a perfect) society will compel us willy nilly towards improvement, and he would perhaps admit that without such pressures the good man, the Socrates, will only be achieved "by divine dispensation" (fkiq poipq). But what of the man hoping to become wise and good in a wildly imperfect society? Is it just a matter of luck whether he gets the push he needs to rebuild himself? Plotinus, who in general follows the Platonic optimism about our moral future, is only marginally aware of the philosophical problem, but at least he is aware that some of his religious contemporaries thought that external divine help of some kind is necessary to direct our energies successfully to self- improvement. Plotinus, however, thought that this attitude was a mere invitation

to moral laziness: "It is ridiculous for people to do everything else in life according to their own ideas, even if they are not doing it in the way which the gods like, and then be merely saved by the gods without even doing the things by means of which the gods command them to save themselves" (Enn. 3.2.8.43ff., trans. Armstrong). Armstrong, probably expounding Plotinus correctly, notes (ad loc.) that this passage is "a general condemnation of the unintelligent and cowardly religiosity of people who expect the gods to intervene to get them out of troubles into which they have got themselves by ignoring the divinely established laws of nature and of human life". Perhaps, but Plotinus also answers (optimistically and Platonically) that we both ought and can obey such divine commands by our own efforts-a claim which not only Paul of Tarsus, but Iamblichus of Chalcis (and even to some degree Porphyry of Tyre) believed to be impossible. Plotinus in fact continues, with what looks like a clear reference to salvation-religions of all kinds (3.2.9.10ff.): "But it is not lawful for those who have become wicked to demand others to be their saviours and to sacrifice themselves in answer to their prayers, nor furthermore to require gods to direct their affairs in detail, laying aside their own life. . . ."

In this passage Plotinus shows himself still unaware of the seriousness of the problem in Plato's claims. But he is aware, as we have seen, that if we can pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps, we certainly need to be able to rely on the undescended part of our soul for support. For if that undescended part were to fall, to be even partially corrupted or damaged, we should have nothing within ourselves to cling on to. And Plotinus seems to be aware of the urgency of this doctrine when he tells us in 4.8.8 that he holds it "contrary to other people's opinion". But interestingly enough we know that of later Neoplatonists only Theodore of Gsine maintained Plotinus' view; the rest, to some degree, failed to see how any part of the soul could remain ~ n d a r n a ~ e d . ' ~ Among Plotinus' immediate successors both Porphyry and Iamblichus disagreed with him, but they also disagreed among themselves as to how serious the damage is and how much assistance from the gods man needs to remedy it. As we shaIl see, however, even Porphyry, who believes the damage to be less serious, finds it necessary to compromise with the "religious". For apart from the original Platonic problem of how those descending the slippery slope to vice can manage to cling to something within themselves, thus breaking their fall and giving themselves a means of scrambling back, the threat now looms that within ourselves we have nothing strong enough and "sound" enough to cling on to anyway.

Theurgy: A Related Problem

The origins of the word "theurgy" are obscure, but it is believed to be a coinage of Julian "the theurgist" (as distinct from his father Julian "the Chaldaean")

' 8 Cf. Proclus, In Tim. In, 334, 6-7 Diehl and E.T., prop. 21 1. For Iamblichus see In Tim. III, 333, 28. Porphyry's view is obscure but may have been (at least at times) close to that of Plotinus (nr A ~ V I 1 '401

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at the end of the second century A.D.'~ It has to do with performing "divine acts" of a ritual sort, and Porphyry and Iamblichus disputed as to its importance. For our present purposes many of the Neoplatonic disputes about theurgy may be left aside; but two matters are of supreme importance. Is'it the theurgist who performs the divine acts (or even "makes gods") or is it god who uses the theurgist to perform a divine act? And what good effects can theurgy have on the soul?

As to the second question Porphyry's view was that theurgy could do two things: purify the astral body and thus by-pass the first stages of the purification of the soul. But it does not take us far, and the philosopher in any case has no need of it; the effects of the rituals of theurgy can be better achieved by more traditionally philosophical means.m Iamblichus in fact complains that according to Porphyry "philosoph~,' (without the help of theurgy) can alone raise the philosophical soul to the One. Thinking by itself, he says (De Myst. 11, p. 296 Parthey), cannot unite the philosopher with the gods (zobc ~ E W ~ ~ ' C I I C ~ ~ ) < (p1hooo(po0vza+a quite reasonable philosophical point, for, as Aristotle observes in book 1 of the Nicomachean Ethics, it it not the concern of the moral philosopher as he understands him merely to talk about what is good, but to live the good life. That is

22 precisely Iamblichus' point: thinking, by itself, could not enable a man to be integrated with the One, any more than it enables him to behave or act rightly. Being integrated and behaving are matters of action, of performance, not just of having ideas. Iamblichus' attitude then is quite different from that of Porphyry, and much more important from a Dionysian point of view. Theurgy (whatever it is) is necessary for all.

The dispute between Porphyry and Iamblichus here should be connected directly with their views on the fall of the soul.2' The nature of this fall is to be understood by a consideration o f the intellect. It is not that the higher soul can be affected adversely by the emotions; rather it is able to make mistakes, because, at least for Iamblichus, it is of a different rank from the divine mind, and in an unplotinian fashion importantly unlike it. Iarnblichus, unlike Plotinus, would not be able to say that we are each an intelligible cosmos (Enn. 3.4.3.22; cf. 1.1.8.1-4); if we were, we would "really" be gods. But unlike the gods we make mistakes, even in our best selves, and thus need illumination from outside. The gods, in fact, need to do something "for us", if we are to ascend. What they give us, or help us ac-

1

l9 See espacialIy R.T. Wallis. Neoplatonism (London, 1972) 107: E. des Places, "La religion de Jamblique", in De Jamblique d Proclus (Geneva, 1975) 78-80, 100; and on Iamblichus' notion that the etymology is probably 8da hpyci~ea0u1, H. Lewy, Chaldaean Oracles and Theurgy (Cairo. 1956) 461-464. The most recent discussion is perhaps that of A. Smith, Porphyry's Place in the Neoplatonic Tradirlon (The Hague, 1974) 81-144.

20 Cf. Porphyry's De Regressu in Augustine. De civ. 10.9 and 10.27-28; cf. Porphyry, Sent. 29 and Smith (n. 19, above) 130, 134.

21 Cf. lamb., De Myst. 1.2, p. 7, 2ff. Parthey. 22 Note the Aristotelian language (tkopia, v6qoq etc.) which in the Aristotelian mode

Iamblichus thinks is not descriptive of "practical" but only of "theoretical" experience. Cf. also Smith (n. 20, above) 83-84.

23 Wallis (n. 19, above) 120; Smith (n. 20, above) 110.

quire, is a "theurgic union", that is an experienced (not merely contemplated) union: a union of which mental grasping, understanding (v6qcr15), is a necessary part, but only a part.u

There is a formal feature of the Iamblichan insistence that both theurgy and thinking (rheoria) are necessary if the soul is to ascend. The thinking is not about the meaning of the rites themselves; indeed, since the gods prefer these rites to be in Egyptian (because it is the oldest language), they will normally be unintelligible to us. But Iamblichus also introduces a set of locutions which deserve special attention. Presumably to emphasize the importance of theurgy, and perhaps to identify his source as the Chaldaean oracles (De Myst. 10.6, p. 292, 10 Parthey), he began to use the word "anagogy" (hvayoyil) to describe our being "uplifted" by theurgical acts." And in one passage, noted by Rorem (p. log), he spoke of the intelligible interpretation of the theurgical symbols (zjv z&v oupj36hwv vo~phv ~ ~ E P ~ + E U B I V , De Myst. 7.2, p. 250, 13 Parthey).

lamblichus' claims about "uplift" are not totally unplotinian. Even Plotinus observes that we have to await the One as the eye waits for the rising of the sun ( E m 5.5.8,4);26 we cannot make the sun rise, though we are said to be present to the One when we wish. Now the difference between Plotinus' position and the view of lamblichus in the De Mysteriis is that for Plotinus we can go most of the mystic way on our own; and Plotinus' more cautious remark in 5.5.8 is of a modesty rarely emphasized in the Enneods. But for Porphyry most of us can hardly start on our "ascent" without the help of the gods, and for Iamblichus we cannot start at all. Yet before rushing too far in interpreting this, we should attend to a warning given by alli is:'^ "Neoplatonic 'sacramentalism' differs from its Christian counterpart in that it depends solely on the world's god-given laws, not on a supernatural intemention (like the Incarnation} over and above these laws". Iamblichus is prepared to talk of the gods' "will" to illuminate us and to correct our "errors", but that illuminating is a function of the actual nature of the universe. Theurgy indicates and instantiates god's norma? care for our blindness. Yet it also functions as something of an alternative to the moral struggle which Plato and Plotinus seem to have envisaged, and which the 1aniblichan account of the soul deems futile without divine assistance. But is this assistance going to take the form of the replacement of moral struggle by theurgic illumination of the "erring"

"Cf. WalIis (n. 19, above) 121; Iamb., Dr Myst. 211, p. 96, 18& Parthey; and Smith (n. 20, above) 86-87.

25 Cf. De Myst. 1.5, p. 17, I3f.; 1.19, p. 58, 16, with Lewy (n. 19, above) 60, 240. Rorem (n. 16, above) 109-110 rightly emphasizes the importance of dcvaymyfi, but despite citing Smith seems to me to underestimate its connection in Iamblichus with the theurgical work of the gods and the significance of this work. For further references to Iamblichus see Rorem, p. 108, n. 56 and for b u y 4 in particular pp. 56,64,97. See aIso Roques (n. 8, above) 204, n. 7, and for some of its history W.A. Bienert. 'Allegoria' und 'Anagoge' bei Didymus dem Blinden von Alexandria (Berlin, 1972) 58-68.

Z6 Cf. J.M. Rist, Plotinus: The Road to Reality (Cambridge, 1967) 224-225: A.H. Armstrong. The Cambridge History of later Grcek and Early Mediaeval Philosophy (Cambridge, 1967) 261- 262.

27R.T.Wallis (see n. 19, above) 121.

XVII

soul-though perhaps the erring is only intellectual and not moral? To anticipate a little, we may notice a comment (admittedly exaggerated) of Sheldon-Williams on Dionysius himself: "The interpretation of praxis in theurgic, rather than in moral terms, has left the Ps-Dionysius, like the other late Neoplatonists, with no moral philosophy at In fact this both is and is not exaggerated. Late pagan Neoplatonists do say (when asked) that moral goodness is a prerequisite for ascent,

29 but purely religious acts, like prayer, also come into increased prominence.

But if Iamblichus wishes to argue that in theurgy we obtain the direct help we need, there still seem to be two available explanations. Either the "theurgist" makes the gods act for us-in which case at least some of us can ascend by our own more or less magical acts; or the theurgist is the means by which god himself leads us back. We know, in fact, that the latter explanation is the correct one: lamblchus talks of the "good will" of the gods;30 they come "voluntarily" and not under compulsion. Such activity of the gods or by the gods may not be the only Iarnblichan sense of the word "theurgy"; but it is certainly an important sense, and the one relevant to our present problems. Indeed Smith is right to see in Iamblichus' account of the "divine will" the notion of personal intervention by the gods31-the very thing Plotinus so fiercely rejected. But the how and why of the intervention of the gods (and any "theology" of intervention) is more or less outside Iamblichus' purview. He merely claims it can occur at the performance of theurgical acts through god's "goodness".

A Universal Way

Over and above the problem of whether it is possible to return to the noble life once one has begun to degenerate, there is a second and related problem in the Platonic moral tradition from the beginning. In Plato's Republic there are few philosopher-kings. If we translate this into Neoplatonic terms, we are saying that the intellectual demands of Platonic "salvation" are such that few human beings are able to meet them. Thus if salvation involves becoming a Platonic philosopher (and not merely leading a moral life), then only a very few will achieve it. Christians were quick to recognize the implications and problems of this. Origen voices the chief objection succinctly (C. Cels. 5.43): the Platonists are like doctors who only bother with the cultured few and have no concern with the majority of mankind. That is misleadingly polemical, but such criticisms hit home, concerning Porphyry if not Plotinus. According to Augustine (De civ. 10.32), whose testimony is probably more or less reliable, Porphyry was looking for a via universalis, by which he thinks Porphyry meant a road to salvation open to all peoples

3 I.P. Sheldon-Williams, in Cambridge Hisrory (n. 26, above) 459. 29Fm prayer see Smith (n.19, above) 89; on Plotinus' more rese~ed attitude to prayer, and even

hostility to ritual in general see Rist (n. 26, above) 203-212; cf. Proclus, In Tim. I, 213 Diehl. 30 De Myst. 1.12, p. 41, 3 Parthey; cf. 1.14, p. 44, 14. Note the GneppdrMo~c~av dryaebcqsa

of the gods and their care for us (3.17, p. 139, 14-16; cf. 1.13, p. 43, 3 and 9.9, p. 284.2): and for "causality" in lheurgy Smith (n. 19, above) 100.

31 Smith (n. 19, above) 109-110.

and for the whole human person. (At least Porphyry probably wanted salvation for the whole soul, even if not also the body-as Augustine would have required.) Such talk of a universal way, whether derived from Porphyry or not, or whether derived directly or indirectly, is to be found elsewhere in the fourth century A.D.: Symmachus talks of more than one way to "so great a secret" (Ref . 3.10) in his defence of the Senate's Altar of Victory against Ambrose, and Themistius speaks simiIarly (Or. 5.68D). Augustine too spoke similarly in the Soliloquies (1-.13.23), and repented hter of doing so: it might offend religious ears (by sounding too like Polphyry?) in suggesting mole than one way (Retr. 1.4.3).

According to Augustine Porphyry sought a via universalis and confessed he could not find it. In a sense Iamblichus thought himself to have been more successful. Theurgic rites and reflection on their meaning can serve those not apt for the intellectual demands of Platonic philosophy. At least they are available for all men, provided they are initiated. God has shown us a way, through theurgy, to religious truth. Whether this will involve salvation for the "whole man", including the body, is another question; but, of course, if the body is not part of the "real man", the question is beside the point. But granted that it makes sense to follow ritual acts, how do we know which ritual acts we should follow? How can we be sure that Julian the theurgist and his successors got this right. Perhaps Iamblichus thought that the proof of the pudding was in the eating; but, if so, we can understand why latter-day pagans worried about what they called "Hellenism" when confronted by the new-fangled beliefs of the Christian "enemies of the beautiful". Surely God's goodness was not supposed to just "die out".'* What would a Christian Iamblichus make of the situation? Surely we need a "theurgic" society. Porphyry may have thought that the Brahmins in India demonstrated something of the appropriate social context CDe Abst. 4.17); it is well known that theurgic rites were handed down in famiIies, and the theurgic families themselves were interrelated by marriage (Marinus, Vita ProcIi 28). But again what a restricted and failing society!

lamblichus, Proclus, Hierotheus, Dionysius

For good reasons most scholars who have dealt with Dionysius' Neoplatonic background since Kwh and Stiglmayr in 1895 have concentrated on Proclus. There can be no doubt that this is quite proper: both close textud parallels and what have been called "objective links" (such as the echoing by Dionysius of references in Proclus to historical events of which Iamblichus and other earlier Neoplatonists could not have been aware) have been identified. But in our present discussion it is Iamblichus who has assumed the prominent role. We have considered both his (limited) use of the often Christian word "anagogy", or uplift, and his view of theurgy as an act of (that is, caused by) god. Of course modem scholars also know

32 Later Neoplatonisk sometimes seemed hopeful that Christianity was a passing nightmare. For Simplicius see now R. Hoffman, ''Simplicius' Polemics" in Sorabji (see n. 7. above) 57-83. For Proclus see generally H.D. Saffrey, 'Allusions anticht6tiennes chez Roclus le diidoque platonicien", Rev. Sc. Phil. ei TMol. 59 (1975) 553-563.

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that in many ways Iamblichus set the tone for the later Athenian school, and that the role of his Athenian successor Syrianus and probably Proclus was to widen and deepen and "scholasticize" much of what the "divine Iamblichus" had already done. As it happens, Iamblichus' account of theurgy may be closer than Proclus' to the views of Dionysius, but that need not surprise us. A mixture of various Neoplatonic positions could be perfectly "orthodox", and indeed normal, and for Dionysius to mix the fifth-century Proclus with {he fourth-century Iamblichus should in no way induce us to propose that what looks like "Proclan" material in Dionysius is really and directly Iamblichus. On the other hand just as in using Christian sources Dionysius generally avoids the fifth century texts (perhaps to avoid too obviously embroiling himself in Christological controversy) in favour of the fourth-century Cappadocians, so too he could perfectly easily draw on such an acknowledged fourth-century master as Iamblichus without embarrassment. Perhaps we should add further-to quieten a more convinced sceptic-that his dependence (as I assume it to be) on the Cappadocians is normal for his era. Among the avowed masters of Severus of Antioch, to take a prominent example, are Gregory of Nazianzus and ~ a s i l . ' ~

Very few Iamblichan doctrines were abandoned by Proclus, but there is at least one important exception. And that exception seems to be found also, in muted form, in Dionysius. Iamblichus apparently added a further "ineffable" principle beyond the One, for which "the One" is not an appropriate name. Dionysius contents himself with commenting that God is "more unified than One" ( % X E P ~ V O ~ ~ V W ~ ,

DN 2.644A, cf. 11.952B). Of course the idea behind this, that "the One" is an inadequate name, goes back to Neoplatonic readings of Plato's argument in the Parmenides (141E), but Iamblichus' extremist treatment of the theme is rare among the later Neoplatonists, being followed only by Damascius, who is also our source of information for the "great" Iamblichus himself.34

Let us leave Damascius aside at this stage and consider, with reference to one particular theme of Christian theology (and for space reasons only a limited number of Dionysian texts), how much Dionysius would need to add to his analysis of Iamblichus and Proclus to produce the account of salvation that is to be found in the corpus dionysiacum. In this discussion we should recall again that the pagan Neoplatonists themselves, as we have seen, had become aware of what they perceived as a need for help from God, from God's work, if we are to be saved "theurgically", and that in such a process of salvation, one way, one kind of theurgy, of 3 "universal" nature, is a desideratum. But how can we know that the Chaldaean Oracles are the best approach, let alone the only possible approach? If only God had told us how he had been willing to save us, and by what particular

33Cf. Homily 102 in Patrol. Orient. 22, 280-281. 34 Damascius. De Princ. 1.86.3ff. Ruelle; and 1.4ff. on Damascius himself. Cf. I.P. Sheldon-

Williams, T h e pseudo-Dionysius and the holy Hierotheus", Studia Patristica 8.2 (1966) 112 (=Texte und Untersuch. 93). 01 course if Damascius or one of his close followers is claimed to be identical with Dionysius, the doctrine might afford further "evidence" in that direction. But, as I have argued, the attempt of Hathaway to identify Dionysius and Damascius seems misguided. Hathaway (n. 1, above) 25 mentions that God is beyond unity, but neglects the role of Iamblichus.

PSEUDO-DIONYSIUS, NEOPLATONISM 147

rituals our salvation could be worked1 What above all Dionysius found in Christianity was his belief that God had indeed both told us about how he can and will save us, and the liturgical mechanisms and institutions he has provided for this purpose. And in that connection let us note a further piece of Proclus which Dionysius presumably found congenial. Proclus holds that "eros" can be used o f 2 love which descends from the intelligible to the sensible, and is providential. Which means that the downflowing eros of God, viewed as the cause of inspiration in men, can be seen as a means of return for men to God. And this is precisely the context in which much of Dionysius' "erotic" language (not to mention talk of Christian agape) occurs.

As is appropriate for an early sixth century man who claimed to be Dionysius of Athens, the convert of St. Paul mentioned in Acts 17.34, the author of the corpus dionysiacum claims Paul as his major Christian authority; and certainly he quotes Paul's writings frequently enough. But it is hard to find any particular influence of the Pauline writings on Dionysius' theology, and certainly Luther's reliance on what he took to be Paul's basic beliefs is one of the reasons for his seeing Dionysius as essentially unchristian. But second only to Paul (DN 2.681A) Dionysius regards a certain Hierotheus as authoritative, and to this authority he attributes two major works: an Elements of T h e o l o g w h e title reminds many scholars of Proclus, as does the rank of "guide" ( ~ a h y e ~ d v , 2.648A) which is bestowed on ~ i e r o t h e u s ~ ~ and which Syrianus also uses of Proclus in his commentary on the Parmenides (p. 640, 20; 944,17 e t ~ . ) ; and a work called Erotic Hymns (DN 4.713A, 713B). Since many of the references and all the lengthy cita- tions from this mysterious Christian source, Hierotheus, appear in the Divine Names (chapters 2.9.648A to 3.3.684D for the Elements and 4.1.693B to 4.18.716A for dependence on the Erotic Hymns), it is worth while looking at them in some detail. They may indicate some of the material which Dionysius has added to the kind of synthesis of Iamblichus and Proclus we have so far been discussing.

Note first the setting. The two sections of the Divine Names dependent on Hierotheus are immediately followed by a passage about evil which provided the primary arguments for Koch and Stiglmayr when they denied Dionysius apostolic authority. For this section, beginning at 716A, depends directly-often very closely indeed--on the text of Procius' De malorum subsistencia. In other words these sections of the Di~jine Names look like a patch-work. Certainly Dionysius has inserted Proclus more or less directly; in the earlier sections he has "inserted"

35 ln Alc. 5D, p. 23.10 Westerink. Nygren (n. 12. above) 569 observes this and suggests Christian influence. That is highly implausible (see J.M. Rist, "Some Interpretations of Eros and Agape", in The Philosophy and Theology of Anders Nygren (Carbondale, 1970) 168. For more on Proclan eros see Hathaway (n. I , above) 55, but Hathaway's following pages on Dionysius need some revision. See Rist, "A Note on Eros and Agape in Pseudo-Dionysius", Vig. Chr. 20 (1966) 235-243 = essay XVI in PIaionism and its Christian Heritage (London, 1985), and also below. Of course Greek eros is always a daimon which falls upon us and leads us-somewhere or other, the theme is common in Plato. Sophocles, Themitus, etc.

36 H. Koch, Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita in seinen Beziehungen zum Neuplaronismus und Mysterienwesen (Mainz, 1900) 49-62. Hierotheus is alluded to vaguely, but not named, at DN 7.865B; he occurs at DN 10.937, CH 6.200D ff., EM 2.392AI5 and 3.424C.

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material from two possibly fictitious treatises of Hierotheus. What he seems to have done, in fact, is to have inserted (his own) pseudo-Hierotheus into "Pseudo- Dionysius", just as he then proceeds to insert Proclus into Pseudo-Dionysius, Brons has claimed that 3.2-3 are inauthentic Dionysius, but that seems an unnecessary hypothesis.37 They appear to be genuine inventions by Dionysius himself.

Among other topics, it is said, Hierotheus' Elements dealt with the divinity of Jesus, "the fulfilling cause of ail" (648C). They made much use of Scripture and of reflection on Scriptural and liturgical "experiences".38 Jesus, out of love for humanity (ptkvepwnia) has descended and become a being, and the more-than-good (he probably means "more than mind") has taken the name of man (c iv tp ixpqp15zmw). The word "love for humanity" is very important: Rorem has emphasized Dionysius' constant use of it with reference to the Incarnation. Philanthropia, however, is not specially Dionysian, or Neoplatonic; it has a very wide currency among both Christian and pagan writers,39 though it is used regularly enough in connection with the Incarnation. Clement, Origen and Athanasius, as a glance at Lampe's Lexicon will show, are fond of it; so are the Cappadocians.

In the sections of the Divine Names that follow, Dionysius refers again to his debts to his teacher, while insisting that his dependence is not slavish (681 C), and he now moves beyond the mere use of Hierotheus' writings to comment on a notorious liturgical experience. Hierotheus, Dionysius himself, James the "brother of God", the chief "hierarch" (i.e. bishop) Peter, and others, had gathered for a "Vision of the body which is the source of life and bearer of ~ o d " . ~ ' Whether this refers to the "dormition" of Mary (as is traditionally but perhaps doubtfully supposed), the context of "ecstasy" and "experiencing communion" with the things hymned is

41 eucharistic. Hierotheus not only taught of the "philanthropy" of Jesus; he celebrated the "divine frailty" eucharistically-as 648B puts it, quoting Aristotle's On Philosophy (fr. 15 Ross), he "experienced divine things9'-teaching us that Jesus' philanthropic Incarnation enables the "hierarchs" at least to transcend themselves and return to their source. Here we have the element of divine help which the Neoplatonists, and Iamblichus in particular, had sought. The liturgical acts are God's divine workings-or what we may call his enlightening theurgy. Of course, these "mystical experiences are not to be conveyed to the multitude" (684B). Hierotheus is again in traditional company. But for him the initiates are, above all, the hierarchs, that is, the bishops.

37 B. Brons, Sekundare Textpartien im Corpus Pseudo-Dionysiacum? (Gbttingen, 1976) 110. I shall return to the question in the Appendix, but it is of only secondary importance.

38 On Dionysius' apparently apologetic tone about theurgical language in this section see Rorem (n. 16. above) 134.

39 Nygren (n. 12, above) 430 calls attention to the use of cpthaveponia by Gregory of Nyssa in particuIar. See also Rorem in C. Luibheid, Ps-Dionysius: The Complete Works (New York, 1987) 158, n. 56. Rorem cites CH 4.1818, EH 3.4376, MIA, 444A. 444C. DN 1.592A. 640C. 6484 E p . 3.1069B. Ep. 4.1072A9, 1072821. Note that the word may be used "unhistorically" by Dionysius of the Incarnation; that is, in a metaphysical, not a historical sense.

40For the lihngical setting of this passage see Rorem (n. 16, above) 135-137. 41Cf. EH 3.425D, 440B28.444A.5.

PSEUDO-DIONYSIUS, NEOPLATOMSM

We do not need to linger long over the analysis of Neoplatonic material in the Erotic Hymns. But we should notice one important point. In this section of Hierotheus Dionysius does not talk of philanthropia: rather his language is of eros and agape42-which perhaps suggests that Hierotheus is a specific historical figure, though the whole discussion is redolent of Plotinus and of Proclus' Commentary on the Alcibiades. But at least Dionysius' version of Hierotheus' metaphysics is deeply ChristoIogical. Divine eros is outgoing ( d ~ a z a n ~ b g ) , and if miich of the inspiration of Hierotheus is standardly NeopIatonic, the idea that the first principle is itself to be identified as overbounding eras is original either with Dionysius or, if Hierotbeus is a genuine source, with Hierotheus as a Christian writer. Of course Dionysius or Hierotheus is not the first Christian to have called God eros; Origen had done so in treating of the Song of Songs (PG 13,70D), and perhaps Dionysius is dependent on him, or on the Origenist Evagrius. But whether there is dependence here, or originality, the Christianized Froclus that Hierotheus comes up with is clearly intended to be Christian.

It may be worth observing that it is in this Hierotheus section of the Divine Names that Dionysius comes closest to blowing his cover as the putative disciple of St. Paul. In 709B Dionysius (whether or not depending on Hierotheus) refers to Ignatius of Antioch (ad Rom. 7.2) who died about 107 A.D., and quotes the text "the object of my eros has been crucified". Obviously this text (with others) is useful for Dionysius in his attempt to equate eros with agape, but his risky use of Ignatius might seem more intelligible and intelligent if he were in fact quoting a genuinely historical source, perhaps, we might allow, the same "holy Hicrotheus" who is quoted elsewhere by Stephen bar ~ u d a i l i . ~ ~ But we should not make too much of this possibility.

What then have we found in the two Hierotheus sections of the Divine h'ahes which inject a genuinely Christianized set of Neoplatonic material into the text of that treatise? Christianity, through one of its "authorized" writers, can add to the Neoplatonic synthesis we discussed in pre-Dionysian texts exactly where additions are needed to make the account of salvation work. We have now a universal way: God has shown his philanthropia through the divinity of Jesus. In the Erotic Hymns this philanthropia, which already bears the stamp of Cappadocian Christianity, can be linked with eras-theory and with an account of the "mystical" possibilities which the hierarch Hierotheus had developed through living a Christian liturgical life and through soaking himself in the Christian Scriptures. Without going into further details about the "Scriptural" and liturgical symbols on which Rorem in particular has shed much light in recent work, we can say that the Celestial Hierarchy, and in particular the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, c o n f i what we have argued. Participation in the divine rites, and in particular in the sunaxis, the Eucharist, provides the universal way, the right kind of theurgy for which the Neoplatonists had searched. In this sense, as Dionysius says (EH 432B), theurgy

QSee Rist, "Erm and Agape" (n. 35. above). 43 On Stephen and Dionysius see epxially R Roques in RAC 1076.

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(the New Testament) completes theology (the Old& for the New Testament describes the acts, the theutgical acts ofphilanthropia and eros which the liturgies symbolically continue. It is in the acts of Jesus and the acts of the hierarch (the bishop) that the Iamblichan "uplift" is incarnate. This is the verified form of God's work, and even the "secret" quality of Neoplatonic philosophical action can be maintained, for the higher up the clerical hierarchy we rise, the higher the degree of initiation into the mysteries and the greater the chance of sharing with other bishops the experiences of Hierotheus, Carpus, and-as suggested in his Vita by Gregory of Nyssa-of Moses himself. "Talk of hierarch", says Dionysius, "and one is refemng to a holy and inspired man, someone who understands all sacred knowledge, someone in whom an entire hierarchy is completely perfected and known" (EH 373C).

The liturgical acts and scriptural readings are the means God has granted us to an end, and the end is to experience communion with the ineffable, the unknown God of Acts 17, the God of Hierotheus and of the other hierarchs who view the "mdrtal body". And appropriately this vision, the vision of the God of Moses, is a vision, in the language of Nyssa, of the Gregorian hero entering the Gregorian darkness which surrounds the Most High. For we should not forget that of the Christians (leaving the Jew Philo aside) only Gregory of Nyssa had written in this way, and in the Mystical Theology the Neoplatonic experience is deepened and Christianized as a possibility only available to those who have experienced the God-given rites. The Mystical Theology begins with a Trinitarian hymn, appeals to a "sighting of mysterious things" ( ~ h p ~ ~ ~ t r h O~bpxza, 997BN). warns against disclosing such things to the uninitiated (1000A), and speaks of Moses plunging into the darkness of unknowing (1001A). This, says Dionysius, is what Bartholemew taught (perhaps an allusion to the Book of the' Resurrection); this is what the hierarch achieves. Perhaps the bishop alone, like St. John in Dionysius' letter 10, can attain such a state-truly a bizarre claim-but episcopal office, presumably, is a career open to talents; and in any case the Christian experience, a measure of the neoplatonic return to God, can be mediated through the hierarch to the rest of the believers,

The Divinity and the Humanity of Christ

We have tried to identify the sort of material Dionysius thought he needed to make Christianity "work". That is not a shocking attitude to attribute to him. Augustine too, perhaps as late as 410 A.D., is able to say about Platonic books (not of course, those of Proclus or Iamblichus) that only a few things need to be altered to make their authors Christian (Ep. 118.3.21, CSEL 34, p. 685, 4-5). But with the change of words was to go a change of attitude, above all the adoption of Christian humility of which Jesus has given us an example. Of course Augustine

For the connection of theurgy with the acts recorded in the NT and their continuation in the sacraments of baptism, the myron and especially the eucharist see the large collection of references in Luibheid's translation (n. 39 above), 52, n. 11. Here the Iamblichan connection is duly noted.

regards such a change of attitude as of enormous importance, but what matters in our present discussion is his view that it is the corning of Christ which is needed to supplement Platonism and thus make it into a more or less true religion. If we leave aside Augustine's very different view of the significance and working of the Incarnation, and his insistence (so different from Dionysius) on the virtue of Christian humility as a cure for Neoplatonic pride, the parallels between Augustine and Dionysius are still striking. What then we need to know about Dionysius is what account of the Incarnation he needs to satisfy his wish for a completed Neoplatonism. And here at last we come back to the notorious question of Dionysius' "monophysitism", for, if the broad outlines of my approach are comect, Dionysius will need Christ to be God, to show us the way home, to enable us to experience "divine things", but the humanity of Jesus will not be essential. What Dionysius needs is a theory of God on earth, not a theory of God's assumption of man.

But there is a further complication. To satisfy that partially orthodox requirement, Dionysius would need a Trinitarian theory, but not much of a Christological theory--and again note the parallel with one stage of Augustine's development. Certain pre-baptismal difficulties which Augustiie (and his friend Alypius) experienced, as O'Connell has especially emphasized, were concerned with the nature of the "man Christ Jesus": ChristologicaI, that is, not Trinitarian. And as for Dionysius, we have seen .how enthusiastically-and sincerely-he placed a Trinitarian hymn at the beginning of his Mystical Theology. But in the latter part of the fifth century and the early sixth, the time in which Dionysius is writing, Christological disputes were urgent and violent, and we may regard it as a working hypothesis that Dionysius, while not needing any strong thesis about the humanity of Christ, had also no wish to draw undue attention to himself by the use of overtly antiChalcedonian language. Even those scholars who believe him to be "monophysite" in tendency have regularly noticed that he avoids any of the specifically "monophysite" formulas such as can be found, for example, in Severus of Antioch. Indeed whether Dionysius is a monophysite or not, this refusal to use identifiably partisan language is a good reason wh 4 2 he is not to be identifed with Severus or any other of the monophysite leaders. If he wished his work to have any kind of universal appeal, the need for non-controversial language would sit well with his "philosophical" unconkern for the substance of the debate about the orthodoxy of Chalcedon itself. For Dionysius' purposes, as we have discussed them, getting involved in disputes about Christology could only distract his intended au- dience from taking his specifically Proclan version of Christianity serioudy. And yet since the monophysite underemphasis of Jesus' humanity sits well with what appear to be Dionysius' "requirements" from Christianity, we should expect that willy nilly his formulations, even when carefully and unpolemically expressed, would tend to look "monophysite". And indeed to those like Hypatius of Ephesus

45 R.J. O'Connell, Augusrine's Early Theory of Man (Cambridge. Mass. 1968) 258-278. 46 See recently R.C. Chesmut, Three Monophysile Christologies (Oxford, 1976) 9-56.

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in 532, that is exactly how they did look; for when Hypatius accused Dionysius of being a follower of Apollinarius, "Apollinarian" must be construed as a code-word for monophysite.

Two of Dionysius' letters (number 6 to a priest Sosipatros [cf. Rom. 16.211 and number 7 to Polycarp [perhaps the historical bishop of Smyma]) begin with remarks indicating our author's opposition to attacks on non-orthodox religious or philosophical belief. Letter 7 tells Polycarp that Dionysius cannot recall ever having attacked "Greeks", "Greeks" being the usual term for non-Christian philosophers, those who regarded themselves as the heirs of the Platonic tradition against Gnostic, Christian or other theosophies (cf. Plot., Enn. 2.9.6.6-8; Tatian, Orat. ad Graecos, etc.). The truth, Dionysius argues, will speak for itself: perhaps a timely warning since the works of Porphyry (along with "Nestorian works"-Severus was added in 536) had been again in 448 condemned to the avenging flames by Imperial order (Cod. lust. 1.1.3). In view of what is generally agreed to be the great debt of Dionysius to late NeopIatonists, and his likely inclusion of Porphyry himself under

' this group, there is nothing surprising about this attitude. Neoplatonists of the fifth century had reason to fear, as the murder of Hypatia in 415 had shown earlier, and as the persecution of philosophers after the revolt of Illus was to remind them again later in the century." At some point in the early 490s, the philosopher Damascius records with disgust, the philosopher Ammonius made a deal with Athanasius II, patriarch of Alexandria, which somehow restricted freedom to teach in exchange for a more guaranteed security of life and limb for the teachers. There were even rumours that Ammonius had been baptized. Westerink has drawn our attention to a remark of Philoponus (in Re an. p. 104, 21-23): "Though the soul may be forced by tyrants to profess an impious doctrine, she can never be forced to inner assent and to belief'!q Such a world Dionysius wish'es to avoid; he is, in fact, a law-and-order man. Religious matters need to be discussed in a hierarchical, almost hieratic, setting.

Between two of Dionysius' letters to bishops (7 and 9), there is the fascinating rebuke in letter 8 to the monk Demophilus. The name is suggestive and the letter dependent, as a recent scholar has shown,49 on Plato's Gorgias. Demophilus is a subverter; he resembles the "democratic" Callicles. "Democratic" is a bad word in Byzantine Greek: it may refer to popular rioting, to power on the streets. Demophilus the monk is to stay in line and be obedient to the established ecclesias- ticaI authorities. But what if the superior has behaved in an unholy fashion? He still should not be corrected: a son or servant should not abuse or beat his father (8.1093A). God knows men's hearts and the evil priest, the wolf in sheep's cloth- ing, should be left to the mercy of God (1092C ff.). His behaviow may be reck-

47 On Chrism-pagan hostility (see also n. 32, above) fiaher detail can be gleaned from the comments of Zacharias in his We of Severus (Corp. Script. Christ. Orient., Scr. Syr. IV.4, 16, 22, 23. 42Ff.) and from those of Damascius in his Life of Isidore (ed. Asmus) 26, 34. 67. See also the discussion in J. Comb&, Damascius: Trait6 des premiers principas (Paris, 1986) xx.

48 On the "pact" see also L.G. Westerink, Anonymous Prolegomena to Platonic Philosophy (Amsterdam, 1962) xi-xii.

49 Hathaway (see n. 1, above) 93-95.

less; he is not really a priest. Divine retribution may be assumed, but it should not be anticipated at the price of disturbing the hierarchy and good order.

Now it is clear that quite apart from being willing to help Neoplatonic friends and possibly fellow-students from his earlier days, Dionysius might also wish to discourage pagan-hunting for more personal reasons. The orthodoxy of his own views on such key issues of Christian-pagan "dialogue" as the creation of the world ex nikilo is decidedly suspect. Many modems believe that Dionysius has no belief in creation in or with time, but that he holds to the eternal metaphysical dependence on God in a Neoplatonic Surprisingly the only passages where he uses the characteristically Christian term (or its cognates) for "to create" ( K T ~ ~ E L V ) are direct quotations from the Bible (DN 2.637B; 4.700C; 9.912B; Ep. 7.1080B). But if NeopIatonists and Neoplatonic themes are at risk and need protection, it is even more urgent for Dionysius-and especidly if he is to induce acceptance of his works as products of the apostolic age-both to avoid suspicion of heresy and to discourage sectarian hostility among the Christians themselves. For the less bother there is about the virtues and vices of the Council of Chalcedon, the more likely that his own restricted Christology (or alternatively his own less restricted Christology) will be able to avoid hostile scrutiny. Hence he tells Sosipatros in letter 6 that there is no credit in persecuting evil cult @pqorteicrv), and he tells bishop folycarp that he himself has refrained not only from attacking "Greeks" but from polemical behaviour altogether. For, he argues, everyone believes he has genuine coinage, but he may only possess part of the truth. And to Sosipatros he observes that to know that X is not red is not to know that it is white, and to know that Y is not a horse is not to know that it must be a man. In view of our limited knowledge, we may infer, how can we be sure that our Christology is complete, even provided we learn from the Scriptures what Dionysius believes is suffitient truth to licence and promote the return of the soul?

And in fact, as letter 4 shows, Dionysius' Christology looks minimal (for it only needs to be minimal) from a Chalcedo~lian point of view. In order to understand it we need first to notice the "cosmic" function of the Incarnation in Dionysius' account. In language which we should now be able to interpret, we find that Jesus is the "mystery of philanthropia" (DN 2.640C; cf. Titus 3.4); his role for us is to initiate the Eucharist (EH 3.441C), to present the divine unity among the plurality of mankind. In the Incarnation, as Dionysius describes it, the simple becomes complex (DN 1.592A; EH 3.444AB). Jesus (as man) is divinely formed for us (0eoahamia ~ae'fipCq, DN 2.648A). Now we have already noticed that Dionysius can be seen to use the names Jesus and Christ as virtual synonyms, and in letter 4 we find that his interest in Jesus is always in his miraculous, that is, divine setting. Dionysius is interested to talk, in the famous phrase, of his "certain novel theandric operation". Notice that there is no mention of "natures", either one or two, no mention of either "in" or "from" two natures. Dionysius rather chooses to avoid any of the specific Chalcedonian or anti-Chalcedonian language. But his

50 So recently Wexhe (n. 3, above) Hathaway (n. 1 above) xvi-xvii, and S. Gersh, F r o m Iamblichus lo Eriugem (Leiden, 1978) 21-22.

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"monophysitism" seems apparent: it is hard to see that he is speaking of more than one operation, unless, of course, "theandric" means "of both God and man". But we should notice that the kind of acts of which Dionysius likes to speak are "more than human": walking on water and "Wig formed form a virgin's blood".

To confirm our interpretation of the passage from letter 4 we need to consider two points: the sense in which Dionysius, following an Iamblichan pattern of thought, thinks of the Incarnation as theurgy, that is, as an act of God designed to lead us back to himself (for he has come to be "in our mode" (~a6 ' i l@& and secondly the interesting uses of the form &v6pud (CH 4.181B and EH 3.429C) which will show us what the drv3puG in 8~av6pudl b k p y ~ t a is understood to add to the workings of the second person of the Trinity. In CH 181B we meet the phrase drv- 6p1&45 B ~ o u p y i a ~ in reference to the "philanthropy" of God in the Incarnation. John the Baptist is revealed as the prophet who will foretell the divine action (singuIar) in human guise (&v6pu~ij<). This divine action will bring salvation. Again this looks like taking human form as a means for God's action. As the passage continues (181C), Jesus, "the transcendent cause" without any change came to our condition (rrpb~ zb ~ a 8 4 p G ~ &p~.rap6ho~) .

Our second passage is similar (EH 3.429C): it seems to allude to the Synoptic Gospels and their account of the divine actions ( 8 ~ o u p y i a ~ ) of Jesus as man (I3v6p1adrq). Again &v6pwdr< agrees with "actions" (if the text is correct) and again it seems as though "in human form" is all that is required to translate it.

Finally notice the parallel between letter 4 and Divine Names 2.648A in their treatments of what the Divine Names calls Jesus' supernatural qmatoAoyia. Again the reference to one nature is missing-but only physiology? In both passages Dionysius speaks of the virgin birth ("formed from a virgin's blood" in the Divine Names) and of walking on water with his feet on water which is "tensed supernatu- rally" (Ep. 4), and "incomprehensibly" ( D N ) . ~ ' These are God's "theandric operations", but they are really supernatural, God acts, it seems, in the form of man, but there is only one act, and it is ~ o d ' s . ~ ~

As we have seen, Dionysius wants to avoid language which would pin him down as Chalcedonian or anti-Chalcedonian. But theologically he believes he does not need the man Jesus, only the incarnate Christ as God. There are a number of passages of Scripture the interpretation of which tends to separate the Chalcedonians and those tending to "Nestorianism" (or more euphemistically "Antiochean theology") on the one hand from the "monophysites" on the other. This is not the place for detailed discussion, but we may note that whereas Severus of Antioch (alluding to Luke 2.40-52) speaks of Jesus "seeming to grow in wisdom

5' Mt. 14.22; Mk. 6.45-52; Lk. 6.16-21. "The comment that it is Jesus (not just Christ) who descends to die on the cross "for the sake of

our divine birth" appears in an interesting text at EH 4.484R-one of the very few texts of Dionysius about the specific significance of Jesus' death. His descent, according to the "mysterious" notion of Scripture, enables us to be baptized "unto his death" (Rom. 6.3). Note, however, the reference to the liturgical act of anointing.

and grace",53 the technically "Antiochean" Theodore of Mopsuestia has no difficulty with genuine growth in age and wisdom and virtue (ed, Swete 11, 297-8). (The arnbivaient position of Athanasius here may be noted: he is often a source for both Chalcedonians and anti-Chalcedonians. He contents himself with noting Jesus' "progress of the body" [C. Ar. 3.521). Our present concern, however, is that for the "monophysites", as for Dionysius, Jesus' humanity is virtually unnecessary. What is needed is that God is able, through his presence and later through his sacraments, to lead us where, of ourselves, we should be unable to go. As Dionysius puts it, Christ takes on our form ( 8 ~ o x k m i a ~ae'ilFLijrc), and this is to be explained as his providing and vivifying the mechanism for theurgical acts. In more theological terms Dionysius does not need (and does not have) a doctrine of the atonement, only a doctrine of salvation by God.

The Angelic Life on Earth

The argument so far has many ramifications, but let us content ourselves with two. First, there is, as Markus has noted, little talk of moral action in Dionysius. Markus' words, though again slightly hyperbolic, make the point clearly enough: "The interpretation of praxis in theurgic, rather than in moral terms, has left the ps- Dionysius, like the5yther late Neoplatonists (Here is the hyperbole!) with no moral philosophy at all". I should prefer to make the point slightly differently by saying that Dionysius has largely replaced the need for moral excellence with a need to perform ecclesiastically-stmctured liturgies. These liturgies, however, are not merely seen, but experienced or "suffered". And we have to add that to turn Dionysius into the figure so influential in later Western and Byzantine asceticism, we have to lace him with dollops of Maximus the Confessor, or, for monasticism, John Climacus. Dionysius' moderate use of contemporary monastic ideology is particularly in evidence if we think of the practice of virginity-which was much emphasized as a source of spiritual experience in Dionysius' day. Dionysius certainly demanded it; monks are the highest group among the unordained, superior, of course, to ordinary laymen. But for the monk, as well as for his clerical superiors, it is the eucharist, hieratically conceived, which is the way par excellence to the experience of the divine. The denial of sexual delights and the attempt to eradicate the disturbing psychological and physiological effects which the monks dreaded in sexual activity, will be at most a preliminary.

And yet Dionysius thinks that his "way" will produce the type of person for .

whom the ascetics longed. One of the (desiderated) effects of extreme sexual renun- ciation, one of the marks of the "angelic" life on which the monks often set their hearts, was 5s not merely the control of sexual desires, but the eradication of sexual feelings, and in particular of uninvited sexual reactions (such as the pleasure or

53 Homily 119 (on the miracuIous and other acts at the marriage-feast at Cana) in Patrol. Orient. 26, 381, 388.

54 Markus in The Cambridge History fn. 26, above) 459. 55 Note the advice given to a nun famed for her asceticism by Sarapion (Lausiac History 38,

1188A): Take off all your clothes and [ l i e me] walk about the town-if you are really dead to the

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erection which might accompany the sight of a naked woman): indeed the eradication of instinctive reactions of all kinds, of fear at a threatening experience as well as of pleasure at what gives worldly attraction. Long before Dionysius, the Stoics had dubbed such "pre-moral" feelings "precursors of passion" (npox&~eta~).56 In Dionysius' time insensitivity to such "pleasures and pains" was a mark of higher Christianity; they called it the angelic life. But whereas such lack of feeling is, for many monks, to be attained by asceticism, for Dionysius something like it is the achieved aim of the hierarch. The last of Dionysius' letters, to St. John, is interesting in this regard. Dionysius tells John, on exile on the island of Patmos, that he is sure that those who try to give him pain are unsuccessful (11 17BC): "I should not be so mad as to think that you suffer anything". (Did Christians-real ones-suffer anything, according to Dionysius?) "I believe that you experience the sufferings of the body only in so far as you identify or discipline them". John seems to be a man under a local anaesthetic which covers his entire body; he knows what is happening, but it does not hurt him. Such is the "angelic life" among men, with complete absence of feeling: the Cynic, not the Stoic apathy, it would seem. And John is a special favourite of Pionysius, as we can see elsewhere (EH 3.429D); he is the beloved disciple who is the sun of the Gospel (10.1 117C).

Some Modest Conclusions

I have argued in this paper that Dionysius is a genuine Neoplatonist converted to what he took to be a genuine (the most genuine) form of Christianity. For Dionysius Christianity solves a major problem about the return of the soul which pagan Neoplatonism had failed to resolve, though Iamblichus had tried. And pagan Neoplatonists had, at times, taken a special interest in St, John's Gospel; it appeared to have something to say about the Logos, the expression of the Unknown God. Augustine, in the City of God (10.29), mentions a Platonist who spoke ap- provingly of this Logos (though his real intent was probably anti-Christian), and a similar interest is attributed to Amelius, the pupil of Plotinus, by Eusebius of ~aesarea . '~ If Dionysius knew as much about Amelius as he seems to have known of Iamblichus and Proclus (and perhaps of Porphyry: see Appendix), it might perhaps lessen the unexpectedness of the fact that St. John (with his conveniently and comparatively small concern with the humanity of Jesus, at least when compared with the Synoptic writers) should be Dionysius' favourite Scriptural

world and devoid of sensual feeling [&na0i5]). In the Pratum of Moschus John the Baptist grants physiological indifference to a priest faced with the fearful prospect of baptizing a beautiful (naked) girl, the rules forbidding a deaconess to perform the ceremony. John made the sign of the cross over the priest three times below the navel. thus in effect granting him the angelic mentality (PC 87.3.2854-2856).

54 For recent discussion of these risky but not immoral (indeed unavoidable) instinctual reactions see B. Inwood, The Stoic Theory of Action (Oxford, 1985) 175-181 and J.M. Rist, "Seneca and Stoic Orthodoxy", ANR W 36.3 (1989) 1999-2003.

57 Praep. Ev. 11.19.1-4. See H. Dome, "Une ex6gkse n6oplatonicienne du prologue de l'bvangile de Saint Jean", in Epektasis. Melanges patristiques offerrs an cardinal J . DaniClou (Paris, 1972) 75-87.

guide after Paul. Indeed, as we have seen, although the pretence of Pauline guidance needs to be kept up-since after all Dionysius is, he says, the convert from the Areopagus-the theological influence of Paul is comparatively restricted in the corpw dionysiacwn.

For the question of Dionysius' actual use of Paul's theology, as distinct from his name, brings us back to the special area where I have suggested that Dionysius shows "monophysite" affiliations-of necessity-for the divine nature of Christ, not the human nature of Jesus, was what our converted Neoplatonist found to be the special gift of Christianity to Neoplatonism. Dionysius, I have argued, has little interest in moral theology and moral philosophy. Nor does he show much concern with the Incarnation as an atonement, but rather as a divine act of assistance to weakened humanity. But the nature of human weakness is interesting too. If man only needs to be given the divine assistance, so to speak, to get him out of the mess from which he is too weak to extricate himself, we may wonder what is the nature of that weakness. Or what kind of fall is the fall of the soul? Dionysius has virtually nothing to say about this, and his lack of moral concerns might suggest that he has a fairly optimistic opinion of the degree of damage we have suffered. In this he would resemble his fellow Neoplatonists, despite the much greater awareness of the problem in Iamblichus and his successors as compared to Plotinus. We must recall the basic "Platonic" image once again: there is a pearl in the oyster; the pearl is intact. Although IambIichus weakens this by urging that we need divine assistance to free the pearl and although the later Neoplatonists often distinguish between divine souls (like us) and gods, yet however fallen the soul may be, it is still divine by its very nature, and god's task, essentially, is to clean it up, often by freeing it from the body and the bodily. It is interesting to note that such a theory implies that sin is essentially social, the result of being born into a sin'ful world, the seductions of which we cannot escape, rather than that we were born more positively prone to choose evil of our genuinely own volition. Severus of Antioch, the monophysite Patriarch of Antioch of whom we have already spoken several times, is interesting in this regard too. Preaching on Romans 5.12 that through Adam death came into the he argues that as a result of death we are caught in the nets of sin. There is little trace of the late Augustinian claim that, like Adam, we are unnaturally (or by a second nature) attracted by the sweet taste of sin; that we may well struggle to commit sins through pride rather than be entangled in them through misfortune. If, as I have at least tried to suggest, "monophysitism" is likely not to need an account of the atonement, and corre- spondingly an emphasis on Jesus' humanity-a doctrine that it is precisely by taking on our complete and genuine human nature that Christ "overcomes" it-and if, rather, a monophysite only needs God to intervene almost ex machina to get us out of our troubles, then we can readily understand why our Iamblichan Dionysius, who qua Iamblichus needs just that kind of Incarnation to solve his problems of the return of the too weak soul, would find the "monophysite" version of Christianity

5s Homily 49 (Patrol. Orient. 35, 343, 12).

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more attractive than the Chalcedonian. But at the same time, of course, as a good "Hellene", he would fail to see the necessity of bringing pressure on the misguided, whether Chalcedonian or pagan.

But, it may be said, Dionysius' lack of concern with anything like an "inherited" propensity for weakness or even vice is merely ordinary Eastern Christianity, merely non-Augustinian. That is not quite correct. Although Dionysius' comparative optimism about human nature is certainly "Eastern", his lack of attention to ordinary moral behaviour makes him sharply different from Basil, Gregory of Nazianzus, John Chrysostom, Maximus Confessor and others. But were not "monophysite" ascetics also concerned with ordinary morality? Of course they were. But here Dionysius' "ecclesiasticism" comes in. For him the "way" is through bishops and Church orders, and misbehaviour among such, as we have seen, can be left to God. All I am claiming is that as a "convertT' from the Neoplatonic world Dionysius only needs a specific minimal dose of Christianity, though that minimal dose is quite a lot; and, as I have also argued, it is quite misleading to think that Dionysius did not regard himself as a genuine and sincere Christian believer. All Dionysius needs to know of Christian moral theory is that we need God's help to "return", and we get that help, in his view, through ecclesiastical structures. The notion that perhaps the visible Church and its liturgies is not simply identified with the city of God would have been deeply disturbing to him. If sin can be cured and the soul raised by the substitution of Church hierarchy for secular order, then Dionysius has solved the problem his Neoplatonic eyes have seen. Unlike Severus of Antioch he is not a public preacher, so he does not even have to give an account of sin. I am arguing, however, that everything he says would be most compatible with the more optimistic account he might have heard Severus give. But he is not optimistic in the manner of mor!d ascetics like Basil or Chrysostom; his theology of salvation and its roots do not demand that kind of discipline. It is monophysite Christology, not whatever ascetic theory monophysites might have, which makes Dionysius sound at time like a monophysite. The "ascetic" and "moral" discipline of the monophysites would seem to be beside the point as much as the ascetic and moral practices of the Chalcedonians. The only reason I have invoked Severus of Antioch in this connection is my claim that a less extreme theory of human wrongdoing could only be in tune with Dionysius' main concerns. Dionysius' primary concern with the evils of human nature seems to be the'metaphysical one that they necessitate God's direct intervention if we are to retum-and that intervention, providentially, has to be institutionalized through the liturgy.

Jesus, Dionysius thinks, was miraculously formed from the blood of a virgin (DN 2.648A), so that he should provide, through the Scriptures and their fulfilment by God's action and its continuation in the sacraments, especially the eucharist, the way to return to himself. But is is somewhat unfair to Dionysius to suggest that the role of the Incarnation is just to show us the way (as Wesche has suggested). It is true that it is Jesus' miraculous "descent" rather than his specific suffering and atonement which saves us, and Christians may think this defectively Neoplatonic.

But, as I have indicated, we "experience divine things" in the ecstasy of the liturgy, not merely see them. Dionysius says this himself of his master Hierotheus, who not only "learned" but "experienced" the divine things (DN 2.648A) and at a vision of "that mortal body, that source of life which bore God" experienced "communion with the things praised" (xpbq T& i)pv06p€va ~ o t v a v i a v X ~ X O V , 3.681D ff.). And as Vanneste has shown,5g this is not the private mystical experience which later Western mystics developed from it; for it is primarily connected with liturgy. But if one wanted to object to the quality of Dionysius' Christianity, it would not be with Luther in worrying about the solitary monk trying to claw his way to heaven, but in the marked tendency to identify liturgical acts in a Christian basilica as the only and complete way open to those wishing to be servants of God and lovers of his perfection.

If we look back at Dionysius we may indeed say that his Christianity seems to be incomplete, and needs to be (at least) filled out with an enriched account of Christ's humanity and human morality. But, as I have also suggested, there are some interesting comparisons to be made here with the early (and Neoplatonizing) Augustine. For Augustine's own Christianity, especially his Christology and his account of fallen human nature bears, in his earlier days, some similar marks of its Neoplatonic background. Similarly, we might add, Origen's Trinity is inadequate, and it seems that Athanasius and Cyril can easily be read in what came to be the monophysite way, when their ambiguous terminology is pressed for a clear sense and its possibly unorthodox possibilities realized by hindsight. But to say that any of that makes Origen, Athanasius, Cyril, Augustine or Dionysius merely a philosopher with a Christian veneer would be nonsense. Dionysius is a man who finds in Christianity what he realizes or believes to be lacking-and desperately lacking-in his philosophical world. With only a few words and phrases changed, it was said, they (the Platonists) could have been Christians. Those who say that should not be called surface Christians merely for' thinking so; at worst they are people who have not understood, or not avowed, the importance of those few words and phrases.

59 Vanneste (n. 11, above) 206-217; Rorem (see n. 16. above) 137.

XVII

1 60

XVII

PSEUDO-DIONYSIUS, NEOPLATONISM 161

APPENDIX

Hierotheus and Apollophanes

In the course of his seventh letter ("to Polycarp, a bishop") Dionysius claims that he has been told previously by Polycarp that a certain "sophist", by name Apollophanes, has spoken abusively of him and called him a parricide because he "impiously" uses Greek material against Greeks. Decoded, this would mean that it was held against Dionysius that he is in the Greek philosophical tradition, but that he has put this tradition to work on behalf of Christianity. The charge is similar to one levelled by Porphyry against the Christian Origen: "In his life he lived in an untraditional and Christian fashion, but in his theories in ethics and theology he used Hellenic language, veiling Greek philosophy in alien (i.e. Christian) tales" (Eus. H. E. 6.19). Whether Dionysius is deliberately comparing himself with Origen cannot be determined, though it is not impossible. In any case he is replying to what was doubtless a common charge, that he was turning on the Neoplatonic hand that had fed him. Dionysius rebuts the charge: it is Apollophanes who acts impiously against what is divine-a reply of particular force if Porphyry is the target, for Porphyry was the author of the ancient world's most powerful palemic against Christianity, a work condemned by Constantine and, as we noted, condemned again by the Council of Ephesus. And since we have also noted that much of Dionysius' Neoplatonism is of the Kamblichan variety- and IambIichus quarrelled with Porphyry precisely over the role of theurgy-it would be a further piquancy if Porphyry, an "enemy" both to Christians and to Iamblichans, were the target here.

Dionysius drags Apollophanes into the fictitious account of his life. Apollophanes and Dionysius himself witnessed the eclipse that accompanied the crucifixion when they were together at Heliopolis in Syria. (For what it is worth both Porphyry [of Tyre] and Iamblichus [of Chalcis] hailed from that part of the world.) "Apollophanes" apparently just will not accept the evidence of his own eyes and, hopes Dionysius, since he is "a real man", wise in many ways, perhaps conversation with a real bishop will bring him to God, to the "humility" of realizing that behind "our" religion there is a "very wise truth".

It all looks like an appeal to contemporary Platonists to follow the Dionysian path. If you look into Christianity, below the surface, you will realize that it is the way to God. Like Augustine again, but more gently, Dionysius suggests that if his Neoplatonic friends are humble, they will see where the future lies.

Now Hathaway has suggested (rightly) that behind the Demophilus of letter 8 lies something of the ~ l i c l e s of Plato's Gorgias; I have now suggested that perhaps ApoIIophanes has some resemblances to Porphyry who, in his letter to Anebo, is, like Apollophanes, sceptical of "religious" practices and events. The name "Apollophanes" too may be significant. Apollo is the god of Socrates and its "etymoiogy" (&-nohha, in the sense of "not many") is taken by Neoplatonists to be relevant to the unitary One as first principle. Both the names Demophilus

(democrat, demagogue?) and Apollophanes seem to have significance. What of the most important name of all, Hierotheus?

Among identifiable contemporaries of Dionysius, only Stephen bar Sudaili claims to know such a person-and some have identified Stephen, wrongly, with

60 Dionysius. More Iikely is the theory, mentioned by Roques, that Stephen himself is identical with Hierotheus. Perhaps the name, again, gives the secret away. Dionysius mentions Hierotheus' writings. as we have seen; they are hrobably thinly-disguised NeopIatonic texts. Hierotheus then would become the name Dionysius gives to the "author" of these texts now that they are Christianized. "Holy God" is what "Hierotheus" couId mean. Probably Dionysius is claiming that God himself is his teacher-but indirectly. To be taught by God (&0&6a~76q), in antiquity, can mean to be self-taught, or inspired. Hierotheus represents Dionysius' divine inspiration in seeing the genuinely Christian nature of Neoplatonic erotic hymns and theological principles. But Dionysius makes Hierotheus a pupil of Paul, like himself; so he can hardly be identified with God. But for an author of Dionysius' boldness that seems a minor difficulty. It was, as he tells us, Paul {as described in Acts) who led him to Christianity, and hence to see God (Hierotheus) in Neoplatonic texts. What could be simpler'? But it was in Hierotheus that Dionysius found the disconcerting reference to Ignatius of Antioch, as we have seen. Now "my love is crucified" had been appropriated by Christian Platonists since Origen (PC 13, 70D), and Dionysius (perhaps even, like Severus, associated with Antioch himself) would have been happy to use it. Hierotheus' Erotic Hymns and Elements of Theology cannot be word for word Neoplatonic texts. Whoever wrote them, they are Christianized, and the inclusion of the quotation from Ignatius of Antioch is an obviously pIausibIe piece of Christianization. Whether Dionysius re-wrote Neoplatonic material as Christian, and then attribuied it to Hierotheus (as I think likely), or whether he found it already Christianized by a "real" Hierotheus, there is nothing strange in the Christianiter, be he Dionysius or Hierotheus, including the Ignatian text. It is in the tradition.

For Stephen see n. 43 above, and for Hierotheus (recently) Sheldon-Williams (n. 34, above).

INDEX

Abel, K.: X 1995,2004 asugchutos hen6sis: XVI 402-15 Ackrill, J.L.: 111 221 Aubenque. P.: X 1998 Adorno, F.: V 38 Aubin, P.: IX 16 Africa, T.W.: VIII I91 Augustine: XVI 409-10.415; XVII 137-8, aidGs: VII 264; VIII 35; IX 12, 19 144-5,150-1,156, 159 Albinus: XIII 20 -.

Alexander of Aphrodisias: XI1 103-4, 107; xv 104

Alexander the Great: XiIi 18 Allan, D J.: IV 15 Allen, R.E.: I1 210 ambition: X 1996 Ambrose: XVII 145 Amelius: XVII 156 Anagnostopoulos, G: 11 212 'angelic life' XVIl 155-6 anagogk: XVII 143 Anaxagoras: V 30-3 1 h a s , J.: 1106,109,116 Anscornbe, G.E.M.: XI1 224 apatheia: VII 259-60; VIII 26; IX 11,20 Apollonius of Chalcedon: VIII 24 A~ukius: Xu1 20.23 ~ i i s to : VIII 23 '

and Cynicism: VI 170; IX 4 Aristotle, on action: X 1999

on aerher: V 33 on 'beasts': IV 5-6 on conception: V 30-1 on elements: V 32 on friendship: N 8, 13 on god: IV 19-20 on human value: IV 9-12 on justice: IV 15-16; VII 268; X 2007 on the mind: IV 8-9, 13 on pneuma: V 27-35 on practical wisdom: IV 14, 16, 19-28 on prime matter: V 34 on 'real' humans: IV 1-2,11 on slavery: N 2-6 on teleology: N 12 on what is natural: IV 16-18; V 30-1

Armstrong, A.H.: XI1 99, 104, 105; XIlI 13, 15; XIV 189,192; XV 106

Amou, R.: XI 155; XIV 184, 192; XV 105, 109

Bddry, H.C.: VI 169 Beierwaltes, W.: X N 185 Bickel, E.: X 2010 Bienert, W.A.: XVII 143 Blumenthal, HJ.: XIV 183-4, 188-90;

XVI 402.404 Bonhoeffer, A.: VIII 32, 191; IX 16, 17, 18,

20 Bowersock, G.: VIlI 33, 191 Brehicr, E.; XI 158 Brink, C.O.: VI 174 Brons. B.: XVII 137, 148 Brunt, P,: VIII 41, 190, 191, 192; X 1997 Buchner, H.: XV 104 Buchner, K.: X 2006 Byl, S.: V 28,31

Calcidius: XIII 21 Calvert, 3.: 11 109 Card, C.: VII 272 categories: In 222-3 Chalcedon, Council of: XVII 135, 153 Chestnut, R.C.: XVII 151 Choice of Lives: I 107 Chrysippus: VI 167,171-4; VIII 28; IX 6;

X 1999 as an allegorizer: V 41-3 on impulse: X 2001 on pneuma: V 27,34,39-46 on virtue: VI 163

Cicero: XIII 20 Cleanthes: V 37-9; VI 168-9; IX 14 Combes, J.: XVII 152 Cornford, F.M.: I11 224,227 Couturier, C.: XVI 409 Crates, the Cynic: VI 169 Cynicism: VI 169-71, 173-4; VIII 26,39;

IX 4,10,19; X 2000,2012 Cyril of Alexandria: XVII 135-6

INDEX

daimun: VIII 3 1-4; X 2003; XI11 13-24; XVII 147

duimonion: XITI 13-24 Damascius: XVII 138,146, 152 De Lacy, P.H.: IX 15 De Vogel, C.J.: VII 272 Deck, J.N.: XV 105 Delatte, L.: X 2006 Democritus of Abdera: V 30 des Places, E.: XVII 142 Deuse, W.: XVI 404 Dillon, J.: X 2010-1 Diocles of Carystus: V 28 Diodorus Chronus (and the Master

Argument): VIII 28 Dodds, E.R.: VIII 33-34,192; XIII 13;

XVI 407 Dome, H.: VIII 191 ; XVI 403,406,409,414;

XVII 156 DBring, L: N 7

Edelstein, L.: V 28 Empdocles: V 30 Epictaw: VII 262-5

on value: VII 263; VIII 31,34,42, 192; 1X 3-22

Epicurus, Epicureans: 11 213; V 30; VI 170; VIII 27. 192; IX 11

Erbse, H.: VIII 191; IX 17 er&: XVII 147 Eudoms: X 2010-1 evil: XI 15466

Farquharson, A.S.L.: VIII 30, 190 Ferguson, J.: X 1996

'

Fine, G.: 1 1 18 Fortin, E.L.: XVI 402,409 Frame, D.G.: XIV 193 freedom: VI 171

of speech: VIII 25; IX 14 Frend, W.H.C.: XVII 135 Friedkinder, P.: XI11 18 Fritz, K. von: XIV 193 Fuhrmann, M.: X 2007 Fwley, D.: X 1999

Gdlop, D.: I1 214 Gauss, H.: XI11 20 Gauthier, D.P.: 1 107 Gersh. S.: XVI 404 Gerson, L.P.: I I03 Gilson, E.: XV 109 Gnostics: XI 154.161-2; XV 110-11;

XVI 413 Goldschmidt, V.: VIII 38, 192

Golitzin, A.: XVII 137, 139 Gomperz, H.: XIII 20 Goulet, R.: XIV 184 Graeser, A.: VI 162; XV 113 Gregory of Nyssa: XVII 150 Griffin, M.: IX 19; X 1994,1995,1997,1999,

2004,2005,2006,2007,2008 Grimal, P.: X 1994, 1995, 1999,2003,2012 Grote, G.: I1 212 Guthrie, W.K.C.: I 107, 114; I1 109; I11 223 Gytenbeek, A.C.van: IX 20

Haase, W.: X 2004 Hadot, I.: X 2001; XVI 407 Hadot, P.: VlII 190; IX 16; XIV 183,192,196 Hahm, D.E.: V 35,36,37,38,39,40,45 Hamilton, W.: XI11 21 Hathaway, R.F.: XVII 135-136,138,146 Haushen, I.: XVII 136 Helleman-Elgersma, W.: XIV 188 Helvidius Priscus: IX 13, 19 Henry, P.: XI1 107 Hense, 0.: X 1996 Heraclitus: VII130,36-9 Herington, C.J.: X 1994, 1995 Herophilus: V 3 1.35 Hershbell, J.P.: X 2010 Hierocles: VI 172; XVI 407-8 Hierotheus: XVlI 147-5 1 Hijmans. B.L.: IX 15 Hipparchia: IX 19 Hoffman, R.: XVII 145 Holler, E.: X 2000 Honigmann, E.: XVII 136 Hornus, J.M.: XVII 136 Hoven, R.: VIII 191; X 20034 Hum, David: 1 104 Hypatia: XVII 152

Iamblichus: XVII 1424, 146, 157 Ignatius of Antioch: XVII 149 Inge, W.R.: XI 155,156; XIV 192; XVI413 Intelligible matter: XI 163 Inwood, B.: IX 17; X 2003; XVII 156

Jaeger, W.: V 28,29,35 Jagu, A.: IX 20 Jevons, F.R.: XV 114

Kahn, C.: 11 213 Kelly, A.L.: 1 105 Kember, 0.: V 31 Kerferd, G.: VI 166, 172, 174 Keyt, D.: 1 107 Kirk, G.S.: V 44

Lapidge, M.: V 27,36, 39,40,44,45 Lausberg, M.: X 1998 Lebon, I.: XVII 136 Leftme, C.: V 28 lekta: XIV 190 Lesky, E.: V 30,31 Lesher, J.H.: XIV 193 Lewy, H.: XVIl142, 143 Liturgy, in ps-Dionysius: XVII 148 Lloyd, A.C.: X W 191-2; XV 104 Lloyd, G.E.R.: V 30.31 Locke, John: XV 104,106 Long, A.A.: V 37; VI 161,162,165; VIU 36,

191; X 2002 Long, H.S.: VI 166 Lonie, LM.: V 30 Louth, A.: XVII 139 Luce, J.V.: I1 209,212 Luther: XVIf L37-9, 159

Madigan, A,: 1 124 Mamo, P.S.: XIV passim Manning, C.E.: IX 19; X 2Q09 Manuli, P.: V 32 Marcus AureIius: VII 261-3; VIII 23-45;

IX 9, 14 Markus, R.A.: XVII 155 'Master Argwnent': IX 6 matter: XI 15466 Matter, P.P.: XV 104 Maximus of Tyre: XIII 20,22,24 Middle Platonists: IV 7; X 2010 Miles, M.R.: XVI 404 Nillar, F.: IX 15,20 Moline, J.: I 103. 1 I6 monophysites: XVII 135ff., 139, 157 Morawt, P.: V 33; XI1 103 More, P.E. : IX 16 Moreau, J.: VI 170; fX 15 Morrison, J.S.: V 3 1 Mouliniet, L.: V 3 1 Murray, 0.: Vf 174 Musonius Rufus: IX 3, 15; X 2009 mysticism: XIV 183-97

natural names: fI 209-1 8 nature: VI 170-1; VlIl25 Nemesius: XVI 403-4,408,411 Nem (Emperor): X 1993-7,2W5,2006 Neuenschwander, R.: VM 191 Nock, A.D.: X 2005

Nussbaum, M.: V 29 Nuyens, F.: V 29 Nygren, A.: XVII 137, 147, 148

O'Brien, D.: XV 110-1 1 O'Connell, R.J.: XVII 151 oikeicisis: VI 165-7, 1724; VII 260-1 Onians, R.B.: XIV 193 Origen: XVII 144, 158

on e&: XVII 149 on Stoic allegory: V 43

otherness: XI1 99-100; XIV 185 Owen, G.E.L.: 1 11 8; 111 222-3

Panaetius: IX 4 Parmenides: I11 22 1-5 Peck, A.L.: III 221,227; V 28-9.33 Pembroke, S.G.: VI 166. 174; IX 18 Pkpin, I.: XVI 404 philanthropia: XVII 149, 153 Philippe, M.D.: V 33 Philistion: V 27 philostorgia: VII 263-4 Pike, N.: I 121 pistis: VIII 35; IX 12, 19 Plato, on 'tripanition': I 103-124

on justice: I 104 on the tyrannical man: I 109 on the gods: I 110 on education: I 112 on the date of Timeus: I I 18 on inspiration: I 122 on moral growth: I 120 on ems: I 122- 4 on date of Crmylus: I1 109 on reference arid description: II 212 , on ideal language: I1 2 13 on dialectic: 11 213 on the Good: 11 213-6 on the divided line: I1 214 00 @Vhg 8 logos: 11 214-6 on knowledge: I1 218 on Parmenides: 111 221-9 on greatest kinds: I11 22 1-9 on value: lV 13-14 on pederasty and 'unnatural' behaviow:

IV 17 on Guardians: VI1261 on anger: X 1997 on negation: XI 156 on the Dyad: XI1 100-2 on the daimnion: XIII 15-16 on the Receptacle: XV 1038.

pleasure and pain: IX I5,20; XVI 402

Plotinus: IV 7; XI 154-66; XI1 99-107; XI11 13-24; XIV 183-97; XV 104-17; XVI 402-3

on ethics: XVII 140-1

4 INDEX

Plotinus (continued) on upper soul: XVlI 141

PIutarch of Chaeroneia: XI11 20,21,22 pneuma: V 2747; VIII 3 1

in Christianity: VIII 46-7 Pohlenz. M.: VI 161, 174; IX 15; X 1997,

2001 PoIemo: VI 171,174 Porphyry: Xi11 24,224; XV 108; XVI 402-7;

XVII 141, 143, 145, 152 Posidonius: VIII 31, 191, 192; IX 9; X 1997,

1998,2002-3,2008 prayer: XVII 144 Praxagoras of Cos: V 35 Preus, A.: V 30,31,33,34 prime matter: I 157 Priscian: XVI 405 Proclus: XVII 137, 1 4 6 7 prohairesis: VII 261 ; VIII 3 1; IX 4.7 prapatheicr: X 2000, XVII 156 piovidence: VIIl29,40,43; IX 8-10 ps-Ammonius: XVI 402-15 ps-Dionysius: XVII 136-61 ps-Plato: XI11 17-19, 21 Puech, M. XI 154 F'ythagoreanisrn: X 1999,2012

Raven, J.: 111 223 ReaIe, G.: X N 192 Regenbogen, 0.: X 1994 Renner, R.: IX 20 Reesor, M. VIIl 190 'reserved admiration': IX 8 Richter, W.: X 2008 Riedinger, U.: XVII 136 Rieth, 0.: VI 161, 164 Rist, J.M.: I1 212; 111 225,227; VI 169;

VIII 190.191, 192; IX 15. 18.20: X2000,2001,2002,2007,2010,2011; XIV 183,185; XV 103-5,109,112; XVII 136,143, 144,147, 149, 156

Robinson, R.: Ii 209,212 Robinson, T.M.: 1 116 Roques, 8.: XVII 136,143,149 Rorem, P.: XVII 139, 143,148,159 Ross. W.D.: IV 20; XI 164, XI1 100,106-7 Runciman, W.G.: I1 212 Ruben, C.: XV 116-16 Ryle, G.: I1 110

Saffrey, H.D.: XVII 137, 145 Sandbach, F.H.: M 17, 19; X 1993 Santa Cmz de Prunes, M.I.: XV 115 Scazzoso, P.: XVII 137 Schweingruber, F. IX I5

Schwyzer, H.R.: IX 15; XVI 403 self-knowledge: IX 3-4 Seneca: VII 269-71; VIII 31; IX 6.15;

X 1993-2012 as tragedian: X 1997-8 on mercy and dementia: X 20068

Severus of Antioch: XVII passim Sextus of Chaeroneia: VIII 24 Sheldon-Williams, LP.: XVII 144, 146 slavery: X 1994,2008-9 Smart, A.: VII 272 Smith, A.: XVI 404; XVII 142,143,144 Socrates: IX 3 4 , XI1 13-24 Solmsen, F.: V 29.32 Sorabji, R.: I1 214; xiv 191-2; XV 103-4;

XVII 136 Souilhk, J.: XI11 18 soul (and body): XVI 402-15 spermatikos logos: V 37.45-7; VIII 33,41 Speusippus: V 33; XI1 100 spiritual exercises: IX 6 Stanton, G.R.: VIII 192; IX 18 Starr, C.G.: IX 20 Steckerl, F.: V 35 Stiglmayr, J.: XVII 136 Stoics: V 27-47; VI 161-74; VIII 23-45;

XV 1 13; XVI 405-7 on justice: VII 266-7 on detachment: VII 259-27 on mercy: VII 268-70 on 'sympathy': VIII 40,192; X 1998

Stocks, J.L.: I 103, 107 Symmachus: XVII 145 Syrne, R.: IX 17 SzlezBk, T.: I 118; XIV 197 suicide: VIII 27; IX 13-14; X 2004-6

Telfer, W.: XVI 405 Tertullian: V 38; XVI 415 Theiler, W.: X 2010; XVI 404,412 Theophrastus: VIII 35 theurgy: XVII 141-4. 149-50 Thrasyllus: XI11 20 time: VIII 38 Todd, R.B.: V 36,37,39,44; VIII 192 tolma: XV 1 12 torture: VII 269 Trouillard, J.: XIV 190

Valla, Lorenzo: XVII 136 Vanneste, J.: XVII 137, 139, 159 Verbeke, G.: V 27.28; VIII 191 voluntas (see also prohairesis): X 2001

Wallis, R.T.: XIV 193, 194; XVII 142,143

i I

Weber, K.O.: XVI 407

i Weidauer, K.: X 2006 Wellman, M.: V 28

I Wesche, K.P.: XVII 136, I39 Westerink, L.G.: XVII 152 Westra, L.: X N 197 Whitehome, J.E.G.: VIII 191 Whittaker, J.: X 2010 Wickham, L.R.: XVlI 135 Witke, C.: VIII 191 Witt, R.E.: X 2010 women (in Epictetus): IX 12-13, 19

I (in Seneca): X 2008-9

Woodbury, L.: II 209 WUIIII, K.: XV 114-15

Xenocrates: V 33 Xenophon: XI11 16-17

Zeno of Citium, on pneuma: V 35-40; VI 161-74

on the teios: VI 161-74 on virtue: VI 162-3 on uparheia: VII 259

Zeno of EIea: I11 224-5

man soul and body by john m. rist

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